“Phaedra, you don’t have to go any further than you want to….

“You don’t want me to touch you, just tell me. I just want to see you. Just let me look at you.” He released the straps of her dress, letting them dangle down her back, yet the dress remained in place, hugging tightly to her curves. Bastien didn’t lower the dress, but waited for Phaedra to show him the boundaries of where he could go.

Phaedra reached for Bastien’s linen shirt and tugged upward. He shrugged out of it, draping it over the shower wall, and she splayed her hands across his chest, feeling the heat emanating from his skin. Bastien’s unique scent wafted to her—smelling like all the best things of summer.

Phaedra couldn’t resist. She had to know if Bastien tasted as good as he smelled, as delicious as he looked. She stood on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck for leverage, and touched the tip of her tongue to his bottom lip. As she rose on her toes, the dress fell away, pooling at her feet.

GERI GUILLAUME

is the pseudonym for Krystal Williams Livingston. Mrs. Livingston was born in Jackson, Mississippi, in 1965. She received her undergraduate degree from Rice University in Houston, Texas, where she double-majored in English and legal studies. She is currently a full-time project manager for a documentation, training and marketing communications firm, as well as the mother of two wonderful children. Between her project management duties, volunteer work at church, her family and creative writing, Mrs. Livingston still holds firmly to her motto, “Too many words; not enough paper. Thank God there’s e-mail!” This rallying cry has helped her publish several contemporary romance novels, a play for her alma mater and a family reunion planning guide. Mrs. Livingston currently makes her home in Houston, Texas.

Kiss Me Twice
Geri Guillaume

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

It’s been several years since I put the story of Jacie and Chas from A Perfect Pair and their experiences in the grain-inspection world to paper. Jacie began that story in dire straits—jobless, close to eviction, not knowing where her next dollar would come from. For Kiss Me Twice, I wanted to take a different approach. I wanted to pay homage to all of the hardworking women out there, all the women that I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing personally or casually meeting, who’ve kept it together and were totally confident in their abilities. All of the women who’d ever mentored me, either directly or indirectly, became the model for my new heroine Phaedra.

Not to say that Phaedra’s perfect. She has her own set of issues. But I’m hoping that you can take away a piece of her spirit—that spirit of uncompromising excellence, commitment to her chosen career, a heart for showing charity to others and a heart for her man. I hope you enjoy reading about Phaedra and Bastien’s story as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it.

Until next time, dear reader!

Geri

Thank you, my precious family, for giving me the time—and the freedom—to continue my craft.

This novel is dedicated to my wonderful, supportive family. For my husband Robert, who provides the technical expertise for his ever-changing inspection industry. For my daughter RáVen, who has given me the great privilege of watching her blossom with confidence as she juggles church, career and her continuing education. And for my son William, whose quick wit and dry humor keeps me laughing even in the most stressful situations.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

Chapter 1

T he company van rolled by him. Yet Bastien Thibeadaux hardly recognized it. When his cousin Remy took it out of the garage yesterday, it looked nothing like it was looking now.

Remy, what in the world have you done now?

All Remy had to do was take the van out for a simple detailing job to prep it for a magazine ad photo shoot they’d scheduled. Wash and wax. Vacuum out the inside. Maybe touch up the plain white paint and the black stenciled letters bearing the company name and logo—CT Inspectorate. A simple job. Two hours tops. Now, nearly a day later, Remy was just getting back to the office. Just in time for quitting time. Typical Remy.

For maximum effect, Remy coasted by as if to make certain all eyes were on him. Bastien couldn’t actually see his cousin behind the smoky, reflective tinted windows, but he could imagine Remy’s I’m all that expression. Bastien caught his own scowling reflection in the window as Remy passed by him. He felt the vibrating thrum of the van’s radio cranked high through the thick soles of his work boots as he stood out in the parking lot along with some of his employees. He simmered as Remy tried to maneuver the van into its parking spot. Hard to make those tight turns, Bastien observed, now that Remy had replaced the standard rims and tires with custom chrome rims and high-profile tires.

“Are those twenty-twos?” Alonzo Benavidez, Bastien’s first shift crew chief, slid his sunglasses down onto the tip of his nose and peered over the edge in admiration of Remy’s new chrome hubcaps. “Dang! That boy’s rolling large.”

“Those aren’t twenty-twos. Those are thirty-inch rims…Giovannas,” Jayden Jeffers, Bastien’s summer hire corrected.

“How would you know that?” Bastien asked. He knew the boy was all about cars. His locker was jam-packed with trade magazines.

“I saw my brother searching on a rims Web site. My brother’s been saving up for three months for a set to put on his Hummer H2.”

“Here, let me get that for you.” Melvin Weldon, the oldest employee on Bastien’s crew, peeled his sweat-drenched bandanna off his head and made a motion as if to wipe the drool from Jayden’s mouth.

Jayden jerked his head back, distracted from Remy’s grand entrance by the sour smell of Melvin’s sweat band. “Man, get that funky rag out of my face.” He turned back when Remy revved the van’s engine and stomped on the brakes to make the van surge forward several times.

“Look at this fool here,” Bastien muttered.

He immediately regretted that he’d said that out loud. He should have kept his mouth shut. Remy wasn’t only his cousin. Like it or not, he was also his boss. And it just wasn’t cool to talk about your boss in front of the other employees.

Alonzo, Melvin and Jayden had all gathered in the parking lot to firm up plans for hooking up later. Once a month Bastien took his team away so they could talk openly, honestly—sometimes brutally honest—about what was going on around CT Inspectorate. Just as Remy pulled up, they’d decided to meet up at Solly’s Fast Lanz bowling alley and come up with solutions to their problems over a couple games and appetizers.

Bastien lifted his hand to call Remy over to them, but Remy ignored him and remained seated in the van with his eyes trained forward. One arm was draped across the steering wheel that he drummed while his head bobbed to the music. Remy looked over at Bastien’s crew, acknowledging them with a lift of his chin and an implied “what’s up?”

Bastien turned back to the group. “You guys go on ahead. I’ll meet up with you at Solly’s as soon as I finish up with Remy.”

“You sure you don’t want us to wait for you, boss? Maybe Remy will give us a ride to the bowling alley?” Jayden suggested.

Alonzo made a rude sound of dismissal. “You volunteering to ride in the company van? You were never that hot on riding in the van before.”

“I think maybe Jayden is hoping that showing up at Fast Lanz in that will get him some action from the ladies,” Melvin added. It was Monday night. Ladies’ league night at Solly’s.

“Nobody’s riding in that clown car,” Bastien said in disgust, gesturing at the newly applied vinyl decals. Trendy or not, Bastien thought the new decals were a hot mess. The tackiest custom detail job he’d ever seen. Orange flames shooting out of what was supposed to be a greenish-gray navy destroyer slicing through a swaying ocean of psychedelic purple wheat. A navy destroyer instead of a cargo vessel. What in the world was that supposed to convey in the magazine ad? That CT Inspectorate blew up its products and was color blind?

When Remy didn’t get out right away, Bastien strode over to the van, planted his hands on the door and leaned in.

“Remy,” he ground out his greeting through clenched teeth.

“I already know what you’re going to say.” Remy cut him off.

“No, I don’t think you do. What is this supposed to be?”

“What? You don’t like it?” Remy lifted an eyebrow in genuine surprise.

“Are you kidding me?”

“What are you so pissed off about?”

“Because G-Paw told me to prep the van for the magazine ad. Not pimp it.”

Bastien wasn’t looking forward to confessing to the owner of the company that he’d blown their entire advertising budget for the year with Remy’s stunt. One magazine ad. That’s all they were getting because of the money he must have put down for this. No more sixty-second television spots that Bastien had already lined up with a local basketball fan favorite to be their pitchman. No more traveling for trade shows where Bastien could get out and press the flesh of potential contracts. And they could forget sponsoring the local high school sports teams. Bastien would just have to call the athletic director and tell her that Inspectorate couldn’t do it this year.

In his mind’s eye, Bastien watched in frustration as the future growth of his division dried up and blew away on the wind like ashes from deliberately torched grain fields. All scorched by the withering glare of Charles Harrison Thibeadaux—the power behind CT Inspectorate. Everyone in the family called him G-Paw. Grandpa. In a normal family, that would have been a term of endearment. Nothing normal about his family, Bastien would be the first to admit. And nothing normal about the way that old man treated them either. The G might as well have stood for godforsaken. G-Paw was a tough old man—spawned, suckled and saved by Satan himself. G-Paw didn’t have much love for his family. It was all poured into his grain inspection business. He knew how to handle his business and had not a whit of patience for those working with him who didn’t have the same level of good business sense. A sentiment that he shared and pushed Remy, the number two man in the company, to enforce.

Too bad Remy didn’t understand the spirit of what G-Paw was trying to do, Bastien commiserated.

Remy reminded Bastien of his perceived incompetence every day for the four years since Bastien transferred here from their Louisiana office. From the time he walked through the doors in the morning until the time Bastien clocked out, Remy was on his back. As far as Remy was concerned, Bastien was there at his indulgence, and either he would shape up to be a good little company man or he could ship out. Literally. Ship out with the next load of company-inspected grain heading for China, South America, Italy or any of the other international ports with which they did business.

“I told you that I’d take care of it.” Remy’s insistence brought Bastien out of his mental downward spiral of dejection.

