Now, the man simply nodded their way. “Thank you for breakfast. I’ll be on my way. Gentlemen.”

  As he walked away, Callum and Rory sighed.

  “Sorry about that. He’s still not himself. I’d hoped coming on this American tour with me would revive his spirits. It’s been over a year since Yasmin’s death.” Callum watched his older brother go, concern etched all over his famous face.

  Eric knew more about the story than most. Not only had Yasmin tried to kill her husband, she’d aborted several of his children, all the while calling them miscarriages and using her “grief” to extort money from her mourning husband.

  Yeah, Oliver might never trust a woman again.

  Rory leaned in, obviously not one to let a little tragedy keep him down. “Hey, when you hire your next secretary, make sure she’s at least as hot as Belle. Gorgeous girl, but she took that rule about not dating clients far too seriously.” He shook his head. “I tried. More than once. Shame.”

  After a good-bye Eric barely heard, the Brits walked away. And he felt a nasty hollow gnaw at the pit of his stomach. Anger threatened to take over.

  “She went back to Chicago without us?” Kellan’s jaw formed a tight line. He was obviously as furious as Eric felt.

  Tate was already on his phone, but he hung up quickly. “It’s going straight to voice mail.”

  The other two looked to him. What the hell should they do? Giving Belle time to herself hadn’t done anything but allow her to run. Worry started to shove aside the anger and guilt. She’d gotten on the road at three in the morning? By herself? She couldn’t have had any sleep. She shouldn’t be driving on lonely highways while exhausted. “We don’t know that she went back to Chicago. That’s a long drive to make by herself.”

  “Well, apparently she has a dog with her.” Tate’s fingers tapped against the desk, a nervous habit Eric recognized from their high school days. “Why would she run?”

  “Because she wants to teach us a lesson.” Kellan cursed and his mouth turned down, his eyes softening with regret. “Because I hurt her last night. Damn it. I need to see her. Even if this doesn’t work out, I need to apologize. She should know why I can’t commit to anyone.”

  A sudden thought hit Eric. “Doesn’t Kinley drive a Benz?”

  Kellan sighed in clear relief. “She’s probably gone to Kinley’s. Thank god. They only live about thirty minutes from here. We’ll find her in less than an hour. Let’s go.”

  As they turned to leave, a familiar blonde strode into the café with Jessa Lennox and the oil tycoons’ wife, Hannah James. The ladies smiled and laughed, but the minute Kinley saw them, her pretty face morphed into a mask of contempt. She turned on her heels and directed the other women to a different section of the café.

  “Well, we’re persona non grata,” Tate said with a frown. “I guess we won’t get invited to the baby shower. Thank god.”

  Eric didn’t give a shit about that, only that Belle clearly hadn’t left with her best friend. Still, Kinley must know damn well where Belle had gone. He felt his eyes narrow as she sat down, putting her back to them as she leaned to whisper something. Then the other two women were turning up their little noses at them, too. Oh, hell. Women. He would never understand them. He lived with Tate, and they didn’t spend their time “bonding” by sharing their feelings or whatever. But clearly Belle had marched away from what had probably been the most humiliating evening of her life and immediately told the tale to her friends. Perfect.

  Okay, she was pissed, but that was much better than sad. Pissed he could work with…once she calmed down enough to have a rational conversation.

  Eric stood. It was time for him to take charge. “I think we need to go see Dominic and have a chat with him.”

  Tate followed. “Why Dominic? Can’t we talk to Riley? He and I speak the same language.”

  But Kellan seemed to follow his line of thought. “Oh, no, we’re talking to Dominic because his sub is keeping us from ours. Yeah, I like the way you think, Cohen. Let’s have a nice talk, Dom to Dom.”

  Kellan strode forward, taking the lead now. This was why Eric couldn’t give up. They worked in tandem, and he liked it that way. He couldn’t give up on his best friends, his partners.

  And he damn straight wasn’t about to give up on the woman they would call their wife.

