Your Wish Is My Command Page 2

  He grinned. “Ah, chérie. The kiss wasn't to show you love; it was to seal our bargain.”

  “We have no bargain.”

  “Ah, but we do.” He stepped back and swept his arm out to the side as he bent forward in another gallant bow. As he straightened, he slid the sword easily into the wide sash at his waist, a sash she could have sworn he wasn't wearing moments before.

  He blew her a quick kiss, then saluted her. “Bonsoir, mademoiselle.” He winked as he added a slight emphasis to that last word.

  “Good Lord, Jamie, what in the devil is taking you so long?” Ree Ann's Southern-belle voice rang up the stairwell. “My forty-dollar mascara is threatenin' to drip right off my chin. I don't need waterproof makeup; I need stuff that's heatproof.”

  Jamie turned toward the hallway. She could hear Ree coming up from the second-floor landing.

  “Jamie?” The sound of her high heels clattered on the hardwood stairs, and her bracelets rattled against the wrought-iron railing.

  “Here.” The word came out as a dry rasp. Jamie cleared her throat. “Just a … just a second.” She turned back, intent on making it clear to Mr. Sebastien Valentin that he was not welcome in her life or that of her friends.

  But there was no one there.

  Chapter 2

  Ree Ann climbed up the last step. “Why, sugar, you're as pale as powder.” She fanned her hand in front of her face. “Come on down before you have a stroke. The champagne is chilled to perfection and Jack finally got here.”

  Ree Ann Broussard was one of Jamie's college roommates and her cousin Jack's favorite person. And it wasn't hard to see why. She was flamboyant without even trying. Deep-russet hair, bright blue eyes, the face of a beauty queen—Miss Metairie three times running back in their college days—and a lush figure that had turned more than one intelligent man into a garbling pile of hormonal mush. Of course, what Ree didn't advertise was that behind that bring-traffic-to-a-standstill exterior was the gray matter of a summa cum laude scholar.

  “People are confused by what they don't understand,” she'd explained to Jamie early on in their relationship. “And they don't understand brains that come in a package like this.” She defended her flirtatious, Southern-belle manner by saying it was simply easier to give people what they expected.

  Jamie had long ago given up trying to unwind that bit of logic. Of course, she'd never stopped so much as a moped with her looks, so what the hell did she know?

  Ree studied her closely. “Honey, are you okay?”

  Well, that was a loaded question. Jamie cast a quick look around the attic. The trunk lid was still open, but there was no sign of Sebastien. Or the sword that had started the whole thing. “I … I found this ancient old trunk,” she began. How could she even try to explain what happened?

  “And you had to explore. What a surprise.” Ree laughed. It was one of those full-bodied types that begged anyone who heard it to join in. But Jamie didn't feel like laughing.

  “At least you found the cord, so come on already.” Ree popped back down the stairs, her heels clacking on each riser. When Ree had walked the length of the second-story hallway, Jamie heard her call down the final curving set of stairs that led to the back of the shop. “Wouldn't you know, I found her diggin' for buried treasure. Don't y'all open that first bottle till we get down there, now.”

  Buried treasure? If she only knew. Then the rest of what Ree said clicked in. Wait a minute, what cord? Jamie looked down at her hand and sucked in a breath. She was clutching a dusty brown extension cord. “I'm hallucinating and I haven't even had a drink yet.”

  “Jamie?” Ree's voice echoed up to her.

  “I'm coming, I'm coming.” Right after I find the sanity I apparently lost somewhere in the last ten minutes.

  Jamie grabbed a fan from the storage room on her way to the café area. Ree took it and went to set it up on the coffee-bar counter. Before Jamie could do so much as push the damp hair off her forehead, Jack's beaming face popped up in front of hers. Dressed in perfectly pressed polo shirt and khakis, every strand of his thick brown hair ruthlessly coiffed despite the million-degree humidity, he swept Jamie into his arms.

  “Congratulations!” He swung her expertly around in a smooth dance step ending with a dramatic dip, which he handled with great aplomb despite the fact he was a good five inches shorter than she was.

  Jamie was breathless as she good-naturedly smacked his hands off her. “You're a danger to left-footed women everywhere.”

