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Brenna swallowed her trepidations and told herself she could be professional and businesslike. She would not mix any pleasure with this business. She needed work to keep her mind off her many failures.
“Okay,” she said as she slid into the seat and poured herself some coffee from the pot she’d left on the table. “Fifteen minutes.”
“I can handle that,” he said. “Let’s pretend this is a real job interview. Tell me about yourself.”
Okay, now she was nervous. Sitting here in a T-shirt and jeans didn’t feel professional. And she didn’t have her résumé in front of her. “Well, I went to LSU in Baton Rouge, majored in Art History and minored in Business. For the past three years, I’ve worked in the Hutton Gallery as a curator and director of operations. But budget cuts caused me to be laid off indefinitely.” She sat back against the booth. “As you’ve probably noticed, there isn’t much in the way of art here in Fleur.”
He nodded. “You don’t appreciate the Fleur Bayou Museum?”
“Of course.” She grinned. “I helped create that museum when I was still in high school. But I never could find anyone willing to keep it open on a daily basis. It’s only open when Mrs. LaBorde’s gout isn’t acting up—which is a whole lot these days. So the museum is more neglected than noticed.”
He burst out laughing, his dark eyes sparkling. “I think I met Mrs. LaBorde at the wedding. Charming woman.”
“You’re just being polite,” she said, touched that he’d enjoyed her joke. “She loves working at the museum, but she does have a life, after all.”
“And it is a small place,” he added. “I checked it out the first day I arrived. I wanted to get a sense of the place. And now that I know you had a hand in the content of that one-room history trove, I’m doubly impressed.”
“So did it help you to understand the history of this area?”
“It did.”
He started asking her questions about the Cajun and Creole history of Fleur and the Spanish influence of the area. Before Brenna knew it, thirty minutes had passed.
“Oh, I have to get back to work! Sorry we didn’t get to discuss Fleur House and what you might need from me.”
He stood when she did, then reached out for her hand. “You’re hired.”
Surprised, Brenna took his hand and shook it. Or rather let him shake her hand. “But you don’t even know if I’m right for this job.”
“Oh, you’re perfect.”
Relieved and pleased but a bit wary, Brenna pulled her hand away. “And how do you know that?”
He gave her one of those simmering looks again. “By the way your eyes lit up when you were talking about that little shanty museum you created. You love this area and you love art. That’s all I need to know.”
Her heart did a little flip of gratefulness. Jeffrey had never understood her deep love of history and art. He’d teased her about finding a real job with a real salary. He’d never appreciated the town of Fleur, either. Called it a hick-boonie town.
“So what do you say? Do you want the job?”
“Well, yes.” Her heart raced with excitement. “That was easy.”
“I think so, too. Because you’re the first art expert I’ve interviewed today and probably the last, I’d say breakfast was a success.”
“Thank you,” she said to Nick. “When do you want me to start?”
“Immediately,” he replied. “But you can wait until your sister is back. I know you’re needed here.”
“Good. I appreciate that. But I can put in a few hours at the house between the lunch and dinner shifts. Besides, Alma will be back next Monday.”
“That should work out great.” He dropped a twenty on the table. “I enjoyed the meal and the conversation.”
Brenna didn’t know what to say. “I’m glad you did. I guess I’ll see you Monday. Where should I meet you?”
“At the house,” he said. “We’ll do a walk-through.” Then he touched her arm. “But aren’t you forgetting something?”
“I can’t think of anything,” she said, alarmed. “Have I messed up already?”
He laughed. “Relax. You’ve done everything right. Except ask about the salary? Don’t you want to know about the pay?”
Brenna breathed a sigh of relief. “I’d probably do it for free, but pretend you didn’t hear me say that.”
“I didn’t.” He smiled and named an amount. “Does that sound fair?”
Brenna tried to hide her surprise. He’d just offered her more than she’d made in a year for what should be a short amount of work. “More than fair,” she replied. “And Nick, thank you.”
“It will be my pleasure,” he said, his gaze dropping to her face. Then he handed her a card. “Here’s my number. I’ll be in touch.”
Brenna hurriedly scribbled her cell number on the back of a napkin. “And mine, in case you change your mind.”
“I won’t,” he said. He gave her another devastating smile and strolled out of the café.