“Take care of it, huh? You want to tell me how you got all of this accomplished on the shoestring budget I’ve been given.”

“Don’t you worry about it. I handled it.”

“Remy,” Bastien repeated.

“I said I handled it, okay? Now back up, Bastien!”

Bastien yanked on the door handle of the van, flinging it open, thinking that he was going to grab Remy by the scruff of his neck, toss him in the back of the van and beat the smug look off his face. “Get out of there, Remy,” he ordered.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Remy bristled.

Bastien modulated his tone. “Give me the keys. I’ll put the van back into the garage.”

Bastien thought if he could just get this monstrosity out of sight before anyone else saw it, he still might have time to clean up Remy’s mess. Maybe he could call in a favor from a friend of his who owned a dealership. Borrow a similar looking van, rush to an overnight print shop and get a banner made with the company name and logo. Whatever he did, it would have to be fast and cheap.

“What for?”

So I can see what I can do to fix this hot, steaming mess you dropped in my lap, Bastien wanted to say. “Because it’s going to rain,” Bastien said reasonably. “You don’t want your new detail job to be ruined by the rain, do you? Give me the keys and let me handle this.”

He kept his voice low and looked back over his shoulder. His crew hadn’t gone yet. They weren’t exactly eavesdropping but they weren’t making any moves to disperse, either. When Bastien looked back at them, Melvin shoved his hands in his coverall pockets and bent his head to examine his shoes, Jayden pretended to be scraping dirt from his fingernails with his pocketknife, and Alonzo suddenly seemed to be more interested in the clouds sailing overhead than in the brewing confrontation between Remy and Bastien.

“You don’t have to handle anything,” Remy said, stepping out of the van. He slapped at his chest with his open palm. “I told you. I’ve got this. The only thing you need to do is get me that work rotation schedule.”

Bastien blinked, caught off guard by Remy’s request. Bastien knew by Remy’s tone that it wasn’t a request. He was serious.

“The rotation schedule?”

“The new rotation schedule for the month. I need it on my desk before you leave tonight.”

“It’s due Fridays,” Bastien reminded him. “By close of business.” Bastien never failed to provide the shift schedule to Remy on time. It had been due every Friday since before he started working at CT Inspectorate. Why was Remy sweating him now for it?

“I’ll be too busy to review it Friday. I need it now, Bastien, before you leave.”

Bastien considered telling Remy what he could do with that rotation schedule. It was only Monday. Remy didn’t need it now.

“Fine,” Bastien conceded. “You’ll have it on your desk when you get into the office in the morning.”

“I don’t think you heard me,” Remy said. “I want it tonight. And I want it done right.” Remy paused, giving Bastien a humorless smile by forcing up the corners of his mouth. “Whatcha eyeballing me for, cuz? It’s not my fault we’re a couple men short and have to jump through hoops to make up for lost time. Your screwup. You fix it.”

Bastien couldn’t argue with that. One of the reasons he was taking his crew off-site was to discuss a rash of accidents that had put one of his employees in the hospital, another on administrative leave. But he didn’t need Remy throwing that fact in his face. Bastien was all too aware of the problems his workers had.

“Fine,” Bastien repeated, turning his back on Remy. He called out to the group, still waiting for him, and waved them on.

“You boys go on and get the party started without me,” he said. “I won’t be long.” He hustled inside and wondered if all his extra efforts could truly turn his accident-plagued division around.

Chapter 2

B y the time Bastien pulled into the parking lot at the Fast Lanz bowling alley four hours later than he’d planned, it was almost closing time. The parking lot was close to empty with a scattering of vehicles that he didn’t recognize. None of the cars that remained belonged to his employees. So he pulled into a spot near the side entrance, waving at Solly’s son Samuel, who was hauling trash out to the Dumpster.

“They’re all gone, Mr. T,” Samuel said in greeting as he struggled to lift the heavy plastic lid on the huge, industrial Dumpster and toss in two overstuffed garbage bags.

“I figured that,” Bastien said, grabbing a couple bags himself and flinging them into the bin. One by one, as each of his employees had left the bowling alley, they’d called while he was still in his office finishing Remy’s schedule or left messages on his cell phone.

“Dad is still inside,” Samuel said, pointing with his thumb back over his shoulder.

Bastien went inside and found his friend sitting at one of the tables across from the snack bar.

Solomon Greenwood looked up and pulled out a chair.

“You’re late,” he said in greeting. “The others waited as long as they could then had to cut out.”

Bastien flopped down in a chair, a sudden weariness dragging his shoulders in a slump. “I know. I saw Samuel outside and he told me.” Bastien paused and asked, “What did he do that you’ve got him on trash detail?”

Samuel was only five feet tall, small for a fifteen year old. He suffered from asthma and looked as though one of those trash bags would crush him if they fell on him. Solly usually kept him on light cleanup detail: straightening the shoe rack, wiping down the lane keypads with disinfectant wipes, restocking the restrooms.

“Sammy brought home a D in algebra,” Solly growled. “Got his head twisted around by some little gal in his English class so he’s lost his focus.”

“Give him a break, Solly. Samuel’s a good kid.”

“And he needs good grades to get into a good college. I ain’t playin’ with that boy, Bastien. He’s got two weeks to bring that D up or I swear I’m gonna kill him.”

“You’re not gonna hurt your only son,” Bastien contradicted. He rose from his seat, walked around to the snack bar and started to help himself to whatever wasn’t put away. He made himself a heaping tray of corn chips and drowned it with two ladles of melted cheese and chili sauce.

He pulled a bottled soda out of the cooler for himself and a beer for Solly, then rejoined him at the table.

“You missed out,” Solly told Bastien. “Without you at the table tonight, it was all ragging and no resolutions. What are you going to do about the gripe this month?” Solly initiated the conversation. “The crew said no raises this year. Salaries are frozen. Is that right?”

“Not much I can do, now. My budget’s busted. You know what that fool Remy did?”

Solly threw back his head, laughing so loud that it echoed through the entire bowling alley. “Yeah, I heard. You should have been here to hear Jayden scheming about how he was gonna take the keys from Remy. Remy had better watch his back. That young blood’s got some creative ideas for jacking your cousin for that van.”

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” Bastien was not amused. “Thanks to Remy, my advertising budget is gone. No advertising, no new customers. No new customers, no contracts. No contracts, no bonus payouts.”

“Yeah, I understand. Though I can’t complain myself. This economy’s kicking our tails, but my business is up fifteen percent.” He shook a handful of receipts at Bastien. “Will you look at this? You know what they’re calling staying close to home to have fun? Staycations! This is the best month I’ve had all year, and it’s only May.”

“Glad to hear business is good for you,” Bastien said with a wry smile. “I’ve got G-Paw on my back about those lost time accidents. Folks that I hired on and I vouched for are messin’ up—got Chas to convince G-Paw to pay for their transfer and moving expenses from the Louisiana office. Now they’re all messing up! I’ve had one slip and fall. One serious cut on the hand. Sliced a nerve so that I don’t know if he’ll ever be back to work. One railcar loaded with the wrong product. I nearly lost us a major account by the time we figured that one out. And one fool nearly took a tumble off a walkway when I warned him, warned him, to keep his hands on the rails and to secure his tie line.”

“I heard them talking about it. But I didn’t know it was that bad for you, B. What have you done to take care of it?”

“Maybe you should ask what I haven’t tried! I tried talking to my crew. I’ve tried yellin’ at them and threatenin’—no promisin’—to dock their pay if they didn’t straighten themselves out. I’ve tried random drug tests to make sure they weren’t passin’ something around. I’ve tried making extra meetings to talk about safety concerns. Nothing seems to work, Solly. I can’t get those guys to follow a few simple rules. What am I supposed to do about that? If I don’t get those lost time accidents under control…”

Bastien didn’t have to finish the sentence. Solly already knew. That crusty old owner of CT Inspectorate was well into his nineties, but he could still swing a big stick. He made sure everybody around there knew it, too. He didn’t let anything come between him and his ability to make money. That included his own family.

Solly leaned forward, clasped his hands in front of him, tapping his mouth in concentration.

“What kind of a budget do you have left?”

“Not much. I’ve got to go back and crunch the numbers. It’s almost the end of the quarter. Nobody’s spending any money. Nobody but Remy that is. I’m looking for creative ways to do more with less, and Remy’s out there blowin’ it as fast as I can bring it in.”

“What’s he doing with it? Besides tricking out your van, that is?”

Bastien shrugged. “I don’t see most of the invoices for the company. But I heard through the grapevine that over half of my operations budget is being spent on entertainment. Remy’s supposedly been wining and dining potential clients. Not much left for me to work with.”

“Why does that old man let him get away with it?”

“I think the old man is slowing down. He’s sick and he’s tired. It’s either that or Remy is drugging him to keep him out of his hair.”

Solly grunted in agreement. He toyed with his beer bottle, peeling off the label in slow strips. He then set the bottle down on the table with a thump and said, “I might know somebody who could help you.”

“Who?” Bastien didn’t want to sound too hopeful. But he was running out of options and didn’t know what else to try.

“A consultant.”