  “Nonsense. I make you look good and you know it.” He kissed the back of her hand. Then he turned and motioned to the elaborate spray of exotic flowers now dominating the front counter. “A little surprise for you. I truly intended to have them delivered this morning, but Emil was late and the delivery I was expecting never showed and—well, you don't want to hear about my day, do you?”

  Ree Ann laughed. “It's just as well, sugar. We'd have never seen the customers standin' behind this jungle.” She smiled at him and lifted a small tray off the coffee counter. “And I wouldn't have been able to dazzle the clientele with my new recipe for cinnamon pecan sticky rolls. Here, try.” She lifted one to his lips.

  Never one to disappoint, Jack swooned dramatically.

  Jamie rolled her eyes. “We'll move the flowers to the table just inside the foyer. They'll make for a grand entrance.” She shot Jack a look. “And we all know how important that is.”

  “So, you have been paying attention. Very good.”

  Jamie studied him closely. “You wouldn't have had any other kind of … grand-opening surprises planned, would you?”

  He wasn't listening to her. He was watching Marta Lewis, fellow Tulane grad and the third partner in the venture, come out of the office door at the opposite rear corner of the shop. She wove her way through the shoulder-high bookshelves, never once taking her eyes off her calculator. Her brown hair was piled in a slowly avalanching bun. She'd apparently tried to circumvent its imminent collapse by jamming a mechanical pencil into the tangled mass. Judging by the dangerous wobble that occurred with each step, it had been one of her few miscalculations. Her granny glasses had slid halfway down her nose, and she trailed calculator paper behind her, unnoticed.

  Jack made a tsking sound. “Miss Marta and I definitely have to have a talk.”

  Jamie hushed him. “Well? How'd we do?”

  Absorbed in her world of numbers, Marta continued tapping away. “Not bad, not bad. I'm printing the whole thing out in the back, but there were a few more calculations and, well, we're about seven percent over the gross I anticipated, but then Ree had to have those imported linen cloths for the tables in the café, which reduces the net by—” More tapping.

  Jamie slid the register tape from under Marta's elbow and quickly scanned to the bottom line. Her eyes widened. “Hey, did we really do this? Just today?”

  Marta finally looked up, the barest hint of a satisfied gleam in her eyes. “Happily Ever After is now fully operational and proudly in the red.” A smile played at one corner of her small mouth. “But look out, black, we're coming. Someday.”

  Ree let out a surprised laugh, but Jamie pumped her fist in agreement. It was rare that Marta made bold pronouncements. Well, positive ones anyway. The quiet one of the trio, she was perfectly comfortable handing out dire predictions right and left, which was why Ree had long since dubbed her Eeyore. So this was doubly encouraging. It was the happiest Jamie had seen Marta in years, maybe since Dan had died. Even if that single look of hope was Jamie's only reward, every sacrifice she'd made was worth it.

  “Well, let's not just stand around while there's perfectly good champagne to guzzle,” Jack said.

  The cork made a satisfactory pop, and the champagne poured out of the bottle. The chilled tickle of the bubbly had never tasted better. This wasn't the first victory Jamie had toasted with champagne, but sharing this one with the three people who meant the most to her made it sweeter than any that had come before. If only her dad could have
been there, it would have been perfect.

  As if reading her mind, Ree asked, “Did you hear from Sully yet?”

  She nodded. “He called a while ago, when you were serving up your last latte of the day.” Jamie smiled, though it wasn't as heartfelt as she'd have liked it to be. “He was sorry he missed the grand opening, but something came up yesterday on one of the boats he sponsors and he had to fly to Crete.”

  Ree propped a hand on her hip. “He's in Greece? I thought he'd retired.”

  Jamie's smile turned rueful. “Did you really think that just because he finally stopped racing that he'd truly settle down?” And yet wasn't that exactly what he wanted for his only daughter? “I knew when he decided to keep his sponsorships going he wasn't going to really slow down.” Sully had told her it was too late for him to enjoy life in the slow lane, but it wasn't too late for her.