  * * * *

  Belle held Sir in one arm, looking up at the three-story Spanish-Colonial house. It looked unassuming from the front. Pinkish plaster walls that needed repair and blue shutters that framed what looked to be original windows. The upper levels would have a bird’s-eye view overlooking the lively, eclectic street. The walls butted up to the brick-paved sidewalk. The house oozed charm.

  She’d managed to park down the street, then lug her bags through the throng of tourists who walked up and down the Quarter, even in the middle of the brisk fall morning. As she stopped before the house, she stared, letting reality soak in. This would be home now.

  Coming closer, Belle decided she liked the overall vibe of the place. The air of the house looked a little sad and neglected now, but she’d change that. Since her best friend knew how to plan an escape, Kinley had already arranged for a moving service to pack up her Chicago apartment. Once her things arrived, she’d move in, spruce it up, and start a new life.

  “Annabelle Wright?” A distinguished older man in a pinstripe suit strolled up the sidewalk.

  She nodded, fighting back a yawn. She’d driven straight through the night from Dallas to New Orleans. Managing eight hours on largely empty roads with no sleep hadn’t been easy, but she’d had her will to keep her going.

  After she’d forwarded the notes to Tate and sent her resignation letter to the office via fax, which should be monitored by the intern, she’d loaded up Kinley’s car and driven through the darkness with Sir, trying not to think about the fact that she could still feel her former bosses’ hands on her. She probably always would, but now she had a new future to focus on, one that didn’t include them.

  “Yes, I’m Annabelle Wright. Are you my grandmother’s lawyer?”

  The man looked to be roughly fifty, given his silvery sideburns, but otherwise in good shape. He nodded and carried his briefcase up the walk. “I’m Malcolm Gates. I’ve been handling your grandmother’s legal issues for the last twenty years. She was with my father before that. Welcome to New Orleans.”

  He had a lyrical, flowing accent. N’awlins, he’d said.

  Her father had grown up in the city, but she didn’t remember him with such a thick accent. She’d had family here for years, but had never visited. The way she’d heard it, this city was almost an alien world. Her drive in had confirmed that fact in some ways, but been an amazing revelation in others. She found it beautiful, odd, and more than a tad mysterious. She had a feeling she was going to like the city and spend a lot of time learning its heartbeat.

  She could definitely make a fresh start in New Orleans.

  He did the gentleman thing and took her suitcase, then led her through a wrought iron gate.

  “Where are we going? Isn’t the front door that blue one?” She pointed to the entry facing the street at the front of the house, complete with a ratty old screen door.

  “No, that was for servants and leads to the butler’s pantry and kitchen. The entry would have been more private and built before air conditioning with maximum shade in mind. It’s this way.” He wended his way into an amazing atrium-style courtyard.

  Fountains and old brick, a lovely terrace with lush foliage everywhere made her drop her jaw. This was an amazing oasis in the heart of the city.

  “If you don’t mind me saying so, you look an awful lot like your grandmother. Even at her advanced age, she was still one of the loveliest women in New Orleans. When the mood struck her, she would set up a table in the Square and read palms all afternoon. I think the men came to her because she was so beautiful.”

  Belle reared back. “My grandmother was a palm reader?”

  Was that the “tainted” life her father had objected to?

  A little smile played at the corner of his lips as he ushered her forward. “She was a psychic, one of the best. I never could understand how she handled living here, but she loved it.” As they stepped onto a wide flagstone patio with a quaint white table and chairs, surrounded by a lush Eden of color, he placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “You know, the house has been vacant for some time. It will be dirty. I can have it cleaned before you take possession.”

  Right now, she just wanted inside so she could cry in private and sleep. She’d find the ice cream to drown her sorrows later.

  “I’ll take care of that myself.” Later. “But thank you.”

  “Well, then… I have some good news for you. I’ve lined up a buyer for the place. One point two million, no repairs required. He’ll take the property as is. I think you’ll agree that’s a very good deal.”