“ Aw…hell, naw. I know what that means.” Bastien threw up his hands. He didn’t trust consultants. Even after all of his research and verifying business references, the last consultant he dealt with back in New Orleans cashed the hefty check he’d written then filed for bankruptcy before he could finish the job. It was a hard lesson, one that Bastien took very personally. Maybe it skewed his perspective and made him overly suspicious of consultants, but overly suspicious meant more money kept in the company’s bank account.

“You want me to throw away what little credibility I have left with the company on some pencil-pushing desk jockey who doesn’t know the first thing about my business but will charge me out the behind to pretend that they do. Uh-uh. No way, Solly. Forget it.”

“Wait a minute now, before you shoot me down. Just hear me out.”

Bastien folded his arms across his chest, leaned back in the chair and set his face into a deep scowl. “Go on.”

Solly took advantage of Bastien’s distance from the table to reach for his chili cheese chips. He shoved a few into his mouth, crunched for a few minutes and wiped his hands on his already food-stained bowling shirt. “I know this lady. She’s really sharp and classy.”

“Who is she? And what’s she got to do with the inspection business?”

“Her name’s Phaedra Burke-Carter. Her cousin is Darryl Burke-Carter. Do you remember him?”

“Something about that name sounds familiar.” Bastien snapped his fingers a couple of times, trying to remember.

“His family’s big money here in Houston. They started the Burke-Carter Foundation.”

Bastien drew his eyebrows together. His expression showed his ignorance.

“You know, the Burke-Carter foundation,” Solly insisted as if repeating the words slowly would clear up the mystery for Bastien. “One of the largest independent, charitable foundations in west Texas. A clearinghouse for all kinds of grants. Education. Medical research. Community development. Promotion of the arts. Human rights welfare. If there’s a worthy cause to be found, the Burke-Carters are champions of it.”

“Hey, I’m not from here. I’m Louisiana bayou, born and bred.”

“Don’t you pull that Louisiana-bayou-born-and-bred routine with me. You only lay on that Creole accent thick as gumbo when you want to get to the ladies. You went to Prairie View A&M here in Texas, just like I did.”

“But I finished up at LSU.”

“But you brought your tail back and got your MBA from the University of Houston. You’ve been here long enough to become a naturalized Texan.”

“Naturalized my behind. I’ll go back as soon as there’s something to go back to.”

“You ain’t goin’ anywhere,” Solly predicted with certainty. “You’ve got too much invested here.”

“All I’ve got here is trouble,” Bastien muttered.

“I told you, I think I know the lady who can get you out of it. Burke-Carters are local philanthropists,” Solly went on.

“This doesn’t seem like the right solution for me.” Bastien had heard enough and stood up as if to leave.

Solly reached out and grabbed Bastien’s forearm. “I want you to ratchet down your pride for just a minute and listen to me, Bastien. I’m trying to tell you what the Burke-Carters are all about. Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, I’m listening.”

“Now sit your yellow butt down and keep on listening. Their great-grandfather made his first million before he was twenty. Everything they put their hands on turns to gold. They pass it on through their genes and through the generations.”

“How can the Burke-Carters help me?”

“She’s a well sought after health, safety and environmental consultant. Her specialty is the oil and gas industry. Rig safety. Refineries. Stuff like that. But I think she can help you, too.”

“Is she expensive?”

“I suppose so,” Solly said honestly. “She’s in pretty high demand. She can charge a premium for her services if she wants to.”

“I don’t think Remy would authorize spending for that.”

Solly felt badly about the pressure Bastien was under. Solly knew about the sacrifices Bastien had made in his personal life. He left his lady behind in New Orleans to chase after the job that G-Paw Thibeadaux offered him. It wasn’t a topic that was open to discussion. Gabrielle wouldn’t leave her family, couldn’t pick up everything to move to Houston with him. Even if she had followed Bastien to Texas, he wouldn’t have been able to give her the attention she needed. Not with Remy setting crazy hours for him. Tough job. Crazy boss. No social life. No wonder he was stressed out.

“Find out if this Burke-Carter woman would be willing to take on a pro bono client,” Bastien suggested. “I can just see Remy blowing a gasket if I tell him that I want him to authorize spending out of my division.”

Solly reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He withdrew a business card and held it, just out of Bastien’s reach.

“Find out for yourself. I’m sure once you talk to her you’ll have a lot more questions. Questions that I won’t be able to answer for you. But don’t take it if you’re not serious, Bastien.”

“I’m not convinced that I need to talk to her at all. I don’t like spreading my business in the streets, Solly.”

“Call the woman, Bastien. She won’t spread your business around. She knows how to keep a confidence.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“How come you aren’t?”

“Why should I be? I’ve never heard of this woman before today.”

Solly pinned Bastien with a hard stare. “Phaedra went to school with us, Bastien. You sure you don’t remember her. Wound up at a couple of our frat parties. She would have been hard to miss. Big brown eyes. Thick black hair. Crazy thick. When she wore it down, it used to fly all around her head just like Diana Ross. She used to wear it in a long french braid. Five foot seven. Legs all the way up to her neck. Remember when she came to the homecoming Halloween party our senior year wearing only a leopard print bodysuit?”

“No, I don’t remember that. How’d you happen to have this Phaedra Burke-Carter’s card in your wallet?”

“I ran into her a couple weeks ago. Forgot I had the card until I listened to your boys talking tonight. So now I’m passing it on to you. You either use it or you don’t. You ready to get yourself out of trouble?”

Solly extended his arm, holding the business card between his index and middle fingers.

Bastien hesitated for a moment “Give me the damn card,” Bastien said before he snatched it out of Solly’s hand.

“Now, is that any way to act toward someone who’s planning your surprise birthday party?” Solly grinned at Bastien. He raised his beer to his lips, drained the last of it and set the bottle down on the table with a thump and a restrained belch.

Bastien ignored Solly, staring down at the business card as if a magic answer to his workplace problems would appear before him.

“Samuel told me about your surprise three weeks ago,” Bastien said. “What time am I supposed to show up and try to look surprised?”

“Party starts at six on Saturday. You show up at seven and work on your surprise face and your attitude.”

“What’s wrong with my attitude?” Bastien asked, pretending to sound offended.

“What’s right with it?” Solly countered. “Face it, Bastien. You tend to run roughshod over people when things are going too slow for you. You’re more like that G-Paw Thibeadaux than you think you are. Don’t go looking all surprised. You know it’s true. So, when you call Phaedra, just remember to keep a civil tongue in your head. Don’t you go talking crazy to her, Bastien. Remember, you need her help. She doesn’t need you.”

Bastien ran his finger along the business card’s edges, thinking about what Solly had just said.

I need her. I need her?

Those three simple words galled him. How they ate at his gut. I need her. He didn’t need anybody. He could handle his own problems. That was the CT Inspectorate motto. It was more than just a saying on a plaque. If you couldn’t live up to it, you had no business there.

His impulse was to rip the card into pieces and throw it back into Solly’s face, but Bastien didn’t do that. He kept staring at it, waiting for it to magically solve all of his workplace woes. But it was just a standard business card. Strong block with raised print letters giving the woman’s name, phone number and email, Web site and office addresses.

Plain. Simplistic. But elegant in its simplicity. The no-nonsense effect of the business card contrasted with the image Solly painted in his head of the party girl from back in the day.

“So, you gonna do it or what?” Solly asked. “You gonna call her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have your stuff together if you do. I got the impression that she’s pretty tough.”

“I can handle her,” Bastien said confidently.

“So, you think you’re going to call.”

Bastien shoved the card into his jumper pocket. “I guess it doesn’t cost anything to give the lady a call.”

Chapter 3

“T hat’ll be four seventy-nine.”

The young man standing behind the register looked to Phaedra as if he could use a dose of his own product. Bleary-eyed and slow to move, he yawned as he accepted her money and squinted at the cash register, trying to find the button that would ring up the coffee purchase.

“Iced mocha. Iced…iced…iced…mocha latte. Iced mocha…” he repeated the order as if he were trying not to let himself forget.

“On the left.”

When the clerk failed to locate the proper register key, Phaedra looked up from the PDA that she was scanning to review her next appointment and raised an eyebrow at him. She didn’t have to say a word. The lift of her eyebrow told him everything. It spoke of impatience and intolerance with the lack of service that she’d gotten. Where was Dana, the usual morning clerk? Phaedra wondered. Dana knew what Phaedra liked without her even having to order. That’s what Phaedra liked about coming here. The usual impeccable service.

“The left?” he echoed, shifting his entire body to the right as if the wires in his brain were misfiring.

“Third row from the bottom, second button from the left.” Speaking in distinct, one-or-two syllable words, she enunciated clearly to make certain that he understood her.

“Oh. Riiiiggghhhttt… Now, I see it.”

“Glad to hear it.” She scooped up the extra large iced mocha latte.

“Hey, you must come here a lot,” he remarked, indicating how well she seemed to know her way around the cash register.

“No,” she added, and then muttered under her breath as she turned away. “Not anymore I won’t.”

Phaedra raised the white-lidded cup to her lips. She scanned the shop for a quiet place to sit. It was still early in the day. Not yet nine o’clock in the morning. Yet almost every couch, every booth, every table was occupied. She finally found one over in a corner near the window. Phaedra sat down in the deep cushioned club chair, set the coffee cup on the table beside her and opened her newspaper to the business section. It took her a moment to focus her thoughts as she lamented the early days of her favorite coffee shop’s grand opening.

