A Case for Love (8 page)

Forbes closed his eyes and shut the door. Aside from the fact he’d given up on dating, he had to keep this professional. Not only did he represent Folse, Landreneau, Maier & Guidry, he also represented his parents and, by extension, their company.

He got in and started the engine. “What part of Bonneterre would you like to see first?”

“Warehouse Row. Since that’s what I’m here to change, let’s start there.”

Forbes pointed the Jag toward the southeast side of town. He asked her about her travels, and she spent the next ten minutes telling stories about her last few business trips.

He pointed out Town Square as they drove behind the western side of it, along with several of the more prominent shops and businesses in the restored Victorian buildings lining Spring Street.

“I can see why they call this area Old Towne.” Evelyn bobbed her head side to side, taking in the sights. “I’ll bet those town houses back there are pretty exclusive.”

“The newer section that borders Old Towne is. The older section that’s adjacent to the highway is more economical, though still high-end.” Especially if they all had kitchens like Alaine’s. Forbes had seen it only the one time on TV when Major had shot his first cooking segment there, but it had been a far cry from what he’d expected. “And what you’re here to do will only increase their value.”

“Is that...?” Evelyn stared straight across the intersection where they now sat at a red light.

“That’s Warehouse Row.”

“It’s right across the highway from Old Towne.”

“Now you see why my parents have been trying to develop it for years.” He drove carefully through the potholed parking lots running throughout the complex of warehouses, empty since the second-largest paper mill in the state went out of business.

“How long ago did your parents acquire the property?”

“The warehouse complex, about five years ago. It’s only been in the last six or seven months that they’ve started buying up all of the foreclosed or high-risk properties in Moreaux Mills—the mixed-use area adjacent.”

Calculation entered Evelyn’s brown eyes as they raked over the buildings. “This is a wonderful structure. The whole industrial-loft look is quite the cutting edge in retail space design.” She folded her hands in her lap, and the motion once more drew Forbes’s attention to her legs.

He cleared his throat and averted his gaze again. She either knew the effect she had on him, or she was just one of those creatures out of whom sensuality oozed with no conscious effort. Kind of like Alaine Delacroix.

“So, let’s see the rest of the area. I want to know just how rundown it is or if there’s any hope in saving any of it.”

“Your wish is my command.” Forbes drove out into the subdivision. “Before the paper mill closed, a large majority of these houses were owned by the mill workers—and those who worked in the warehouses. That’s why the subdivision is called Moreaux Mills. Twenty-five years ago when it shut down and the workers left—either selling or being foreclosed on—the area became mixed-use, with people conducting business out of their homes or buying the vacant home next door to convert into a business.”

He’d only driven through this part of town once or twice—and then back in high school to attend youth group activities at someone’s home. He slowed when he approached Azalea Lane and decided to turn left, just to see what was there.

The houses were a far cry from the minimansions in his parents’ neighborhood, but they weren’t the run-down shacks the local news had been making them out to be in recent months. Most of them—the ones that appeared occupied, anyway—were well-kept Cape Cod or ranch-style houses with good curb appeal. While they didn’t have the visual impact of the Craftsman bungalows or Victorians in Plantation Grove where Meredith and Anne lived, the mid-twentieth-century neighborhood had its charm.

Many of them also had signs out front for their businesses. He slowed again when he recognized one. “That’s the company that cleans the carpets at the law firm. I had no idea they were based down here.”

The road curved, then straightened out and opened into a broad cul-de-sac. But instead of a continuous line of houses, the half-circle at the top of the street featured one house in the midst of what looked like the Garden of Eden. He pulled up to the curb to read the sign in the deepening twilight: DELACROIX GARDENS, NURSERY & FLORIST.

“What an eyesore.” Evelyn’s sneer reminded him of her presence. “Overgrown and unkempt.”

Forbes loved it. It reminded him dually of Jamaica and Spain—his two favorite vacation spots.

“
Dee-la-croy.
Looking like this, they can’t possibly be doing great business.”

Forbes looked at the sign again.
“Del-ah-qua,”
he corrected without thinking. Delacroix. Could Alaine be connected with this business?