When Brenna heard a whoop and some giggles coming from the back of the restaurant, she hurried to do some damage control. Rumors would be flying, no doubt about that. She was in way over her head with this man. No doubt about that, either.
Chapter Three
Callie came waltzing into the café and strolled around the counter to pour herself a cup of coffee. “I hear Nick came by to see you this morning,” she called to Brenna.
Cringing for the second time that day, Brenna shut the door to the supply closet and grabbed her smirking sister by the arm. “Do you have to announce that so loud they heard it in New Orleans?”
“Well, did he or didn’t he come by?” Callie asked, her loosely knotted bun bouncing against her head. Why did she always have to be so perky?
“Yes, he came to eat breakfast,” Brenna replied. “And how do you know this already?”
“I have my sources,” Callie said, spinning on her short suede boots. She slid onto a barstool and did a matching twirl. “I knew you two would hit it off right away.”
“We didn’t hit it off,” Brenna replied while she stacked napkins into the nearby holder. “But he did offer me a good job.”
Callie actually clapped. “Sounds like you did more than just hit it off. This is better than I expected.”
Brenna held up her hand. “Whoa! Don’t get the wrong idea. We clicked enough that I think I can enjoy working for him. The man offered me a huge amount of money, so yes, we got to know each other rather quickly.”
Callie beamed with pride. “I told you he’d hire you on the spot, didn’t I?”
“You did and he did,” Brenna confessed. “It seems a bit too easy to me. I’m afraid there’s a catch.”
“What catch? No catch other than you’ll be doing the work you love with a handsome man who also appreciates art and beautiful homes.” Callie grabbed a piece of sweet potato pie and began to dig in with relish. “Oh, this is so good. I love Winnie’s sweet potato pie.”
Brenna giggled. “I can tell.” She took a fork and had a bite, then dropped the fork onto a napkin. “I miss Alma.”
“Me, too. She’ll want to hear all about this. You and Nick, I mean.”
“Hey, there is no ‘me and Nick,’ got it?”
“Got it,” Callie said between chews. “I wonder if he’ll want children. Does he know you’re kind of gun-shy in that area?”
Brenna slapped her sister on the arm. “Will you stop talking like that, please? I don’t intend to marry the man. I just want a good job for a good day’s work.”
“And I just want nieces and nephews and another wedding to plan. And I wouldn’t mind living at Fleur House, while we’re wishing.”
Brenna pretended to not notice the sadness in her sister’s eyes. Callie deserved to be happy and she’d make such a wonderful mother. She said a prayer for her sister, then teased, “Get your own man. Preferably, the one who actually owns the house. I hear he’s filthy rich and quite mysterious. He’ll have to show up to claim his property sooner or later. You’d better be ready.”
Callie shook her head. “No, I had my turn. One divorce is quite enough for me, thank you.” She gave a dainty shrug. “But this mysterious owner is intriguing.”
“So you’ll just mess in my life to occupy yourself until the owner shows up?”
“Yep. Seems to be working. Wait until I tell Elvis. He’ll be thrilled, too. He loves Nick.”
Brenna finished filling napkin holders. “That big mutt loves anybody who breathes. But I can agree with your dog on one thing. Nick is nice-looking.”
“Of course he is. Would I set you up with just any ol’ body?”
“We are not set up, remember? We’re working together.”
“Got it.” Callie finished her coffee and pie, then waved her hand in the air. “Just working together. Right.”
Brenna shook her head, then finished her busywork, her mind in turmoil at the thought of working so closely with Nicholas Santiago. She didn’t even know the man and already, he was messing with her head. Telling herself to stick to the plan—business, business, business—she decided it wouldn’t hurt to research her new boss just so she’d be familiar with his style and the demands of her job. She’d do that first thing when she got home tonight.
* * *
He’d research her, see what kind of credentials she had. Nick rarely hired anyone without doing a thorough vetting, but he had no doubt Brenna Blanchard would be an asset to his renovation team. She knew the area, knew the history and she seemed to have a passion for art and literature—two things his boss demanded in all of his employees.
Nick remembered the pride she’d displayed when discussing Fleur and the surrounding areas. Brenna might not want to spend the rest of her life in her quaint little hometown, but she sure did care about the place. That was the kind of intimate passion he needed to renovate and decorate Fleur House. While he had a great interior designer ready to re-create and decorate the house, he also wanted a curator to oversee hanging the art pieces his employer already owned and to buy other pieces to complement the entire house and collection.
