Their Virgin Secretary

Chapter Six

Eric straightened his tie and kept his eyes on the hostess station. He checked his phone again. Eight thirty-five. Belle was late. She was never late. In fact, she always arrived early, just in case something went wrong. But he’d walked into the café about twenty minutes ago, hoping for a chance to talk to her alone. He’d scanned the place, fully expecting to find her waiting at a table surrounded by all her notes. Instead, he’d seen no trace of her.

Concern niggled at him—not that she’d fallen victim to foul play. It wasn’t impossible, but the odds of Belle being attacked in her hotel room, especially one this nice and full of guests from the wedding, seemed slim. She was much too smart to let a stranger in her room. Operating on the premise that she hadn’t been hurt left Eric one major worry: What if she just decided not to show? And what did that mean?

He had to track her down.

He pulled up his contact list on his phone. Belle’s number was easy to spot. She was the only one of his hundreds of contacts with a photo attached to her profile. His heart did a weird flip-flop as he stared at her picture. In the still, she sat at her desk, the morning sun illuminating her from behind, making her glow angelically…but she wore a devilish little grin. That was his Belle. God, he hoped she was still his Belle. The alternative was too horrific to contemplate.

His call went straight to voice mail. Damn it. He thought about hanging up, but as her greeting played, he considered that maybe keeping interaction about business on a professional footing would relax her. That would seem normal to her, right? And hopefully, if he played along, she would realize that none of them would pounce on her in front of clients. Then maybe she’d be comfortable enough to join them.

“Belle, the Hughes brothers should be here soon. We need you for the meeting. We’re in the hotel café. I snagged us a table in the back. See you in a few. Thanks.”

Frowning, he touched the button to end the call.

“She’s not here?” Tate scowled as he wandered into the room and searched it as he sat. The lack of sleep showed on his face, just like Eric knew it was reflected in his own.

“Maybe I should go to her room and talk to her.” Kellan pulled out a chair, but hovered over it, seemingly perplexed and less confident than Eric could ever remember. “We might have to clear the air before she’ll feel comfortable working with me again.”

Eric shook his head and gestured for them to sit. “If you go to her room, Tate and I should come along. We all need to talk to her at once and get on the same page. But Oliver and his brothers are due any minute. Damn it!”

“Maybe she’ll show up first.” Tate sounded hopeful, then he glanced at his phone. “Except…she sent me all her notes about their business dealings at two this morning.”

“Well, they’re your clients. Belle always sends notes about a meeting to the lead.” Eric tried to encourage him—and maybe himself a bit.

Tate scanned her message, his finger brushing up the screen of his phone. Then he frowned. “They’re very thorough, far more than normal—everything we could possibly need to conduct the meeting.”

“She’s not coming.” Kell gritted his teeth and gripped the back of the chair, looking ready to lose it. “Shit.”

Eric scrubbed a hand down his face, worried like hell that Kell was right. Still, he looked for any reason to refute his friend. With a cold chill of dread spreading through his body, Eric looked over Kell’s shoulder as he took the phone and quickly skimmed the notes.

“I’m right.” Kell looked so damn bleak. “Her notes are way more than we’ll need for this meeting. Goddamn it, she’s left.”

Tate frowned. “Belle doesn’t have a car, and she’s booked on the same flight we are. She can’t have gone far, right?”

“Right,” Eric assured absently. “Maybe she’s just with Kinley.”

She’d had a rough evening. Maybe she’d needed some girl time. Or maybe she’d overslept. He wouldn’t blame her if she showed up at the very last minute to avoid any chance for personal talk, then attempted to leave the minute the clients did so she could be assured there’d be no confrontation. They couldn’t allow that. They needed to have a very in-depth chat with her—one that ended up with her right back in bed where she should have been last night.

The three of them had stayed up damn near all night discussing how to deal with Belle. They’d made progress, though he still didn’t think Kell saw the big picture. Right now, they all had to put their energy into a little groveling and begging, but Belle was a reasonable woman. She wouldn’t be any different in this situation. He hoped.

Kell shook his head. “Belle doesn’t pout. I don’t see her skipping a meeting to cry to her best friend. Whatever’s wrong is bigger.” He put a fist to his lips as if trying to hold in another curse. “This isn’t good.”

Eric looked for a logical way to refute him, but he couldn’t find one. Kell was right. He wanted so badly to run back to Belle’s room and see if she was there, if she would talk to him.

But an approaching man in an impeccable navy suit and severely short blond hair approached, flanked by two men who looked very much like him—minus the severe expression.

“Good morning.”