“Well, it doesn’t matter how it’s pronounced, because they’ll be gone soon enough. Out with the old and dilapidated, in with the new and luxurious.” Evelyn sighed. “I’ve seen enough. Shall we go to dinner?”

Forbes turned the car around, his mouth tightening. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about what would happen to the people who lived and worked down here when his parents took it all over and razed the existing structures to build luxury town houses and condos and create a completely new retail district with major national retailers they hoped would lease the spaces in the old warehouses.

He glanced at Evelyn from the corner of his eye as she rambled on about her ideas for the development. Suddenly, the sight of her long legs had only the effect on him of imagining her grinding these people into the ground with her expensive, spike-heeled sandals. He didn’t like that image at all.

“They drove off. Guess they didn’t realize we close at six.” Alaine’s father returned to the table. When most people looked at the Delacroix Gardens building from the street, they had no idea that it housed its owners on the second floor addition, nor that the home had a commanding view of the cul-de-sac and street from their dining room and living room.

“Hopefully they will come back tomorrow.” Mother passed the dish of paella to Alaine. “Eat. You are wasting away.”

Alaine took another small serving of the rice and seafood dish grudgingly. She couldn’t afford to put on weight. The cameras already did a good job of that.

“Whoever it was, I hope they do come back. Fancy Jaguar like that—bound to have lots of money to spend.” Daddy shoveled a heaping scoop of paella into his mouth.

Jaguar ... Forbes Guidry supposedly drove one of those. Probably not the only person in town who did. But still, what were the chances...?

“Alaine, what is the matter with you? Didn’t you hear your mother?”

“What?” She shook her head to clear the unproductive thoughts. “No. Sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked if there was a reason you dropped in for supper. Not that we aren’t always happy to see you.”

“Yes, actually. I wanted to talk to you about this whole thing with the buyout.”

Her parents exchanged a look that lit a fire of dread in Alaine’s stomach. “What?”

Daddy cleared his throat and put his fork down. “We received notice today that a private investor has bought our mortgage from the bank. They’re calling in the loan.”

Alaine lost all muscle control in her jaw. She tried to form words, but all that came out was loud sputtering.

“Alaine, please, modulate your voice,” Mother reprimanded.

Alaine softened her tone. “How can they do that?”

“Apparently it’s the acquiring institution’s prerogative to acquire loans and then call them in.”

“How long do you have?”

“Ninety days.”

Alaine wanted to cry ... scream ... yell ... kick the table ... something to break her parents’ all-fired calm. How could they just sit there like that?

“You have to get a lawyer. You have to stop this. It can’t be right.”

“Oh, Alaine, you know we can’t afford a lawyer.” Her father picked up his fork and pushed his rice around on his plate. “We’re operating in the black, but just barely. We’re still trying to get caught up with the loan payments we missed last winter. According to the letter we got, that’s why they’re calling in the loan. Because it’s more than five months in arrears.”

“I’ll pay for a lawyer. I’ll report what’s happening on my show. Surely when a lawyer of conscience hears about what’s happening, they’ll—”

“No.” Mother brought her palms down hard on the table. “You cannot talk about this on your show. You cannot be involved.”

“But I have to do something! I can’t just sit by and watch y’all lose what you’ve worked all your lives to build. If I find a lawyer—quietly—who’ll take the case without charging you too much, would you agree to meet them?”

Daddy mulled over her question for a while. “You know we’re not the only ones in this situation. Joe and Nikki are, too. A dozen others that we know well, and who knows how many that we haven’t met. The lawyer would have to be able to help all of us.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t imagine leaving out anyone who wants to try to stand up for what’s right.”

Daddy pushed his plate back. “But you have to promise us one thing, Alley Cat.”

She actually smiled over the endearment from her childhood. “What’s that?”

“You cannot be seen to be publicly involved in this. If this becomes more public than it already is, you have to step back from it. We don’t want to endanger your career. You’ve worked too long and hard to get where you are to ruin it by marching out in front of everyone, carrying the flag of protest.”

Alaine pictured herself as a majorette high-stepping in front of a marching band. She laughed, then instantly sobered. “But what if my position as someone with the ear of the public can have some influence on getting this settled quickly and quietly?”

“No. Unless you agree, there’s no deal with the lawyer or trying to pursue this any further.”

