After a good two minutes, he took her hand and gently pulled her out into the bright October day.

"But we didn't get to see the rest of the house." She stood on the uneven bricks of the courtyard as he closed and locked the door.

"We'll come back later, possibly with a chaperone." He had a dazed expression on his face, like he'd been smacked in the head by a two-by-four. "Don't you need to get going?"

She checked the clock on her phone. "Yes, but I still have a little time."

"I don't want you to be late." He practically pulled her to the pa.s.senger's side of the car and threw her in before running over to his side of the car and getting behind the wheel.

"What about the food?" She pointed to the table, where the remains of the food had drawn the attention of several flies.

"I'll clean it up later." He threw the car in reverse and stomped on the gas. The tires squealed.

"Are you okay?" She looked him over. "You're acting a little funny."

Now he looked pale as a sheet, almost like he'd seen a ghost.

"Wait, did you see Angelique?" She tried not to sound disappointed. It was totally uncool of Angelique to show herself to him and not to her. Then again, they had been standing close together. Shouldn't she have seen her too?

"No, I didn't see Angelique." He kept his eyes on the road and didn't so much as glance her way. Ten minutes later, he dropped her off in front of her office building. Something had rattled him so much that he even forgot to open the car door for her.

Charlie had a sick feeling she'd just seen the last of Wagner Scott. She told herself that she wasn't sad, that it was for the best. Her mind knew that was true, but her heart wasn't listening.

Chapter 10.

Wagner broke all land-speed records getting to Jerome Breaux's office. He turned in to the parking garage for Cajun Tater Chips, Jerome's company, and pulled into the first available s.p.a.ce.

At the Duplantis House, he hadn't seen the past, he'd seen the future.

Walking into that house with Charlie, he could see it redone-not as it had been, but as it could be. This would be their house. Just like her office, there would be a fun mix of antiques and new furniture. Pictures, both family portraits and photographs of their life together, would fill the walls with memories. In his mind's eye, he'd seen a very pregnant Charlie lumbering down the stairs, laughing at him trying to help her. And then his mind had taken it further: a little girl of about five with Charlie's dark-brown ringlets and cute-as-a-b.u.t.ton nose and his green eyes. The little girl had him by the hand and was leading him down the stairs to attend the tea party she'd set up in what should have been the formal dining room but they used as a playroom.

It was a nice life... a happy life... the life he wanted... a life he would never have.

He hadn't been freaked out by the possibility of a ghost, but the possibility of the future. He'd had to get out of there before he tripped on a floorboard, fell to one knee, and proposed marriage to Charlie.

It was overwhelming to fall in love for the first time at the age of thirty-five. He sat up.

He was in love with Charlie. Of course he was in love with Charlie. He'd thought he didn't believe in love at first sight, but he had to admit that he'd fallen for her the very moment she'd spilt beer on him.

This was the worst-case scenario.

Or the best thing that had ever happened to him.

It was too early to tell.

Only, he'd been hired by a man who hated Charlie and had paid him to destroy her. Wagner needed to tell her the truth. His stomach lurched and the red beans he'd eaten not an hour ago threatened to make an encore appearance.

When he told Charlie the truth, this life he wanted so very badly would be gone. Just imagining the hurt on her face made the red beans rumble around.

Any way he looked at the situation, Charlie was going to hate him. There wasn't a scenario where she did anything but punch him in the nose and walk away. All of the horrible things he'd done in his past were catching up to him. All of the women he'd hurt were getting their revenge. He'd finally found the one person he wanted to share his life with, only she didn't believe in love.

His cell phone buzzed on silent mode. He worked it out of his front right trouser pocket. He really did need some jeans. His mother's face smiled up at him from the smartphone screen. He tapped answer.

"There was a tremor in the mom force. What's going on?" His mother, Joann Wagner-Scott, took motherhood and Star Wars very seriously. She had what she called the "mom force" la Luke Skywalker. Whenever she felt a tremor in the mom force, she gave Wagner a call. The mom force seemed to only work with one of her kids, because she never seemed to feel it when Sawyer was in trouble. Then again, he was always in trouble, so maybe she filtered it out like white noise.

"I met someone." It was out before his brain had time to shut off his mouth.

"Really?" He could hear her broad smile. "What's she like?"

"Funny, charming, unpredictable, smart, beautiful, perfect." G.o.d, he sounded like a lovesick fool. "She doesn't let me get away with anything."

"I like her already." A door slammed on his mother's end of the call. "I only have about ten more minutes until third period." His mother was the best middle school science teacher in Roseville, California. "So, am I finally going to have some grandchildren?"