  She didn’t know exactly what the place was worth, but just a glance at the wide house with its expansive grounds, the adjacent guest house, and the property’s prime location on Dauphin Street told her it had to be worth far more. The square footage must be four thousand feet. True, she didn’t know how much repair the place needed, but she wasn’t looking for an easy sale. She wanted to fix something up and make it her own. This old home could be a showcase once she’d used her knowledge and creativity. It had great bones.

  Belle cocked her head at Mr. Gates. “The will just finished probate. Has this buyer even seen the property? Has it been appraised recently? This is really sudden.”

  “I understand it’s a lot to take in at once, especially after your loss. However, this buyer, a judge and a pillar of the community, is very eager. He’s had his eye on this place for years. And yes, he’s seen the home. He was a particular friend of your grandmother’s. He tried to persuade her to sell for a long time, and with Marie now gone, he’s eager to restore the property to its historic charm. I can have that money in your account by the end of the day, if you’ll send me your bank routing information. You don’t even have to spend the night here. I’ll find you a suite somewhere tonight and you can return to your life in Chicago tomorrow.”

  She was a designer, not an idiot. She glanced around at the property with its southern elegance and felt herself falling in love. It wasn’t in perfect condition by any stretch, but underneath that layer of dust, small cracks, and a need for paint, Belle sensed something extraordinary.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Gates. I’m not interested in selling right now, especially before I go through my grandmother’s personal effects. So I’d like to see the inside now. I’m assuming you have a key?” She sent him a tight, expectant smile.

  The lawyer frowned and produced a key from his suit coat. He led her around another side of the building, up the bricked walkway, past the lovely yard, to a pair of massive double doors with an arched brow window over the top and two levels of balconies overlooking the gardens.

  Seeing the house from this angle, it was official. Belle was definitely in love.

  The door creaked when he opened it, and a faint musty odor greeted her, tinged by a lingering hint of perfume. But windows could be opened, fans turned on. The smell wouldn’t last, but this architecture would.

  Gaping at the lovely foyer, Belle wandered inside, visually drinking in everything around her. In an instant, she envisioned the place all restored to its former glory. Mentally, she pictured the entrance with a grand, classic palate—white marble and rich floors, gray walls, crystal chandeliers, along with a pop of something bright, like red or peacock—something as bold as New Orleans. She’d drape coordinating fabric to frame the graceful windows and let light in. The area rugs would have to be replaced and the hardwoods refinished with a rich, dark stain, but the raw goods were there. No one made beautiful, solid wide planks like this anymore.

  Wow.

  Smiling to herself, Belle turned to Gates, ready to tell him that she had no intention of leaving. She noticed then that he hadn’t followed her inside.

  He stood just beyond the threshold, his briefcase twitching at his side. “You don’t want to do this, miss. I understand that you think the place is worth more. Maybe it is, but you should take the easy money and leave this house.”

  “Thank you for the advice, but I’ll be fixing it up.”

  Sir’s head came up, and he started barking at an empty room.

  She tried to settle him down. “Hush, now.”

  Malcolm wouldn’t step a foot in the house as he pointed at Sir, who squirmed to be let down. “See, you should listen to your dog. He knows this place is bad news. Everyone who lives in the Quarter knows its…unfortunate nature,” the lawyer said with a little shudder.

  “But the judge, the pillar of the community, doesn’t? Why would he want to buy this house if it’s so terrible?” God, she’d been working with lawyers too long.

  “I’ve advised him against it. He’s not listening.” Gates looked somewhere between uncomfortable and spooked. “Sell it now, miss. With the exception of your grandmother, women fare poorly in this house.”

  Was that some sort of veiled threat? It didn’t really sound that way, but Belle couldn’t decide exactly what that note in his voice was. “What does that mean?”

  He cleared his throat. “Two women hung themselves here. Young women. Rumor is, the place is haunted. Now, whether you believe that or not…”

  What she was more inclined to believe was that Gates meant to scare her away. He probably made money if he persuaded her to sell the house to this judge. Too bad.