To see her always-happy father so stern, so serious, broke Alaine’s heart. “All right. I agree. But I’m going to do whatever I can behind the scenes to make sure you don’t lose this place.”

“Congratulations. You have now successfully licensed a Chicago branch of Let’s Do Coffee.” Forbes reached across the corner of the table and shook Shon’s hand.

“Thanks, man. I wasn’t sure this one was ever going to go through. As always, couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Now,” Forbes shuffled the folders in front of him, looking for one in particular, “there’s just one more thing we need to talk about.”

Shon gestured with his hand, open and palm facing Forbes, in a circular motion. “I don’t like this facial expression. This can’t be good.”

Forbes forced a frown. “It has come to my attention”—he opened the red file folder and rifled through a few pieces of paper before finding the one he wanted—“that you appeared on Alaine Delacroix’s show on Tuesday.”

Shon looked down at the printout of the newspaper article Forbes slid across the shiny wood surface toward him. “Dude, don’t do that to me. I thought you were talking about something serious.” Shon flipped the page back toward Forbes. “She’s a lot better looking in person than on TV—and I didn’t think that was possible. Why’re you passing up this prime opportunity to hook such a
fine
specimen?”

“What makes you think I’m passing her up?” Forbes feigned interest in the news clippings still in the red folder.

Shon shrugged. “You haven’t gotten her to agree to go on a date yet, have you? Have you even talked to her?”

“Yes, I talked to her Tuesday morning as a matter of fact.” Forbes leaned against the back of his chair and crossed his arms.

“And...?”

“And ... she’s too busy right now to commit to making plans.”

Shon narrowed his eyes speculatively. “Right. Too busy.” He shook his head. “Classic evade.”

Forbes thought back to their brief conversation. She’d been upset over something she’d said to a co-worker, which, he was certain, tinged their whole interchange. “No, I really believe she meant what she said. She sounded stressed out and like she was being pulled in five directions at once.”

“Okay. If that’s what you want to believe.”

“It’s what I know to be true.”

Shon held his hands up in surrender. “Fine. But look ... if you’re reentering the dating scene, let me handle everything for you. No, listen,” he said forcefully when Forbes tried to interrupt. “I know you don’t like giving up control of things, but this is actually a way for you to gain control over the whole thing—meet only a select group of women already prescreened, by me, to make sure that their interests and lifestyles mesh with yours. I’d like to give you a three-month VIP membership for you as a thank-you for all of the extra hours you put in on the Chicago deal that I know you didn’t bill me for. I’ll handle everything. No one else in the company will ever see your file.”

“Let you set me up on blind dates?” A week ago, Forbes would have laughed and said no immediately. Now, however, with his twenty-year reunion coming up, along with the rekindled ember of wanting to share his life with someone—someone like Alaine—the offer didn’t sound quite so ludicrous.

What did he have to lose? “All right. Ninety days. I’ll meet whoever you feel would be a good match for me.”

Shon grinned. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”

“Yeah, and you won’t regret being able to claim Bonneterre’s Bachelor of the Year as a client, either.”

“You said it, not me.”

After Shon left, Forbes slumped in his chair and turned to stare out the window at the tops of the trees lining the opposite bank of the river. The wild tangle of greenery reminded him of Delacroix Gardens. There must be other people in town with that name—he’d gone to school with several Delacroixes both here at the local branch of the University of Louisiana as well as at Loyola Law School in New Orleans. But could Alaine be related to the owners?

He sat up. She’d sounded stressed on the phone. She’d said she couldn’t go out with him. Could it be because relatives of hers faced losing their business to his parents’ redevelopment plans?

He jumped when the intercom on the phone beeped.

“Mr. Guidry, opposing counsel in the Pichon case is in the first-floor conference room to discuss the schedule for mediation.”

He turned and pressed the intercom button. “Thank you, Samantha.”

Mediation. If his parents ran someone Alaine cared for out of business, Forbes would need mediation with her if she was ever going to agree to go out with him.

“All right. Thank you, anyway. If you know of anyone...”