Brenna would do the job and he’d enjoy the fringe benefits of her delightful company. A win-win situation. Or one he’d regret when it came time to pull up stakes and leave. Which he’d have to do sooner or later.
Nick got up and looked out the window of his temporary home—a construction trailer parked behind Fleur House. The nondescript trailer served as an office and a place to stay. He’d designed it that way so he didn’t have to rent out a room or stay in run-down hotels. And while Fleur had some quaint little cabins along the bayou, he much preferred to be alone in his own traveling home. He liked the privacy and the ease of transporting himself.
A quick, clean getaway.
That was how the last woman he’d left had described his mode of operation. Or rather, she had called his trailer a means of a quick and easy escape.
And she’d been so right.
He liked to get in, do the job and get out.
No ties to bind him. No hassles to hold him.
So why was he sitting here now doing an online search for any information he could find on Brenna Blanchard?
Because he needed to know her so he could work with her. Of course.
When he pulled up a society picture from the Baton Rouge Advocate newspaper, Nick pored over the words with a hungry intent. Dated a few months ago, the caption stated that Brenna Blanchard and her fiancé, Jeffrey Patterson, had attended a dinner to raise funds for a Baton Rouge art event. The note went on to talk about Brenna’s position at the art gallery and Mr. Patterson’s work at a Baton Rouge law firm. Nick quit reading after that, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman in the picture.
Brenna, dressed in a shimmering dark blue cocktail dress, smiled up at the man next to her, her gaze bright with love and admiration. And happiness.
Fiancé?
Had she been engaged to this man?
If so, they must have broken up. Maybe that was why she was unemployed and back in Fleur. Her attitude regarding marriage indicated she wasn’t the marrying kind.
And she wasn’t wearing an engagement ring now.
So much for vetting.
Nick had more than enough information on Brenna Blanchard. She wouldn’t stick around too long, either.
So he had nothing to worry about really.
* * *
She worried with the collar of her blouse.
Not sure how to dress for her first official meeting with Nicholas, Brenna waffled between jeans and a T-shirt to a blue button-up cotton shirt and dress pants.
She finally settled on putting the button-up shirt over some nice trouser jeans. Sensible cushioned loafers would be better than heels while walking throughout the house. She didn’t want to listen to the tap-tap of her shoes while she was trying to envision art on the walls.
Or maybe she didn’t want to distract her new boss with a pair of high heels because she planned on keeping this relationship strictly professional. But she did mist herself with perfume, just for good measure.
After researching him online, she’d found him only in a few professional pages, but his work reviews were all five-star. Clients raved about his work ethics and his professionalism. Apparently, he was that good. His client list read like a who’s-who of prominent Texas tycoons. Only she couldn’t find any reference to Fleur House or his current client. That was interesting.
She’d found something else interesting, too.
Nicholas Santiago was also an artist. Some paintings had shown up under the name Nick Santiago, paintings he’d done as a teenager. Or at least she figured it had to be the same Nick—her Nick? Well, not her Nick, but the man she’d agreed to work with. One of the paintings was of a beautiful dark-haired girl on a horse. She looked young and carefree. He’d won an award for it in high school.
“Jessica.” That had been the name of the painting. Of course, now she wondered who Jessica was and what did she mean to Nick.
She’d seen another article, but Callie had called her and they’d chatted too long for her to go back and read that one. It had something to do with that painting, though. She’d have to remember to read that later. Right now, she had to get to Fleur House.
A few minutes later, she was in her car about to leave when her daddy, Ramon, came strolling out of the house. She loved being back here with her father. She tried to pamper him as much as she could, but her overly protective father seemed to think she was fifteen again. So he lectured her. And worried about her.
Brenna cranked the car and tried to make a quick exit.
In spite of his bad knees, he shot down the brick steps of the white clapboard house. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, missy?”
Brenna stuck her head out the open car window. “Papa, remember I told you I got a part-time job? Today’s the day for the first meeting with Nicholas.”
Ramon adjusted his suspenders and eyed her with a sharp intent. “You mean that fancy fellow over from San Antonio? Are you sure about working for some stranger?”