When the shop had opened a few months ago, she could usually count on a good hour or two of quiet contemplation before the shop filled up. She could take her purchases, browse through the newspaper or read through her notes in undisturbed silence. And everyone who’d come through that door was content to take their purchases, grab a seat and wrap themselves in their own solitude. They didn’t bother her, and she didn’t bother them. If anyone did get the idea that they could hit on her while she worked, a glare as scalding as the cappuccino machine steam was all it took to make them back off. This coffee shop was her second office, and she treated it with all the proper decorum it deserved. She’d even brought a client or two here and formed partnerships over cappuccino.

Phaedra checked her watch. Nearly an hour before her next appointment. Plenty of time to enjoy her coffee. Maybe she would send out a few e-mails. Surf the Internet looking for her next potential job before—

Phaedra’s cell phone, set to vibrate, rattled in her purse.

So much for a quiet cup of coffee.

She checked the caller ID, slipped a Bluetooth wireless earpiece over her ear and spoke softly to keep her conversation as private as possible in the crowded coffeehouse.

“Hello. Phaedra Burke-Carter speaking.”

“Ms. Burke-Carter?”

“Yes. Speaking,” she repeated and pressed the earpiece closer to her ear. “Can you speak a little louder? I’m having trouble hearing you.”

“Hold on a minute.” A few seconds of muffled noise followed by the sound of a slamming door, but not before a disgruntled shout echoed in her ear. “Knock it off out there, will you! Can’t you see that I’m on the phone?”

Wincing, Phaedra pulled the earpiece away. But then the voice came back again. Clearer this time. A man speaking with the slightest hint of a dialect that she couldn’t quite place. Definitely Southern. A low, deep drawl, rich in timbre.

“Ms. Burke-Carter, my name’s Bastien Thibeadaux.”

Bastien Thibeadaux, she mentally repeated the name. Now the accent made sense to her. Definitely Southern. Mississippi. Georgia. With a name like Thibeadaux, most likely Louisiana.

Bastien Thibeadaux.

How did she know that name? From where? She closed her eyes, part of her listening to his end of the conversation that continued. The other part of her rooted through her memory, trying to dredge up a face with a name. Phaedra was usually pretty good at making and keeping connections like that. The face didn’t immediately come to mind, so she stopped trying to remember and focused more on the caller. It would eventually come to her.

“I got your business card from a mutual friend from college. Solomon Greenwood.”

“Solly! I just saw Solly a few weeks ago. How’s he doing?”

Even though they both lived in Houston, it had been years since she’d seen Solly. Two weeks ago she’d run into him and his son at a sushi restaurant downtown. She was on her way to another appointment and didn’t have time to talk. They’d exchanged information with the promise that they’d catch up on old times.

“He’s doing fine. I’ll tell him that you asked about him.”

“How can I help you, Mr. Thibeadaux?”

“Ms. Burke-Carter, I’m not convinced you can. You’re going to have to do some fast talking to sell me on your services.”

The reply was frank to the point of bluntness. Phaedra didn’t let it get to her. She was used to getting that tone. It was the kind of attitude she always received from men who were forced to seek the professional advice of a female. Maybe she was generalizing. All of her meetings didn’t start off this way. Enough of them did, though. She knew what to do to keep the potential client talking, keep the conversation polite, but professional. The moment it strayed too far in a disrespectful direction, she was going to hang up. That’s the way Phaedra maintained control.

“You called me. You must have some reason why, Mr. Thibeadaux.”

“Because Solly told me to.”

“I see.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” he went on in a condescending tone.

“Then, if you can’t make me understand why you called within the next fifteen seconds, I’m going to end this conversation. I have a very full schedule, Mr. Thibeadaux.”

“What? You gonna hang up on me, now? Let me guess. In your rule book, time is money? I think maybe you wanna make time for me, cher. ”

That southern dialect came out thick and strong then with his casual use of a term of endearment. Cher. Dear one. With it, he resurrected in Phaedra long-buried vestiges of a memory. Less than vestiges. Flashes. A jumbled mix of chaotic impressions. Images, though disjointed and out of sequence, that told Phaedra a story that she’d deliberately made herself forget.

Oh no!

Phaedra breathed the words so softly that she was certain no one could hear her. But anyone in the coffee shop watching her would see her distress. She picked up her newspaper and held it in front of her face while she composed herself.

Bastien Thibeadaux’s voice took her back almost fifteen years. Like special effects from a science fiction show, she found herself no longer in the coffee shop but in a darkened room. A single light shone over in a far corner, casting shadows on the motions of a skinny young man in a baseball cap, tag still dangling from it, shifting back and forth between tables set up around him in a makeshift DJ’s booth. He lifted old-school vinyl albums, inspecting yellow, white and red labels and making selections to keep the mood of the house party going.

As Phaedra sat shaking with a sudden anxiety attack at the coffee shop, her back stiffened in an instantaneous reflex as she remembered the feel of a solid wall against it and the rumble of bass turned up, squeaking treble turned low. The wall thrummed, vibrated up and down her spine, her bottom and her thighs. Wasn’t too much separating the wall and her skin. A thin layer of leopard print spandex and nothing else. No bra. No panties. Just the leopard print catsuit, a headband with leopard ears and a mask covering her eyes and cheekbones.

Her back had been against the wall, but she hadn’t planned to be a wallflower. Not that night.

Junior year. Combination homecoming and Halloween party on The Hill, a familiar name for her alma mater Prairie View A&M University. Enough booze and bodies to make her want to forget that she was at a party she shouldn’t have gone to. Her back was against the wall, in the shadows, because Phaedra didn’t want anyone else to see how she’d allowed—even encouraged—one or two or maybe three of the frat brothers who were throwing that party to approach her. She was playing all of them at the same time, using her anonymity and their arousal to her advantage.

She remembered that voice now. That soft, sexy voice that was finally able to convince her to move from the shadows. That voice. How could she have forgotten it? Southern and slowed from one too many whiskey shots. Half the night, she’d watched with horrified fascination and counted each one as he’d tossed the shot glasses back, draining each of the amber liquid. Party crowd chanting. Egging on. Applause. Cheers. And jeers when he got up from the table victorious, last man standing, and looking for someone to share in the celebration.

The glow of luminous hazel eyes, more green than brown, scanned the room, finally landing on her. Her of all people! Quiet, studious, oh-so-serious Phaedra Burke-Carter determined to be freed from her chrysalis and the voice, his voice, that offered her the key to that freedom. The voice that promised to take her to paradise if she consented to ditch the party and go with him to one of the rooms upstairs. Of all the young men who’d approached her that night, he was the only one who’d gotten close enough to make her consider his offer.

What was it about him? All swagger and confidence. Hardness, heat and hormones. He wasn’t the typical Texas boy that she’d known. Something set him apart. Something about him that night caught and held her attention. The moment she’d laid eyes on him, something about him said, “That’s the one.”

Was this the same person? Phaedra was torn between wanting and not wanting to know for certain. Was this that Louisiana boy from her college days? Maybe it wasn’t. He wasn’t calling himself Bastien then, but some stupid football inspired nickname. And his friends were all calling him by an initial. B? T? She wasn’t sure. Maybe she wasn’t remembering correctly. He certainly didn’t seem to remember her. Small wonder. It was fifteen years ago. Why would he remember her? It was only one party. She wasn’t even giving her real name to any of those guys at the party, either. Or her right phone number. It was all a game back then. Play the boys before you got played.

Phaedra snapped back from her reverie to respond to Bastien Thibeadaux’s question. Enough traipsing down memory lane; this was business. A potential client.

She set the newspaper aside, folding it carefully in half and placing it on the table next to her coffee.

“Time is money. Not necessarily. In my book, time isn’t money. But my time is precious. So, tell me what you need from me, Mr. Thibeadaux, or cut the conversation short.”

“Solly tells me that you get paid to keep people safe.”

“That’s a simplistic way of putting what I do. The same can be said for bodyguards, Mr. Thibeadaux. I’m not in the body-guarding business, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Workplace safety,” he clarified. “I’ve got some trouble at work. Some…let’s say…behaviors…that I want to nip in the bud before somebody gets hurt. Really hurt. You know what I mean?” He paused.

“And…” she encouraged.

“And Solly seems to think you can help me solve them. Can you?”

“I have to be honest with you, Mr. Thibeadaux, I don’t know. I need to…” She couldn’t make an assessment without knowing more details about his situation, but he didn’t give her the chance to finish her sentence.

“Then what am I doing wasting your time and mine?” he snapped.

“I didn’t call you. You called me. I’m not in the habit of wasting time. So why don’t I hang up and save us both continued irritation?”

Phaedra noted the considerable pause. She listened carefully but could only hear his breathing. Rapid and shallow at first, then slowing as he clamped down on his anger. When he spoke again, it was with a more conciliatory tone.

“I think maybe, Ms. Burke-Carter, we got off to a shaky start.”

“I agree. Shall we start again?”

“When can you come out to discuss my particular problem?”

“This week?” She consulted her PDA, calling up the calendar. “How does Thursday suit you, Mr. Thibeadaux? Thursday at two o’clock.”

“I guess it’ll have to do.” He didn’t sound pleased that she couldn’t immediately accommodate him.

“Your address, please. And a number where I can best reach you.” Phaedra tapped the stylus against the PDA screen, keeping up with the information that he rattled off.