The line went dead. Alaine crossed the second-to-last name off her list and flipped the phone closed. Finding local lawyers who specialized in real estate law on Google probably hadn’t been the best way to find the right person, but so far, her fears over getting hoodwinked by some smooth-talking ambulance-chaser hadn’t materialized.

She headed back inside, having already taken five minutes longer than the fifteen she’d allowed herself for this personal break.

One thing was certain: If she wanted to get one of them to meet with her to find out more about the case, she needed to leave out the fact that the potential law suit was against Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises; because as soon as that name came up, each lawyer hastily made some excuse or another to get off the phone.

She left a message for the last one on her way back to her desk and then tried to put the matter out of her head by finishing tomorrow’s post for the Bonneterre Insider blog. Fortunately, her series on local artists to promote the upcoming Artisan Festival—of which the station was a major sponsor—interested her, making it easy to switch her train of thought.

She saved the post, and her cell phone rang. She grabbed it and flipped it open, not recognizing the number that flashed on her screen. “Alaine Delacroix.”

“Yes, hello. This is Hank Biddle. You left a message that you wanted to talk to me about a case.”

“Yes, Mr. Biddle, thank you for returning my call.” Alaine stood up, looked around over the top of her cubicle walls, and, seeing no one at any of the nearby desks, she stayed at her desk instead of going back out into the intolerable heat and humidity. “I’m looking for someone familiar with real-estate cases—specifically with taking on the cause of a group of homeowners who are being forced out when a ... large company wants to come in and force them out.”

“And you’re probably looking for someone who could take it on pro bono?”

“Well, we wouldn’t have much money to spend, no.”

“With as much as I’d like to take on a worthy cause, my current caseload is too full.”

Alaine wanted something hard to bang her head against. “I understand. And I appreciate your calling me back.”

“You might want to call the LeBlanc Legal Aid Center. This is the kind of case they specialize in.”

She sat up straighter and grabbed for a pen, which she had to chase across the desk with her fingers. “LeBlanc Legal Aid, you said?”

“Yeah. Hang on, I have the number here somewhere....”

Alaine scribbled the number in the top margin of her steno pad. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

“No problem. Good luck.”

Alaine closed the phone and squeezed it tightly in her hand. Looking down the notepad page, she reviewed her day’s to-do list. The few remaining things she needed to do, she could do at home tonight.

She left a note for Pricilla, out filming a story for tomorrow, to let her know she’d scheduled the blog entry for tomorrow. Packing up everything she’d need to work from home, Alaine hustled out to her car. She dumped everything in the passenger seat, climbed in, then dialed the number for the legal aid center and pulled out of the parking lot.

Someone who identified herself as a volunteer answered the phone and asked Alaine a battery of questions about her case. She assiduously avoided mentioning Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises but did mention her parents’ business and several others in the area by name.

“I will pass your information along to Mr. LeBlanc, and he will give you a call back soon.”

“How soon?”

“I’m not sure, ma’am. But he always returns every call he receives, so you can be certain to hear from him.”

Her surge of excitement faded. “Okay. Thank you.”

Once home, she dropped her bag and purse on the coffee table and collapsed facedown on the sofa, kicking her shoes off. She’d thought finding a lawyer who’d relish the chance to take down a big company like this—to argue a high-profile case—would be a lot easier. The Guidrys had more clout in this town than she’d originally imagined.

After moping on the sofa for a while, Alaine forced herself up and went into the kitchen to see what she had to eat. She opened the fridge and read the tape labels on the stacks of plastic containers lining the shelves. The seafood paella from last night that Mother had made her bring home.
Cozido
stew—too heavy.
Bife
—no, she didn’t need the calories in the pan-fried beef in sauce with seasoned rice.
Iscas com elas
—she hadn’t had liver in a while, and she loved the flavor it lent to the potatoes Mother sautéed with it.
Feijoada
—no, it was too hot for the bean stew.
Alheira
—Mother’s homemade duck sausage also with pan-fried potatoes. Was everything in her fridge meant to make her gain five pounds?

She pulled the half-gallon of skim milk out of the door and set it on the counter, then stepped into the pantry and grabbed a box of frosted flakes. She’d just poured the cereal into a large bowl when her cell phone started chirping. She nearly tripped on the edge of the living-room rug in her haste to get to her purse.