  Ree came over and stroked a light hand down Jamie's arm. “Are you doing okay with that? Are you sorry that you're here, stuck in this sweat oven of a city, instead of hoppin' about the globe with your daddy, racin' those death traps of his?” She tenderly brushed Jamie's damp bangs off her forehead. “Tell me true, Jamie Lynne.”

  Ree Ann was a natural toucher, whereas Jamie was not. Ree would hug, pat, and fuss over people. And after all her mother-henning, she usually got a truthful answer to her question. She made a person feel he or she owed the truth to her. Her concern was sincere, so even Jamie ended up giving in.

  “I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss the unbelievable rush of racing over the water, Ree. The need for speed is in my blood. You know that.” She covered Ree's hand with her own, knowing Ree needed reassurance too. Lately, things hadn't been so easy for her either. “But I don't miss the rest of that life—the struggle to keep on top, the jerk-offs who try and push you down, the sheer exhaustion of it all. Right now I wouldn't be anywhere else on earth but here.” She nodded to Marta, who was talking with Jack. “Did you see that look on her face?”

  Ree answered with a warm smile. “Almost made me cry. This is so good for her, Jamie.” She suddenly pulled Jamie into a tight hug. “It's good for all of us,” she whispered fiercely before setting her back. “And don't you go forgettin' it!”

  An hour and two empty champagne bottles later, Jamie figured she was doing well to remember her own name. She drained the last drop of her last glass and ceremoniously stuck the champagne bottle upside down into the bucket. “I think we've celebrated enough.”

  Jack shook his head. “Oh, no, sister. This is just the beginning. It's time to take this show on the road. Hit the clubs. Really celebrate!”

  “It's Sunday night,” Jamie argued. “Time to really go to bed and sleep.”

  “Oh, you're always the party pooper.”

  Jamie propped her hands on her narrow hips. “I out-partied you on five continents by the time I was eleven. I'm over it, okay?”

  “True, true. We can't all be jet-setting goddesses.” Jack tossed his head back and smiled devilishly. “But I've been doing my fair share of catching up.” He turned, swung Ree into his arms, and spun into a deep dip that he'd practiced on Jamie earlier in the evening. “What say I take you out and make all my straight friends jealous?”

  “I say you have a date.” Ree turned to Marta. “Come with us. Come on!”

  Marta shook her head. “I've got a million things to do before we open tomorrow.”

  Jamie shook her head. “Oh, no, you don't. It will probably be quiet in here tomorrow, which is good since I'll regret that last glass of champagne, around seven A.M. when I wake up with a pounding headache. You'll have plenty of time to bury yourself in the back office while I tend shop. Go on. Or I'll make Jack annoy you until you say yes.”

  Jack shot her a mock wounded look but turned to Marta expectantly.

  She sighed, then shocked them all by shrugging and nodding. “What the heck. Sure.” She straightened her shoulders, as if going into battle. And for the seriously nonsocial member of their group, it likely seemed that way to her. “But I have to be home by midnight.”

  “Sure thing, Cinderella,” Jack said. “We truly can't con you into joining us, cuz?” he asked Jamie.

  Jamie was tempted, if for no other reason than to bolster Marta's commitment. But Ree could handle that. After all the frivolity and consumption of adult beverages during the past hour or so, Jamie realized she'd actually forgotten what had transpired in the attic earlier.

  She wanted to tell them about it, but what exactly would she say? If it had been a joke from Jack, he'd have been bursting to share a laugh over it. No, she wanted to do a bit more exploring before she said anything.

  If she ever did. It all seemed hazy and unreal now.

  “I'm beat, and I have to find a way to blow some of that heat out of the upstairs so I don't swelter all night. Although maybe sweating the champagne out of me isn't such a bad idea.”

  “I already have a call in to the repairman and a note in my Day-Timer to follow that up first thing in the morning. Of course, that expense will set us back another—”

  “Say good night, Cinderella.” Ree took Marta's arm firmly in hand and steered her toward the front door. She grinned and waved back at Jamie. “You may owe me for this!”

  And with a bang of the door and a clang of the brass bell attached to the handle, the shop was suddenly empty.

  Jamie looked from the door to the rear stairwell, then back at the front door … and had the fleeting urge to run after them.