It took all he had not to tell her about the five-year-old girl with ringlets whose name was Angelique Cherie. How in the h.e.l.l had he known that? It just came to him, just like he knew they would have another little girl, with his blonde hair, whose name would be Cherry-Kate Joann.

G.o.d, he loved them already, and they didn't exist outside of his imagination. He needed therapy and Prozac and probably a brain scan.

"I think it's a little early for that." He rested his forehead on the steering wheel. He felt vulnerable and lost. Hard work and focus had always gotten him what he wanted, only now, he didn't think either of those things would get him a life with Charlie.

He wasn't too self-absorbed to enjoy the irony. Dozens of women had fallen in love with him, but he'd fallen in love with the one woman who'd told him up front that she wouldn't fall in love with him.

"When do I get to meet her?" Of course his mother would want to meet Charlie and would love her on sight, but it might be a little hard to casually pull off.

"Give me a little time. I haven't known her that long. It might be too much pressure for her." And way more pressure than he needed.

"What exactly is the problem?" His mother never beat around a bush when it was easier to mow it down and keep going. "What are you not telling me?"

"There's a lot I'm not telling you. There's a lot I'm never going to tell you." Like about all of the women he'd romanced or what he really did for a living. Sure, she knew he was an attorney, but that was it. Elaboration wasn't necessary, because if she knew the truth, she'd kill him. He smiled to himself. She and Charlie were a lot alike-they had principles they never compromised, and they expected the best out of the people they cared about. He, on the other hand, had principles that were fluid.

"All I need to know is that she makes you happy." His mother's tone suggested that there was a whole lot more she needed to know, only, she was willing to wait until she had more time. "She does make you happy?"

"Yes, very happy." He smiled when he said it. It was more than happiness. Charlie felt like home. He wanted her to be his reward at the end of a very hard day... his guilty pleasure.

"Do you see yourself growing old with her?" It was like his mother really did have mom force powers because imagining growing old with her was all he was able to do right now.

"Yes." It was such a simple answer to such a complex issue.

"Then hurry the h.e.l.l up. I need some grandchildren to spoil before I'm too old to enjoy them." The school bell rang. "I have to go. I love you."

"Love you too." He waited for her to hang up, and then he did the same.

For his mother everything was simple: Wagner loved Charlie, therefore they should be together. If only real life were like that.

He opened his car door, stood and went to b.u.t.ton his suit jacket only to find that he wasn't wearing it, and closed the car door. The sooner he got the unpleasantness with Jerome over, the sooner he could start wooing Charlie. Until now, he'd only wooed for work; now he was wooing for pleasure. He smiled to himself. She thought he was charming-well, she hadn't seen charming yet. For Ms. Charlie Guidry, he was pulling out all the stops.

Ten minutes later, he was sitting on one of the black leather sofas in the waiting area outside of Jerome's office. The walls were covered in framed poster-sized ads of Jerome holding bags of different flavors of potato chips. Wagner had tried some of the creole garlic and onion chips. They were okay-nothing special and really garlicky. He'd definitely felt protected against vampires that day.

He picked up a Sports Ill.u.s.trated and thumbed through it. If he really cared what Jerome thought, he'd be nervous. This could, after all, ruin his business. Once word got out that he'd backed away from a job and refunded a client, his business would take a hit. He'd built his reputation on his willingness to get his hands dirty. Since he would no longer be romancing women, his business would almost certainly suffer. But contrary to popular belief, romancing women wasn't all he did.

In a perfect world where Charlie actually did forgive him and fall in love with him, what would that mean for his business? He'd spent a good portion of his life building it, and now he'd have to leave it behind. Their life was here, in New Orleans. He could feel it. Thinking back, he'd felt at home the minute he'd stepped off the plane at Louis Armstrong International Airport. It wasn't just Charlie-well, yes, it was mostly Charlie, but New Orleans felt so familiar.

Wait a minute. He closed the magazine. Surely the state with the most corrupt political system in the United States needed a fixer. This state was rife with scandals that needed to be brushed under the rug. And he was an attorney. True, he'd need to take the Louisiana bar. He pulled out his phone and googled the rankings for the difficulty of state bar exams. California was number one and Louisiana was number four. It would take some studying, but he could do it. Did he really want to practice law in the conventional sense? It wasn't his first choice, but h.e.l.l, he'd do whatever it took to make a life with Charlie.