“This is Alaine.”

“Alaine—girl, where are you? We were supposed to all meet up at six for supper.”

“We—?” Alaine slapped her forehead and returned the milk to the fridge. “I completely forgot that was tonight. Give me”—she looked down at her crumpled blouse and pants—“half an hour, and I’ll be there.”

“Want us to order you a drink? The bartender seems kinda slow tonight.”

Alaine shook her head and dashed up the stairs. “You know I don’t drink anymore.” Not that she had ever done much drinking in college. But there had been those couple of times... “Tell everyone I’m sorry I’m late, but that I’ll be there as soon as I can get there.”

“Okay. See ya in a little while.”

“Bye.” Alaine tossed the phone onto the bathroom cabinet and ducked into her closet to change clothes. The enormous walk-in held more clothes than some small boutiques. Yet she still couldn’t find anything she wanted to wear for dinner with her sorority sisters.

Finally, she settled for a sleeveless, silky, royal purple blouse, a pair of close-fitting, dark-wash jeans, and strappy, wedge-heel sandals.

She touched up her makeup, trying extra hard to conceal the dark circles under her eyes. Oh well. If they noticed, she’d just tell them she was putting in long hours these days. With all of them being “corporate babes” themselves, they’d completely understand. Besides, there wasn’t time to take off all her makeup, put some hemorrhoid ointment on the dark circles, wait for it to reduce the puffiness, and then reapply her makeup.

Halfway out of the complex, she remembered she’d left her phone on the bathroom counter. She rounded a block and, leaving the car running in the driveway, ran back into the town house, wishing she had some legitimate excuse to call them back and cancel. But she couldn’t. They only did this once a month, and a couple of the girls had to take off half a day from work to drive in from Shreveport or Baton Rouge to attend.

The drive to the restaurant in midtown took about ten minutes, but the parking lot was packed, and she had to circle it twice before someone vacated a parking space. She zipped her purse closed before getting out of the car—with the way her day was going, if she didn’t, she’d drop it and everything would go skittering under all the cars nearby—then climbed out, rolling her neck and trying to rid herself of the black cloud of annoyance and frustration that had dogged her all day.

She had no trouble locating the Chi Omega table as soon as she entered the restaurant. Her five sorority sisters laughed and talked loudly enough to be heard over the din of the full restaurant.

Alaine sighed. So much for a relaxing evening. Not that the girls from Chi-O had ever been accused of being shy and retiring—at least not in their suite, and not once they’d broken Alaine out of her nerdy, quiet, art-major-wannabe shell.

Shrill greetings went up around the table, and Alaine had to make the circuit to greet each one with an air kiss before she could take her seat.

Bethenny, her former roommate, pulled Alaine into a side-hug as soon as she sat down. “It’s so good to see you. In person, I mean. I see you on TV all the time.”

“Yeah, every time I see you on that screen, all I can think is
I created that!
” Dover grinned at her across the table and passed the plate of fried mushrooms Alaine’s direction.

“No you didn’t!” Bethenny glared at the tall redhead. “
I’m
the one who had the idea to give ’Laine a makeover.”

Alaine bit the sides of her tongue in an effort to keep from frowning and wrinkled her nose in an effort to look amused. Did they have to go through this every time they got together—reminding Alaine of what a dork she’d been up until her sophomore year of college?

“’Laine, you look stressed. You need a drink.” Crystal waved a jewel-encrusted hand to flag down their server. She had always been the heaviest drinker of the suitemates and the one who still tended to lead the rest of them into temptation.

“No—Crystal. I don’t drink anymore.”

“Yeah, don’t forget she went all religious on us after college.” Mallory gave Crystal a look dripping with condescension.

“Right.” Crystal rolled blue eyes framed by lashes much longer and thicker than they’d been at their last get-together. Obviously she had followed through and gotten the lash extensions.

When the waitress arrived at the table, Crystal ordered herself another mixed drink, and Alaine ordered sweet tea and the biggest platter of fried seafood the place had. If the first ten minutes was any indication of how the evening would go, she would at least soothe herself by eating really bad-for-her food. That was their one and only rule for these get-togethers: No one was allowed to be on a diet or talk about calories or fat grams or going to the gym.