  “I don’t like the thought of you living here all alone,” he went on.

  Sir’s whole body began wriggling, so Belle set him down since he seemed determined to run. He immediately found a spot in the middle of the room and started barking, but this was a happy sound. His tail wagged, and he did a little dance as though he was excited to see someone.

  Except no one at all was there.

  So the place was beautiful…and had an interesting energy. She hadn’t even seen the rest of the huge house, and she could already imagine that being here by herself at night could be a tiny bit creepy. What else had she expected out of a New Orleans mansion?

  Exhaustion weighed on her. It had been a terrible couple of days, but she’d take dealing with a supposed ghost over returning to Chicago and facing her former bosses any day of the week. Decision made, Belle dug her heels in. She wasn’t letting some old stories push her out of her rightful inheritance. Her grandmother had wanted her to have this place. Belle sought to learn as much about the woman and her undoubtedly colorful past as she could, and living in her home seemed like a good way to start. Her family had a whole secret history that she longed to discover. Besides, it might take her mind off of Eric, Tate, and Kellan for more than thirty seconds.

  “Thank you for your concern, but I’m not selling. I can handle anything this house throws at me. So let’s get the legalities out of the way. What do I need to sign in the way of probate papers so the key is mine? I really need a nap.”

  Sir pranced around the place like he owned it. At least he seemed to have calmed down. He yipped occasionally and sat back on his haunches, staring up at the air with a little growl.

  The lawyer dug into his briefcase and extended the papers to her through the open door. He handed her a pen a moment later. Gates could be superstitious if he wanted. If her grandmother had lived here alone for all these years without incident, Belle figured she’d be fine, too.

  “There are more papers for you to sign at my office. I’ll have them finalized and get all the property details and reports to you. Your grandmother also left you a little money in an account. I think it’s roughly thirty grand. I’ll send you all the details shortly.”

  Thank god. Thirty thousand wouldn’t be a lot compared to all the work the house would need, but it might be enough to finish off a room or two. She would start with an office she could use and turn it into her showplace.

  This spur-of-the-moment plan might just work.

  Gates frowned and shook his head. “I really wish you’d reconsider.”

  Belle merely smiled and shook her head. With a sigh, he left. The door closed, and she was finally alone. Well, hopefully.

  “All right, Grandma.” She looked around the parlor as a sense of responsibility engulfed her. “I’m going to make this place shine again and call it my home.”

  Weariness swamped Belle, and she yawned. It had been such a long night, and she still needed to check out the house and unpack. So much to do—right after her nap.

  She lay across a slightly dusty rose-velvet settee and rested her head against the back. She wouldn’t sleep long, just long enough to rest her eyes. But as she drifted off, visions of Eric, Tate, and Kellan haunted her.

  Chapter Seven

  “Please join us, love.”

  It took everything Kellan had not to laugh at the nervous look on Kinley’s face as her husband ushered her inside the living area of their suite. Her eyes widened briefly when she caught sight of the five other men waiting for her. He, Eric, and Tate had joined Kinley’s other spouses, the Anders brothers, in their suite’s living area. After a brief meeting with Dominic during which they’d laid out the chaos his wife had aided, Dominic had agreed to allow a polite interrogation of his wife. He’d also vowed she would feel the sting of his hand later.

  Even Butch sat with the men while Gigi’s little head poked out of Kinley’s Prada tote. The minute she put the bag down, the dog hopped out, running through the suite to hide behind the drapes as if Gigi knew trouble was coming.

  Kinley wasn’t given that option.

  “Why don’t you have a seat?” Kellan said to the blonde, taking over the conversation now. “We have some questions for you.”

  He had to give her credit. After her initial apprehension, she steadied and sank into the chair they’d left for her in the middle of the room. She held her head high as she looked them over, like a queen gazing down at her subjects. Oh, Dominic so needed to whack that ass.