“CT Inspectorate,” she repeated back to him the name of the company and the address. “What type of inspection company do you work for, Mr. Thibeadaux?”

“Grain, primarily. Wheat. Sorghum. Rice. Why? Does it make a difference?”

“I can’t tailor a solution for you if I don’t know what you do, can I, now? I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“One more thing, Ms. Burke-Carter.”

“Yes?”

“How much is this going to cost me?”

“I’m not ready to discuss figures with you, Mr. Thibeadaux. Not until I’ve had a chance to assess your situation.”

“Give me a ballpark.”

“Not even a ballpark.”

“An hourly rate?”

“It varies.”

She heard him give a sigh of irritation at her stonewalling tactics, but Phaedra knew better than to toss out a number that would either lock her into a rate she could accept or would scare him off if he figured it was too high. “You know, Ms. Burke-Carter, Solly told me that you can be a bit difficult when you want to be.”

“Mr. Thibeadaux,” Phaedra said crisply, clamping down on her words. “Is there something that you need to tell me? Something before we meet on Thursday?”

“What do you mean?”

“For someone who claims to need my help, you don’t seem very accommodating.”

“You mean willing to fall over and let you shove your hand into my wallet? That’s what you consultants do, isn’t it? Rattle off some crap trying to convince your clients that you’re needed. Then inflate the hours on the invoice to charge ridiculous fees. Or skip out before finishing the work?”

“I have no intention of putting my hand anywhere near your wallet,” she assured him. “That’s what electronic transfers are for.”

Here we go again, Phaedra thought to herself. Another one who didn’t trust her profession.

“How about making my first consult free for old time’s sake? PV alum-to-alum,” he eased the question by her smoothly. He was trying to get by with something for nothing. Well, her services didn’t come cheap. There was true value to what she did.

“What value do you put on the safety of your employees, Mr. Thibeadaux?” Phaedra responded to his question with one of her own.

“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for them if it’ll keep them from getting hurt or killed.”

“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Thibeadaux. Because Solly suggested that you speak with me, for old time’s sake, my first consult will be free. It won’t cost you anything for me to listen. So, let’s meet. I’ll listen to you. You listen to me. And if I can’t convince you that I can help, then we’ll go our separate ways.”

“Then, I’ll see you Thursday at two o’clock. Anything I need to do to prepare for the meeting?”

“Yes, I need you to gather all of your employee incident reports for the last two years. Especially those related to accidents and those involving lost work time.”

“I’ve got copies of most of them sitting on my desk.”

“An excellent start. And I need access to your documented policies and procedures.”

“Most of that information is passed on through on-the-job training, Ms. Burke-Carter. Some of my employees can barely speak English. Others might have finished high school. It’s extremely physical, repetitive work. Nobody’s got time to plow through a bunch of dusty books that are out of date the minute you print them. But I’ll gather what I have.”

“I can assess how effective your procedures are when I see you on Thursday.”

“You’re not going to take our company secrets and sell them to your other clients, are you?”

“I’ll sign whatever nondisclosure agreements or confidentiality contracts you have.”

“Don’t you worry your head about signing NDAs,” he said smoothly. “We may be a Southern, family-run business. But some of the old ways still work for us, Ms. Burke-Carter. Like that quaint, turn of the century practice of sealing a business deal on the trust of a handshake. Keep your NDA. I’ve learned from personal experience that they’re not worth the paper they’re printed on.”

“You don’t trust consultants, do you?” It wasn’t really a question. Phaedra was only letting him know that she recognized his hostility but was still willing to deal with him.

“And it only took you fifteen minutes to figure that out. I’m already impressed with your expertise,” he retorted, then hung up on Phaedra before she could beat him to it.

“You should be,” Phaedra muttered to the dead phone line hum that echoed in her ear.

Chapter 4

B astien hung up the phone with mixed feelings. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d reached for the phone, started to call Phaedra Burke-Carter and then hung up again before it could ring. It was worse than being in grade school, trying to make that first phone call to his first preteen crush.

It wasn’t that he doubted Phaedra’s abilities. Solly had recommended her, and Solly wouldn’t do it unless he thought she could help. When he’d left the bowling alley Monday night, he’d stayed up until four o’clock in the morning researching her. By the time he made himself call her, he was already fighting a stress headache. Knowing that he had a full day at work before him didn’t put him in the best of moods, and he knew that bad attitude came across on the phone. Bastien had contacted her impressive list of clients. They gave her excellent references. Enough to convince him to go ahead and call her.

What Bastien doubted was his ability to convince Remy that the company needed to spend the money to bring her on board. In Remy’s eyes, bringing on an outside consultant meant that somebody inside of CT Inspectorate wasn’t doing their job. And that somebody had better get their act together quickly, or that somebody would soon be out of a job. Bastien didn’t have to read between the lines. Remy made it clear. Bastien was the one who was at risk.

Holding Phaedra’s card between his fingertips, Bastien gently, distractedly tapped the card against the page in the yearbook that held her picture. She’d been a junior then. According to Solly, she’d attended the same parties that he went to. Still, he didn’t remember her, and it frustrated him that he couldn’t. Solly teased him and told him that was one of the effects of getting old, and for his birthday he would buy him a case of ginkgo biloba to help with his memory. In response to Solly’s “getting old” cracks, Bastien made Solly’s son cover his ears while he told his friend what he could do with that case of herbs.

Bastien compared Phaedra’s school photograph with the one posted on the Web site for her consultancy firm. The years had certainly been kind to her. More than kind. Generous. The girl in the college annual was just that, a girl. A girl trying to look more mature than her nineteen years. Her thick, dark, curly hair was teased for volume and ballooned around her head. Large dark eyes were hidden behind wide-rimmed glasses. The blouse she wore was bright pink with an obnoxiously frilly bow that fell in ribbons down the front with bright pink lipstick to match and large plastic hoop earrings.

The woman on the Web site was considerably more polished. Sophisticated. She wore her hair sleeker now. A long bang swept across her forehead from left to right and the rest was smoothed into a french roll. She still wore glasses, but they were modern and accented her eyes, rather than dwarfing them. Her dark eyes stared out cool and assured, giving the impression of confidence and competence.

“Is it safe to come in now?”

Bastien’s cousin Chas swung the door open and stepped through before Bastien gave him permission. Chas didn’t really need permission. As the company’s chief finance officer, he could come and go as he pleased. But Chas didn’t operate that way. Not like Remy, Bastien thought sourly, who used every opportunity to remind everyone of his position. He wore his title like some kind of cape, smothering the employees with it when he thought they weren’t giving him the proper respect.

As Chas came in, Bastien quickly closed the college annual and slid it into a desk drawer. If Chas noticed his hastiness, he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he flopped into the chair facing him.

“Alonzo tells me that you’ve been holed up in your office all morning.”

“Alonzo needs to stop worrying about where I’ve been and worry about his own business,” Bastien said testily.

“Everything all right?” Chas asked. Bastien was edgy and not doing a very good job of covering it.

“Sure…everything’s fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Chas wasn’t convinced.

“I’m just under a little pressure right now, Chas.”

“When are we not under pressure in this place?” Chas commiserated. “But you can’t let it get to you, Bastien. You can’t let it mess with your health. It’s just a job.”

“How can you say that, Chas?” Bastien asked, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. It occurred to him last night while he was working on the work rotation schedule for Remy that, even though they were a couple employees short, he was still getting pressure to reduce costs. The most expedient way, according to Remy’s plan, was to let someone go. That someone might be him. Bastien couldn’t afford to let anyone think that he didn’t value working here. He was on a mission to carve out a piece of ownership of this company for himself, just like Chas. Just like Remy.

“Because it’s true,” Chas said. He planted his palms down on Bastien’s desk, leaned forward and said, “The minute G-Paw and Remy make you start thinking that there’s nothing else outside of this company, that you’ve got no life outside the one they make for you, then they’ve got you, Bastien. You hear what I’m telling you? You have to protect your health. Physical. Mental. Emotional.” He ticked off on three fingers as he spoke. “This place can suck the life right out of you if you’re not careful.”

“Is that why you took a sabbatical and let Remy take over this company?”

Chas was in his early forties, premature gray sprinkled through his dark hair.

As much as Bastien admired Chas, he didn’t completely get him. “You had this company, Chas. You had it in the palm of your hand. But now Remy’s in line to run it. “

Chas shrugged his shoulders, like it was no big deal to him.

“Remy working your last nerve?” He laughed softly when Bastien muttered an unkind assessment of his cousin’s abilities.

“I can’t believe you let go of something you’ve worked over half of your adult years to get. I know you busted your ass to get where you are, Chas. You had to put up with a lot of crap from G-Paw and Remy to do it. And now you’re just hanging back and letting Remy take it all?”

“I let go to get something I wanted more,” Chas admitted. He opened one fist, imitating releasing the company and closed the other fist, pressing it to his chest over his heart.

“Jacie,” Bastien said, knowing exactly what he meant by that pantomime. Jacie was Chas’s wife. But that simple word didn’t come close to describing all that she was to him. Chas never actually used the words soul mate, but he didn’t have to. Anyone who ever saw them together could easily recognize the depth of feeling he had for her.