Oliver Thurston-Hughes had gained back some of the weight he’d lost after his wife’s death, but there was no way to mistake the grim look in his eyes. Yasmin had been a cousin to the ruling family of Bezakistan, but she’d also turned out to be a murderous traitor. She’d sold her cousin, Alea, into slavery. When the poor girl had figured out that her own flesh and blood had nearly ruined her life, Yasmin had attempted to kill her. She hadn’t cared that Oliver got caught in the crossfire. The incident had turned the once happy-go-lucky aristocrat bitter.

“Thank you for meeting us,” his brother Rory, the youngest of the three, greeted them in his equally upper-crust British accent.

The last of the Hughes brothers simply nodded behind a pair of aviators. There were already whispers going through the café about the Callum Thurston-Hughes. The man had the kind of face that lent itself to posters and print ads, and he’d made a very nice fortune smiling for a camera. Currently, however, he was on a farewell tour with his professional soccer team. If the man could hear his thoughts, Eric had no doubt Callum would roll those famous eyes of his and remind him the correct term was football.

Rory slid into his chair with a smile. “Let’s get this over with. I met a girl last night at a bar, after the reception. I’ve been in America for four days and I haven’t gotten any action yet.”

His brothers both groaned as they sat. After ordering coffee, the group immediately dove into conversation about their American businesses and all the objectives they hoped to accomplish with this trip. The dog wedding had been a nice—if painful—reason for Oliver to see his late-wife’s family, with whom he’d maintained ties…and maybe get some closure.

Eric lost himself in the complex conversation. Their group had several legal tangles to unravel before they could buy more property in the States and proceed with their planned endeavors. Eric spoke with the confidence of someone who knew this area of the law well, while Kellan offered his expertise when needed. Tate cited specific facts and precedence, jotting notes along the way, as he often did. Everything should have felt much the same, but nothing did without Belle’s smiling face or efficient manner.

Thirty minutes turned into an hour, and before Eric knew it, they were paying the check. The Hughes brothers stood and offered their hands.

“Until our follow-up meeting next month.” Callum nodded.

And the truth punched Eric in the gut. Belle hadn’t shown up. Discreetly, he double-checked his phone. Nothing. She’d never once skipped a meeting the whole time she’d been with them. She’d never even taken a sick day in fourteen months. Now she hadn’t even called to let them know she wasn’t going to be there. It was so unlike her.

Rory smiled as he shook Eric’s hand. “Tell Belle we’re sorry we missed her.”

Eric might just let Kellan deal with this one. Yes, they’d been assholes, but she was still a part of their business and he’d never dreamed that she would shirk responsibility because she was sulking. “I’m sure she’s sorry to have missed you as well. She’s not feeling well.”

Though the clients wouldn’t care, he felt the urge to cover for her. Or maybe that’s what he wanted to believe because it was easier than contemplating a scarier possibility.

Oliver’s brows rose over his sharp blue eyes. “She looked perfectly fit this morning.”

So someone had seen her today. She was still here. Eric breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Tate leaned in. “Where is she?”

Eric exchanged a glance with Kellan. They had to teach Tate how to adopt a halfway decent poker face.

“I don’t know. It actually wasn’t morning when we saw her, more like the middle of the night.” Callum chuckled. “We went out drinking a bit after the reception. It was three a.m. when we returned. I was surprised she would leave at such an odd hour.”

“Leave?” Tate demanded.

“We presumed she was,” Rory said, pushing his chair in. “She rolled her baggage out. That’s an ugly dog, by the way.”

Eric gaped, realizing that he wasn’t doing a good job of hanging onto his own poker face. “She left with her suitcase at three a.m.?”

“She had a dog?” Tate looked really perplexed.

Kell elbowed Tate. “Did she say anything?”

“Not a lot, simply that she planned to start a new business.” Oliver shrugged. “I’m sad to see her go. She was always efficient and quite kind. But it looks as if she’s making out all right. That Mercedes was a beauty of a car. Brilliant.”

Rory sighed. “There’s something terribly wrong when you notice the car before a woman as beautiful as Belle. I sincerely hope, for everyone’s sake, that your libido makes a reappearance soon.”

Callum took a swipe at the back of his little brother’s head. “Stop being a barmy fuck.”

Oliver’s expression turned even colder. Eric could barely remember the Oliver he’d first met—the life of every party, the first with a joke or a smile.

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

As he walked away, Callum and Rory sighed.

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

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

Yeah, Oliver might never trust a woman again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She could definitely make a fresh start in New Orleans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except no one at all was there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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