Was he willing to be a househusband? Now that was an interesting question. Would he give up everything and stay home with the kids? He wanted to think that he was a liberated man, but his mind just couldn't make the leap to her earning all of their money.

A woman in her early sixties wearing too much makeup and a well-cut vintage Chanel suit stepped in front of him. If memory served, she was Annette, Jerome's a.s.sistant, whom the man had actually called his secretary. "He'll see you now."

She was very formal, and Wagner decided that she'd probably bought that suit new and had either hung onto it for a very long time in the hopes it would come into fashion again, or wore it regularly with no care at all for fashion.

He stood and caught himself before he tried to b.u.t.ton his suit jacket again. How long before his muscles lost their muscle memory? "Thank you."

He followed her into Jerome's overly large, overly decorated office. There were entirely too many dead animals mounted on the walls, poised to attack from the floor, and resting viciously on every surface. Wagner wasn't opposed to hunting, but it didn't look like Jerome hunted for food-only for sport.

Jerome stood, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "All of the New Orleans gossip blogs are buzzing about Charlie Guidry and her new man. There are pictures of the two of you dancing at the Founders Ball last night." If Jerome had been a hugger, he'd have pulled Wagner in for a tight one. "Good job. It took the last guy almost a month to get her to go out with him."

Jerome motioned for Wagner to sit, but he chose to continue standing.

He felt the need to take a shower because he felt so slimy.

"That's why I'm here. I can't work for you anymore." There was no need to spend any more time with this horrible man than absolutely necessary.

"Why?" Jerome looked like he'd just lost his favorite toy. A sly smile curled on his lips. "Don't worry. I can see your worth. I'll double what I'm paying you. You've earned it." He opened a humidor on his desk and picked up a cigar. "I can see you're as good as your reputation." He offered Wagner the cigar. "They're Cuban."

"No thanks. And I don't want more money. My contract specifically states that I may terminate the arrangement at any time. I'm terminating our arrangement. I'll have my a.s.sistant cut you a check for the advance you paid me." c.r.a.p, he hadn't thought about his a.s.sistant. Claire was amazing. What were the chances she'd like to move to New Orleans too?

Jerome put the unlit cigar down. "What's this about?"

"Nothing. My contract offers me an out and I'm taking it. I can't deliver on our agreement. I can't in good conscious take your money." He went to b.u.t.ton his jacket again, d.a.m.n it, but it wasn't there. He didn't offer his hand for a handshake. "Thank you for your time."

Not wanting or caring about a response, he stepped out into the hallway and didn't stop walking until he reached his car. He'd never felt better about anything in his life.

Now if he could only convince Charlie that he really was a good man. He was under no delusions that she wouldn't find out about his deal with Jerome, but he prayed that when she did, she'd at least give him a chance to explain.

Chapter 11.

Charlie sat at her desk and tried to concentrate on what Trent Avery was saying. His handlebar mustache reminded her of her next door neighbor's yorkie, Mr. b.u.t.tons. It took all she had not to call the mustache Mr. b.u.t.tons.

Trent looked at her expectantly, so she nodded. She didn't know what she was nodding to, and she hoped she hadn't just agreed to sign over the family fortune.

Trent seemed satisfied with her nod and continued talking. "The oil and gas industry in Louisiana is going to h.e.l.l. The federal government has tied our hands and OPEC is undercutting us." It appeared that he was just getting warmed up. "I've had to lay off d.a.m.n near half my workers..."

She tried super hard to pay attention, but all of the carbs from lunch were catching up to her and his mustache really did look like Mr. b.u.t.tons. Maybe it was Mr. b.u.t.tons. She'd only ever seen the little dog at night. What if after Trent fell asleep, his mustache made a break for it so it could roam the streets looking for flowers to dig up? Surely, the next morning Trent would notice all of the dirt on his mustache. Then again, he was a man and they didn't notice much.

"All I'm saying is that we should fight harder..." He showed no signs of slowing down.

She nodded again. No idea what they needed to fight hard for, but she figured that if one must fight, it should be hard.

Her mind wandered to the topic of Wagner. What had freaked him out so much that he'd done his best to get away from her? She'd showered and brushed her teeth this morning, so it couldn't be personal hygiene. Was it the house? Maybe Angelique?

No, he'd said that he hadn't seen her.

Was it something else?

He'd been all gung ho to go inside and seemed fine at first, but then he'd lost his marbles and practically tripped over them to get back out into the sunshine. Maybe he was claustrophobic? If he had that severe of a case, how could he be confined in a car or even live inside?

The whole situation made no sense.

"I agree, it makes no sense." Trent shook his head.