“When I met her, everything changed, including my priorities. I met her, hired her then married her. A year later, we started having kids. Next thing I knew, being up here twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week wasn’t all that important to me anymore.”

Bastien was almost envious of the spring in Chas’s step as he and Jacie, the office manager, walked out hand in hand at the end of each day. Like two teenagers who couldn’t get enough of each other, they left the cares of CT Inspectorate behind them while Bastien remained behind to be the good company man that Chas used to be.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Chas tried to clear up a wrong impression. “I love the work. I can even tolerate making money.”

“Tolerate? Who are you trying to fool? The Thibeadaux family wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves if we couldn’t make money.”

“Now you’re sounding like G-Paw,” Chas accused him.

“He raised you. He must have beaten that into your thick skull, too.”

“I’m not saying that he didn’t. Just don’t lose perspective. Don’t let the job make you miserable. When it gets to be like that, it’s not a job anymore. It’s a prison.”

“Yeah? Well, thanks for the advice, cousain. ”

“I know what you’re thinking. Only worth two cents. I’m willing to back up my words with action. If you need anything from me, anything at all to make sure you get what you need, you know Jacie and me have got your back.”

“I appreciate the offer. But you’ve got enough on your plate. Let me handle my business. You don’t need to babysit me.”

Chas got up to pour himself a cup of coffee from the six-cup brewer that Bastien kept in his office.

“Texas. Louisiana. Oklahoma. Those are your territories, Bastien. You run it the way you want and don’t take no lip from that old man or from Remy. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how he’s been ridin’ you, too.”

“It’s no secret that my division has had some screwups up in here lately. Everybody thinks that I’m not cutting it.”

“Don’t get down on yourself, Bastien. Nobody who knows you thinks that. Those accidents weren’t your fault.”

“Maybe not my fault but my responsibility. Four accidents in four months. Come on now, Chas. How can I justify that? I’m not liking those numbers and neither is G-Paw.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Chas issued a challenge.

“I’m thinking about bringing in a consultant.”

Chas made a face at Bastien’s response, then tried to play it off as if he were dissatisfied with the coffee. “What kind of consultant?”

“Health, safety and environmental. Solly Greenwood recommended her.”

“Her?” There was genuine intrigue in Chas’s question.

“Yeah, her,” Bastien said, emphasizing her gender. “Her name’s Phaedra Burke-Carter.”

“Of the Houston Burke-Carters?”

“You know them?”

“I know them. They’re a very powerful family.”

“Worth the money?” That’s what it all boiled down to for Bastien.

“Depends on who you ask. One thing I can say for certain, if you’re dealing with a Burke-Carter, you’d better bring your A game. When it comes to making their money, just like G-Paw, those people don’t play. They’re dead serious about making sure that their name stays spotless. If you’re going to work with her, be up front about what you expect and get everything in writing. That’ll protect you both.”

“I already told her that she didn’t have to sign a nondisclosure agreement,” Bastien confessed.

“Oooh, rookie mistake.” Chas laughed at him. He didn’t seem too concerned that Bastien had already disregarded his first bit of advice. “There’s still time to correct that. When’s your first meeting with her?”

“I set up a consult for this Thursday.”

“That soon? You don’t waste time.”

“I don’t have time to sit around and wait for Remy to fire me because I can’t get the work done.”

“Nobody’s going to fire you, Bastien,” Chas assured him.

“Okay, then. Replace me. Or demote me. I’m not gonna let that happen, either.”

“What makes you think she can help you?”

“She’s got credentials coming out of her ears. Her client list reads like a roll call for the Fortune 500.”

“She sounds expensive. You’ve got the budget to bring in outside expertise?”

“You mean after Remy blew it on detailing the van? Nope. So, I had to get creative. The first consult is free.”

“How’d you manage that? You ain’t that smooth of a talker. How did you manage to get on her schedule?”

“Turns out we went to school together. Here, take a look.”

Bastien pulled the college annual from the drawer and flipped to the page that he’d marked with Phaedra’s business card.

“Hmm…interesting,” Chas said, barely managing to keep his expression neutral.

“That’s not the way she looks today,” Bastien said. He swung the computer monitor around and pulled up her Web site.

This time, Chas gave a low whistle of admiration under his breath.

“Hey, cut that out! You’re a married man!”

“Blissfully married,” Chas affirmed. “But I ain’t blind! And I know you aren’t either. Don’t let that business suit fool you, Bastien,” he said, tapping the monitor. “That woman’s got it going on. I’ll bet she knows it, too, and can use it to her advantage. Don’t let her distract you from taking care of your business, Bastien. A woman like that can twist a man’s head clean around.”

“Do I look like I have time for that, Chas?” Bastien made a sweeping gesture, pointing to the stacks of paperwork on this desk.

Again, Chas laughed at him, pricking Bastien’s pride.

“I don’t see what’s so damn funny.”

Chas then rubbed his hands over his eyes and his mouth, pretending to wipe the grin away.

“Let me ask you something, Bastien. And don’t get offended. I’m not trying to get in your business.”

“What is it? What do you want to know?”

“When’s the last time you went out?”

“What do you mean out? You mean like on a date? With a woman?”

“No, with a wombat. Of course I mean with a woman. And I don’t mean hanging out at Fast Lanz bowling alley with Solly and your crew. I mean when’s the last time you got all cleaned up, dressed to impress and took a woman out to a romantic movie? A late night dinner? A concert?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Just humor me, Bastien. You’ve been puttin’ in a lot of hours up here. When’s the last time you got yourself a little, you know, sumthin’-sumthin’.”

“Is there a point to this conversation?”

“The point is that I’ve been in your shoes. One hundred percent company man, through and through. Any spare moment not spent up here at the company was spent thinking about the company. Before I met Jacie, that is. Let me tell you. I didn’t realize just how alone I was until that woman came crashing into my life.”

“And did you get a little sumthin’-sumthin’ from her, too?” Bastien asked snidely.

“I had to,” Chas said, his expression somber. “G-Paw practically threw me on top of her. Said I needed to handle my business. Made me figure out which one I wanted more, her or the company, so I could get my head back in the game.”

“That’s not what I’m looking for from Phaedra Burke-Carter, Chas. This is business, pure and simple. I’m fighting for my right to run this company, right along with you and Remy.”

“I wasn’t looking either. You can’t ignore that basic instinct. More than instinct, it’s that inescapable sense that nothing’s gonna be right until you and she get together. When it hits you, it’s gonna hit you hard. I’m here to tell you. I did everything I could to keep from wanting Jacie. Tried to keep it all professional. Even convinced myself for a time that I was doing the honorable thing. Call it what you want—fate, destiny, a taste of good old-fashioned lust. The point is, she showed up in my life when I was at my weakest. One thing led to another…and well, you know the rest. I’m only telling you this because I want you to be ready. Face it, Bastien. You’ve been off your game for a while.”

“So, what do you expect me to do, Chas? Go and grab the first female I see and have a quickie behind the building before meeting with her?”

“Behind the building. In the backseat of that crazy van…yeah, I know about that.”

Bastien groaned.

“You do whatever you have to do to keep your head on straight while you’re meeting with that woman. I’m looking at that photo of this Burke-Carter woman and I’m telling you, she’s got it. If she’s anything like the way she looks, you don’t stand a chance.”

“Well, I didn’t ask her to come out here for her looks,” Bastien grumbled, swiveling the monitor back around. “I need her for her brains.”

“Why not get yours? You’d better believe that Remy’s gettin’ his,” Chas confided. “Nobody needs to spend that much time in Beaumont. I think that man’s got women waiting for him across three states.”

“I’m not like Remy, Chas,” Bastien said seriously. “I can’t do those hit-and-runs. The next time I fall for a woman, it’s going to be for keeps. I’m almost thirty-five years old. I don’t have time to play house.”

“That’s why I respect you, Bastien. That’s why I put you here, in this office. I know you’ll always do the right thing for this company and the right thing for yourself.”

Bastien didn’t voice his doubt, but Chas read it in his body language.

“Look, Bastien, I wouldn’t have approved you and your employee transfers if I didn’t think you all were up to the job.”

“I’m going to fix this,” Bastien promised. “I won’t let you down.”

“To hell with me,” Chas said, rising from the chair and starting for the door. “You won’t let yourself down. Speaking of letting down, you know Jacie’s got a surprise birthday party planned for you, don’t you? For Sunday afternoon right after church. Make sure you’re sufficiently surprised when she springs it on you.”

“Don’t worry about that, Chas. Solly’s planning to ambush me, too. I’ll have plenty of time to practice my surprised face.” Bastien raised his hands to either side of his face, raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to imitate the look he planned to give.

“Hmm,” Chas grunted. “Needs more work.”

“Not the first time I’ll hear that today,” Bastien retorted, lowering his head back to his reports.

Chapter 5

T he railroad crossing arm lowered and warning lights flashed as the cargo train rumbled on, seemingly without end. Phaedra wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, so she sat in her SUV, fingertips drumming impatiently against the steering wheel. Several eighteen-wheelers were in front of her. Another half dozen idled behind her. The blackish-gray smoke from their chrome exhaust pipes created clouds of noxious fumes that drifted into the air and seemed to melt into the storm clouds forming on the horizon. Two days ago, when she’d agreed to meet with Bastien, the weather promised to be clear. How quickly things changed.

“Not a good day to be claustrophobic.”