  But she didn't. Instead, she sat back down at one of the café tables and tugged apart another chunk of sticky roll. She groaned as she chewed. Damn, but that girl could cook. A few of these every day and I won't have to worry about racing again. The boat would sink. The grueling pace of racing hydroplanes burned calories in a way that the grueling pace of selling books did not. She'd have to figure out something. Because she was not giving up eating. New Orleans might be hellishly hot and humid, but the food more than made up for it.

  She licked her fingers and looked around the shop. It was an incredible piece of architecture. It had first been an apothecary, then—with many renovations along the way—a variety of retail operations, finally ending up as an antique emporium before falling into disuse. The first floor hadn't been used in almost ten years, so they'd had their work cut out for them when Ree took possession of it. And the battle hadn't ended there.

  Edgar Santini had left a single heir, his grandson, Angelo, who had made out quite handsomely in the will but still hadn't been happy to learn of Ree's be-queathal. “Greedy bastard,” Jamie muttered, picking pecan pieces from the remaining sticky bun and crunching them. It hadn't helped that Ree let the moron believe she'd been nothing more than a ditzy gold digger. The truth was that what Ree knew about cooking was rivaled only by what she knew about investments and business management.

  Jamie felt the stirring of a headache and turned her attention back to the shop. A sense of awe filled her. The cypress floors shone, the elegant molding around the fourteen-foot-high ceilings gleamed with fresh white paint. The antique chandelier glittered. As well it should, she thought. Her elbows were still sore and she swore her fingers would forever smell of vinegar from cleaning the room. The walls were lined with oak shelves, with attached rolling ladders positioned on each wall to reach the higher levels. Browsers could select a volume or two, then make themselves at home in the café or in one of the overstuffed chairs tucked here and there around the shop. The coffee counter had come from a bar over on Bourbon Street, complete with brass counter and foot railing. Jamie's find had been the antique cash register. She smiled thinking of the major battle she'd had—and lost—with Marta over using the register day to day. But she'd compromised: She used the computerized one Marta had insisted on, positioned discreetly to one side, and kept lollipops in the antique one, giving their pint-size customers a thrill by making the bells ring when she gave them their “change.”

  She leaned back and grinned. They'd really done it. Happily Ever
After was a reality.

  You name your shop Happily Ever After because you do not believe in them?

  Sebastien's words blew a hole in her warm, fuzzy cloud. A small shiver raced down her back. She went outside and locked the slatted shutters that covered the ten-foot windows and closed the iron gate that covered the big double doors facing the corner. She could hear the raucous music and the crowds from one block over on Bourbon Street. Laughing couples and small boisterous groups drifted down the street. One of the things she loved about the Quarter was that it was like this every night of the week. But her mind was no longer on celebrating.

  She stepped back inside and bolted the doors. All alone. She hoped.

  I will showyou that there is a true mate for every soul.

  Sebastien's words continued to haunt her. Soulmates. There was no such thing. Or at least there wasn't for her. Or Ree, or Marta. Well, maybe for Marta, but her happily ever after had been cut tragically short and she wasn't willing to risk trying for another. Jamie couldn't blame her.

  She shut off the lights, then closed the door between the shop and the rear stairwell. She checked the side door to the alleyway and courtyard, then found her gaze drawn upward. Her hand lingered on the switchplate, not sure if she wanted to plunge the vestibule into darkness. “You're being silly.” She flipped the switch but quickly flipped on the one for the second floor before climbing the stairs.

  It was hot upstairs, and she wished she'd taken the time to open the transoms over the doorways and the windows. The heat made her think of the stifling closeness in the attic. Or maybe it had been Sebastien who had made it feel so stiflingly close. Had she really imagined the whole thing? She looked down the hallway to the curving wrought-iron railing that led to the attic. It was either go up now and prove to herself no one was up there or toss and turn all night.

  She climbed the last flight of stairs and pulled the chain for the light, belatedly thinking she should have armed herself somehow. But, then, she'd faced him once before. Of course, she'd had the sword. For a short time anyway. And there had been people downstairs then. Within screaming distance.