French Quarter Kisses. Zuri Day
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solo tonight?”
What’s it to you? “Hardly. I know just about everyone in this room.”
Delano flashed the dashing smile that used to turn Roz’s legs to jelly. Her first victory of the night was that she was truly not moved. “Several of whom would have been happy to be your date. Including me.”
“Please.”
“What? I’m only stating how I feel.”
“Just stop, okay. What we had is long over, never to be revived.”
“I messed up, royally. How long are you going to punish me for that?”
“Where is your date?”
“I’m looking at her.”
“Bye, Delano.”
He caught her arm. “Roz, wait.”
She pointedly looked down, then up. He immediately released her. “I’m sorry. Listen, can we at least be friends?”
“Let’s be friendly, how about that? Cordial while keeping our distance.”
“Fair enough.” He held out his hand. “To cordiality.”
She hesitantly placed her palm in his. Covering her hand with his other one, he looked beyond her and smiled. “Rosalyn, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Maybe later.”
He tightened his grip. “He’s coming right now.”
Roz took a deep breath, bracing herself for a hasty hello and an even faster exit.
“There’s the man!” Delano released Roz’s hand to greet the person walking up.
“I heard you owned it.”
Roz recognized the voice and barely suppressed a groan. The same one that had dismissed her a few days ago, though tonight the tone was friendly, laid-back. She took a deep, calming breath and turned. Good thing, too. Roz wouldn’t have thought it possible for the toned, ripped body she saw in the gym to look even better in a tux. But Pierre did.
“Not since you came to town,” Delano responded. “Baby...” Roz cut him a look. “I mean, Rosalyn, have you had the pleasure of meeting the city’s newest superstar?”
Roz held her poise and a neutral expression as she answered. “We’ve met.”
“I don’t think so,” Pierre said, an admiring gaze sweeping her from head to toe and back. “There’s no way I’d forget meeting someone as lovely as you.” He held out his hand. “Pierre LeBlanc.”
She placed her hand in his, watched as he lifted it toward his mouth. “Roz Arnaud.”
The slightest hesitation before kissing her hand told Roz that he remembered. The evening had just gotten more interesting.
“Rosalyn is a very talented journalist. She works for a newspaper called the New Orleans Beat, NO Beat for short. It’s a smaller, independent publication, but several of their articles have been picked up by the Associated Press, Rosalyn’s among them.”
“Impressive,” Pierre said.
Roz thought so, too. If Delano had paid half as much attention to her while they were dating as he’d obviously done lately, their romance may have had a different ending.
“I’ll have to, um, go online and...check out some of your work.”
“Have you been to his place?” Delano asked Roz. “Easy Creole Cuisine? Of course you know the name. There’s not a person in town who doesn’t know who he is.”
“Yes, I know about the restaurant, and no, I haven’t been there. From what I’ve heard that’s not likely to happen anytime soon.”
“You should hook her up, man,” Delano said. “Cook a few dishes for her to try out. Get another article for the PR files. There’s no such thing as too much publicity.”
“I’m sure Pierre is much too busy cooking to speak with a lowly newspaper reporter.” Said with a voice of innocence and eyes that feigned understanding.
“No, well, I...”
“Don’t worry about it.” Roz hated to cut his squirming short, but the one person she wanted to talk with even less than Delano was headed in their direction. “Nice meeting you. Excuse me.”
As Roz walked away, Brooke’s drawl wafted over the din of noise. “There he is, our hometown hero!”
There she goes, Brooke Evans, the groveler, Roz thought as she continued through the crowd.
Which is why she’ll get the interview and the story, said the devil on her shoulder.
If that was the price for keeping her dignity, Roz would pay it. She might regret her actions later, but right now, she just didn’t care.
Newcomers to the Bayou Ball would see a room full of beautiful people, but their eyes would be drawn to a group of distinguished-looking men and one beautiful woman conversing around a highboy table, making an especially impressive tableau. In particular, they’d notice Pierre. The black tux he wore matched close-cropped soft curls and complimented flawless tanned skin. The eyes he normally hid behind shades except when on air or in the kitchen were on full display in all their golden glory.
While the other men hung on every word that Brooke delivered, Pierre subtly scanned the crowd, looking for her. Roz Arnaud, NO Beat reporter. Was that really the same women who’d approached him at the gym? Unlikely, he thought, that the woman from Guido’s, whose face he could barely remember, was the same beauty who just moments ago had taken his breath away.
“Hey, handsome. Looking for me?”
Pierre felt Brooke’s body press up against him. He turned to see that Delano and the other men had left, leaving only him and Brooke at the table. “It’s quite a crowd.”
“Everyone you need to know is in this room and I know them all. Just say the word and I’ll make the proper introductions.”
Pierre spotted Roz across the room. “What about her?”
Brooke followed his gaze. “Who, the guy in the white tux?”
“No, the woman he’s talking to.”
Brooke’s smile slipped, but her voice remained chipper. “Roz Arnaud?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Not a part of high society. She tried to be. Snagged a job with my paper right out of college, but couldn’t hang in the big leagues. Left and took a job with a small, regional paper, pretty local, actually. Now, the woman behind her is a major socialite whose husband owns—”
“Excuse me. I’m sorry to cut you off,” Pierre said as he watched Roz head toward an exit. “But successful people like that don’t need me. I’d rather give those small, local businesses my support.”
Pierre left a sputtering, confused and chagrined Brooke trying to pick her face up off the floor. He wasn’t aware, so mesmerized was he by Roz’s natural beauty. She reached the door and was stopped by an older, distinguished-looking couple, which gave Pierre the time he needed to cross the room and catch her arm before she left the room.
“Leaving so soon?”
“And if I am?”
“Then I’m glad that I was able to stop you before you got away.” Pierre looked up and saw two women walking toward him with purpose. “Look, can we go somewhere private?”
Without waiting for an answer, he slid his hand from Roz’s arm to her hand and gently steered her down the hall to the first opening, a short hallway leading to a set of restrooms.