She didn’t believe in signs and omens. Yet, it couldn’t be a coincidence that the mood of the man she was going to meet was as thick and oppressive as the clouds threatening to pour down rain.

Phaedra was sandwiched in between the trucks, not able to inch forward or scoot back. She wasn’t late for the meeting with Bastien Thibeadaux. Not yet. But that didn’t stop the anxious knot in her stomach from churning. Premeeting jitters. She hated being late. In her opinion, it was the ultimate in rudeness. It was certainly no way to impress a new client, especially one as cranky and impatient as Bastien was. She couldn’t miss the meeting after all of the research she’d done. Though she’d promised him that the first consult was free, she’d already put enough time into the meeting to pay for a week of her office leasing fees. She’d better come out of this meeting with a signed contract—or at least the promise of one.

As Phaedra waited for the train to pass, she used the time to flip through her notes, committing to memory more details about the company. She didn’t want to fumble through papers during the meeting. Nothing turned away potential clients faster than a consultant who didn’t perform the most basic research.

Fifteen minutes before she was scheduled to arrive and she was stuck behind the train. This was cutting it too close. She wouldn’t have time to collect herself or even stop by the bathroom. She flipped down the visor and checked her appearance in the mirror. Not a hair out of place. Face perfectly made up. Phaedra wasn’t conceited, but she knew that she was the model of professionalism and competence. It was an image that she worked hard to cultivate, especially for today. She didn’t want to look anything like the girl of her junior year in college. That wild child with the teased hair and the skintight catsuit was a distant memory.

Thirteen minutes until her appointment and the train was still taking its time. Twelve minutes. Eleven.

Phaedra reached over and picked up the cell phone from the passenger seat. I’m just going to have to call him and apologize for being late. As she placed the Bluetooth in her ear and scrolled through the contact list, the phone started to ring. It was Bastien.

“Phaedra Burke-Carter speaking.”

“Ms. Burke-Carter. It’s Bastien Thibeadaux.”

“Mr. Thibeadaux! I was just about to call you.”

“Really? Let me guess. You’re stuck at the entrance?” He didn’t sound irritated like he had when he’d ended their conversation on Tuesday. Phaedra found herself thinking how much she liked the sound of his voice when he wasn’t snarling at her.

“Yes, I am. There’s a train crossing and it seems to be taking forever. Is there another entrance to the facility?”

“Yes, ma’am. About a half mile up the road, off to your right.”

She rolled down the window and stuck her head out to see. “I guess it doesn’t make a difference. I’m sandwiched between several large trucks.”

“Then you’d better sit tight,” he advised. “Some of those crazy rig jockeys have been known to whip out into traffic when you least expect it. When the gate lifts, pull forward to the guard station, give them my name and then take the left fork toward the main building. It’s a red brick building.”

“Got it. Left fork. Red brick building,” She repeated. “See you in a minute. Oh, and Mr. Thibeadaux…”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know I was stuck at the train crossing? I could have been just running late.”

This time, he did laugh. A deepthroated chuckle that rumbled in her ear and sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. “Ms. Burke-Carter, people like you don’t run late.”

“People like me?” she said, inviting him to explain.

“Type A personalities,” he went on. Phaedra translated control freak in her head.

“Besides, I can see you from the security monitors up here. I’ve been watching you for the past ten minutes. You are driving the charcoal-gray SUV, right?”

“That’s me,” she confirmed.

“Nice ride,” he remarked. He seemed more relaxed than when he had first spoken with her.

“Thank you,” Phaedra responded automatically to the compliment. She also sent her thanks to the heavens for small favors. Just because she was prepared for his hostility and resentment didn’t mean she wanted to deal with it now. Now, she wasn’t sure what to expect from him.

When the last railcar rumbled by, the railroad crossing arm lifted, she waited her turn as the trucks ahead pulled up to the guard station. By the time it was Phaedra’s turn, she already had her driver’s license out, presenting it before the security guard requested it.

“I’m here to see Bastien Thibeadaux at CT Inspectorate.” The guard recorded her license number on a clipboard and walked around the SUV to list the make and model.

“Have a nice day.” He waved her on. She veered left, toward the signs indicating visitor parking. Parking spots were reserved for the CFO and COO. A third sign was planted in front of a parking space that was twice as large as the other two spaces combined. The sign was white, trimmed in red and black with the letters G-PAW.

G-paw? What kind of a company position is that? There were a few other parking signs, a couple of marked spots for disabled employees or visitors. There were also some signs designated for short-term parking—only thirty minutes. The others seemed to be free and open to anyone. Phaedra pulled past the spot she wanted and then shifted the car into reverse to back into the spot.

She collected her briefcase from behind the passenger seat and one more item that she’d remembered to bring along—the college annual of her junior year. If she had any doubts before who Bastien was, they were erased the moment her eyes landed on his pictures in the annual. He was that boy. She’d looked up each reference to his name, marking every page. Phaedra also double-checked that there were no pictures of her in that slinky leopard costume. For this meeting, she wanted him to take her seriously. He wasn’t going to do it if he was too distracted by thinking of her as she was back then. Since he didn’t seem to remember her, she would continue with the meeting as if they’d just met for the first time today. First impression, fresh impression.

She climbed out of the car and slipped the keys into her jacket pocket. One last time check. Perfect timing! She’d made it with one minute to spare. As Phaedra pushed open one side of the double doors, a rush of cool air and music playing softly over the public address system greeted her.

Directly in front of her was a large, curved reception desk. The desk was black and sleek with a genuine gray-and-brown speckled marble counter. She approached the desk, smiling at the receptionist. A woman with blond hair pulled back into a cascading ponytail sat, elbows planted on the desk, face propped up on her fists. She licked her thumb and turned the page of a fashion magazine.

“Good afternoon.” Phaedra greeted and pulled the sign-in book toward her. “I’m here to see Bastien Thibeadaux.” In neat, block letters, she printed her name, the time of arrival and the person she’d come to meet. Her eyes scanned down the page, noting the number of other visitors, their arrival and departure times.

“Yes, ma’am. He’s expecting you. Can I see your ID please?”

The receptionist took and scanned the ID. Seconds later, Phaedra’s information appeared on the computer monitor. A printer whined and spat out a label with Phaedra’s image and name on it. Visitor and Escort Required was stamped across the bottom.

“Here you go, Ms. Burke-Carter. Just attach it to your jacket.”

Phaedra affixed the label below her right shoulder.

“If you’ll just have a seat, Mr. Thibeadaux will be right with you. Can I offer you something while you wait? Coffee? Soda? Help yourself. It’s right over there.” The receptionist pointed with her pen at a small glass table across the room holding a coffee bar and baskets of assorted snacks.

“No thank you.” Phaedra always refused the initial offer of a beverage. Fumbling around with coffee cups or soda cans could get awkward during first meetings. Bypassing the snack bar, she took a seat.

The seats in the reception room were made of chrome and gray vinyl, matching the gray flecks in the reception desk countertop. They were deeply padded and comfortable, with high round backs and curved arms. After she sat down, she expected Bastien to come through another set of double doors to the right of the reception desk. Two minutes ticked by. Three. She was on time. He was now the one officially late.

Phaedra’s eyes drifted to the selection of magazines on the table beside her. She selected one, not really interested in reading any of the articles, but wanting to find something to do with her hands while she waited.

Ten more minutes passed before she loudly shuffled the magazine, a not-so-subtle hint that she was still waiting.

“I just paged Mr. Thibeadaux,” the receptionist assured her. “He’s on his way.”

Just as Phaedra was glancing at her watch and comparing it to the decorative row of wall clocks indicating the time in various cities, the side doors swung open and Bastien Thibeadaux walked through the door.

No, not walked through, he stormed through like a force of nature. When Bastien Thibeadaux shoved open the double doors, it made Phaedra jump. The resounding echo as the doors flung open reminded her of thunder.

Phaedra looked up from the magazine, meeting Bastien’s gaze from across the room. It took her less than a second to collect herself. In that time, she took him in from the top of his closely cropped, but wavy hair all the way down to his steel-toed work boots. Lightning flashed in her mind, and when it faded, left a single, smoking word burned into her brain. Trouble. This man was trouble. He spelled trouble all those years ago for her in school, and he was going to be trouble for her now. She knew that as assuredly as she knew his name. Thibeadaux. Trouble. The two were inextricably linked.

The dark blue coverall he wore was not meant for fashion but function. The long sleeves were rolled up, showing off the fraternity tattoo in the shape of the Greek alphabet symbol omega. The tattoo did its job. It showed off his pride and commitment to his fraternity and had the added bonus of accenting well-muscled arms.

He hadn’t exaggerated when he said the work was physical. You couldn’t get cut biceps and triceps like that just managing workers. Bastien stood around six foot two or six foot three. Yet, he seemed taller to Phaedra because she hadn’t stood up yet to greet him. She was afraid to.

She’d read in novels or seen romantic comedies of people going weak in the knees, but she’d always thought that was a ridiculous exaggeration. It didn’t happen in real life. Certainly not to her. She wasn’t the type of woman who was swayed by physical appearances. She wasn’t that shallow. Not anymore. Since graduating from college—and her one lapse of judgment at that homecoming party—she’d learned a valuable lesson: forming emotional attachments based purely on physical appearances didn’t work out. At least, not for her.

Yet, there she was, sitting in that chair, staring up at the man with skin like sweet golden honey, looking into wide hazel eyes and seriously wondering what it would take to get him to remember her. What would she have to do to get him thinking about her, looking at her the way he did back then—with deliberate attention and single-mindedness of purpose?

Get a grip on yourself, Phaedra! This man is a client.

This man was big trouble. It only took him a moment to cross the room with his long-legged strides before Phaedra came to another snap decision. This was one potential client she was going to drop like a hot rock. Forget all the time she’d already sunk into preparing for this meeting. If she had any real sense, she should end the meeting right here, right now. What made her believe she could face him after all this time and not let it affect her reason?

Phaedra’s mind scrambled to find a reasonable excuse for why she’d suddenly have to leave. A mix-up in her schedule. An emergency call from the office. Yes, that sounded plausible. Anything sounded better than telling him that she had serious doubts about her ability to keep business on her mind while he was around. She’d just have to apologize for wasting his time. But she’d only do it from the relative safety of her car, call him from her cell phone as she was burning rubber out of the parking lot.

“Ms. Burke-Carter.” Bastien approached her, holding out his hand in greeting. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

His voice had the same sexy Southern quality as she remembered from their phone conversation. Same, yet different, if she could at all explain it. There was no distraction of coffee shop chatter this time or the rumble of railcars passing by her to mute the effects of Bastien’s speech. Now she had the full effect of his voice directed at her.

Unprotected, unshielded, Phaedra felt caught in a maelstrom as vivid memories and raw emotions that she thought she’d long buried swirled inside her. Fifteen years was a long time to forget. Not long enough, apparently. It was unsettling, this uncontrollable urge to run for cover. Phaedra wasn’t used to feeling this way. She wasn’t sure if she liked it. At the same time, she found herself wishing that she could indulge in it more. She had to do something to get her wits about her. What could she do to stall for time?

Chapter 6

B astien sensed that Phaedra was agitated. He could tell from across the room by the look on her face and in the slow, deliberate way she set her magazine down on the table. She didn’t say a word from her chair but stood up to face him first. He’d extended his hand to her, yet she’d left him hanging out there just long enough for him to start to feel foolish. Before he could draw it back, she slipped her hand into his, pressing her warm palm against his palm.

Phaedra’s hand was slender with neatly manicured natural nails. No colored polish, her nails were highly buffed until they shone as if lacquered. Her grip was firm and filled with confidence as she pumped his hand several times and looked him squarely in the eyes. When he looked into hers, he experienced a powerful moment of déjà vu. Something about those expressive eyes seemed so familiar. Dark, serious and shining with intelligence and intensity. Chas had been right. This woman meant business.

Maybe staring at her picture in their school annual and clicking through her Web site convinced him that he knew her. Coupled with the fact that Solly had said they’d gone to some of the same parties, all of that registered with him. That had to be the explanation for his feeling of instantaneous recognition and connection. All of the anxiety that Bastien had felt about asking her to meet with him dispersed into the air of confidence that surrounded her. Everything was going to be all right. Somehow, he knew that before she spoke a single word.

“Mr. Thibeadaux, thank you for taking the time out of your day to meet with me.”

She greeted him politely, with an undertone of a gentle rebuke for keeping her waiting. Bastien smiled at her, letting her know that he understood exactly what she was telling him. He admired the fact that she could do it with a smile and not put him on the defensive. This Phaedra Burke-Carter was well put together. Perfect makeup. Not a hair out of place. Tailored suit. She spoke in clipped, clearly enunciated sentences. A woman like that didn’t run late. She would always be as punctual, and as tightly wound, as the proverbial Swiss clock.

He had every intention of being there in the reception area to greet her before she got here. First impressions were crucial ones. He’d been gearing up for this meeting since they’d spoken on Tuesday. He’d worked on his attitude, as Solly reminded him. The fact that Chas found some extra money to put back into his budget gave him another lift.

Back in his office, Bastien had all the information she’d asked for neatly boxed and labeled, waiting for her to go through them. A full hour before she was expected to arrive, he kept stepping into the office where all the security camera monitors fed into. As soon as he saw her pull up to the guard shack, he headed straight for the reception area.

Despite his best intentions, when he left his office, three employees came at him at once, each one with a different problem for him to address. Two of them Bastien easily put off; the third required immediate attention. By the time he sorted it out with Alonzo, the receptionist was paging him again.

“Did you have any trouble finding us?” Bastien made polite conversation.

“No, not really. I’m accustomed to navigating around the city.”

“This isn’t exactly downtown Houston. We’re a little out of the way.”

“But I made it,” she insisted.

“On time, too.” Bastien couldn’t resist teasing her.

“I don’t like keeping my clients waiting. I know how valuable their time is.”

“But since this first consult is pro bono, we can splurge a little on the time expenditure, eh, Ms. Burke-Carter.”

“Did I happen to mention in our conversation that only the first hour is free, Mr. Thibeadaux?”

“Ready to get started then?” Bastien said briskly. Chas had been right; those Burke-Carters didn’t mess around.

“Of course. That’s why I’m here.”

“Right this way.” Bastien gestured toward the doors leading back to the offices. “Through those doors and down the hall. My office is the fourth door on the left.”

Phaedra inclined her head in a silent, regal way to say thank you, scooped up her briefcase and started to move ahead of him. As she walked ahead, Bastien hung back, admiring the view. Everything about the deep, cherry red-and-black houndstooth suit she wore boasted success to Bastien. It was a refreshing change from the jeans, khakis and coveralls that were made a necessity around CT Inspectorate by the nature of their work. Phaedra’s two-button jacket accentuated her slender waist and flared out slightly over her hips. Hips that had just the barest hint of a roll when she walked. Her skirt was of a sensible length, hugging her curves without straining fabric across her bottom and stopping just at her knees. The silky underlining of her skirt made a soft swish-whoosh as she walked. Barely noticeable, yet loud enough for a man whose senses were suddenly made hyperalert by her presence to hear. The heels of her black leather shoes echoed softly on the tile floor. There was just enough lift in those open-toed, three-inch heels to draw attention to her calves.

There was an awkward moment while they were swapping lead positions. He was torn between watching her or moving ahead to push open the door for her. Decisions. Decisions. It was hard to switch between derriere watching to being debonair.

Phaedra stopped abruptly, allowing him room to pass. “Fourth door on the left, did you say, Mr. Thibeadaux?”

Bastien wasn’t anticipating the question. He didn’t expect her to turn around and catch him watching her, either. He lifted his eyes quickly, clearing his throat in a kind of nonverbal apology. Second time within the past five minutes that he had to apologize to her. He wondered what kind of impression that made.

“Maybe I’d better lead the way,” Bastien suggested.

She made a small “go-ahead” gesture with her hand.

Bastien opened the door to his office and allowed her to move ahead of him. When she did so, her scent wafted after her. It was light, sweet and floral with an undertone of spice. The delicate scent contrasted with the dark severity of the power suit and her no-nonsense demeanor. Bastien tried not to draw in a deep breath as she walked by. After being caught admiring her body, she wasn’t going to catch him sniffing after her, too. Though, there was an exposed spot on the back of her neck that he imagined he could—

Focus, Bastien. Focus! Don’t get distracted.

She walked in, not taking a seat, but pausing to look around his office. Bastien made no apologies for it. It wasn’t much to look at. He didn’t spend much time personalizing it. No artwork on the walls other than posters of the different types of grain the company inspected. A few interoffice memos and phone lists that he’d tacked up for quick reference. No plants or statuettes to clutter the room. No photos of family or friends. Why bother making it a cozy second home when he spent most of his time out in the field?

There was one large antique leather and mahogany desk that he’d managed to bring from his office in New Orleans. In front of the desk were two matching leather and mahogany guest chairs. One of the chairs had a three-inch gash in the back support and stuffing was starting to poke through. He always promised he would get it repaired. He’d been making that promise for four years.

Jacie, the resident style and decor guru, tried covering the gash with a throw pillow, but the damned thing kept getting in the way when folks sat down in it. To keep from hurting her feelings, Bastien kept it in the office and tossed it on the couch that she’d also purchased.

Jacie had meant for the couch to go in the reception area, but G-Paw didn’t want to give anyone the impression that his employees had enough time to indulge in lounging around. Since the couch was a custom job, the manufacturer wouldn’t take it back. It was black leather. Leather that was butter soft and felt good to crash on after pulling a double shift. That’s where Bastien made best use of those frilly, decorative pillows.

“Here you go.” Bastien pulled out a chair for Phaedra. He kept his tone light and conversational as he circled around to his chair behind the desk. “So, tell me, Ms. Burke-Carter, during your initial research what dirty little secrets did you find out about us?”

“I’m not interested in secrets at the moment, Mr. Thibeadaux,” she replied. She pulled out a manila folder, neatly labeled with the company name on it, and laid it on his desk. “I’m interested in facts. Only the things that I can observe and help you correct.”

Man, she was good. She wasn’t going to be baited. Not that he wanted to get under her skin. He did want to crack through that icy exterior, though. She had an excellent poker face. He’d hate to be sitting across the table from her, betting his last dime. But in effect, wasn’t that exactly what he was doing? He was betting his reputation and his livelihood on the fact that she could help turn his employees around.

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