Authors: Alexandrea Weis
He moved closer to her. “I like the pink,” he whispered.
“All right. I’ll get you these, but I don’t think it is quite enough. That picture you got me cost five times what these handcuffs run, so I need to get you something else.”
He placed his hands in the front pockets of his khaki pants. “I’m still in the mood for that ice cream.”
Monique shook her head. “Ice cream and handcuffs. God, you are so easy.”
***
At a stand in Woldenberg Park, Monique bought two vanilla ice cream cones. A peaceful oasis located next to the Mississippi River, the park was landscaped with green grassy knolls, shady trees, and ample benches surrounding a wide, bricked walkway that extended from Audubon’s Aquarium of the Americas to the Moonwalk.
Tyler and Monique stood at the heavy iron railing next to
the riverbank enjoying their cool treats as the muddy water swirled and coursed below. In the background, the calliope organ of the nearby steamboat
Natchez
played a familiar ragtime tune, while on the bricked walkway behind them, joggers, bikers, and ambling tourists passed by.
“This is a side of New Orleans I never saw when I came before,” he admitted,
staring down into the dark water.
She
slipped the black bag with the handcuffs under her arm. “Why not?”
“Too busy, I guess
, and being a tourist never appealed to me. I was just in a hurry to get my business done and head home.”
She
licked her ice cream cone. “All the places you have traveled to and you never once took any time to enjoy yourself? That’s sad, Ty.”
He
pitched the remains of his ice cream cone in a nearby garbage can and rubbed his hands together, trying to remove the sticky mess from his fingers. “It’s business, Moe.”
As her hair
stirred in the humid breeze coming off the river, Monique leaned against the thick iron railing and studied him. “When did you change? You used to be a lot of fun.”
“I guess I grew up.”
“You grew old,” she teased.
“No, responsibility makes you realize that your needs must come behind those of your employees and company.” He
motioned to her. “Like you with your writing. You have to keep the needs of your readers in your thoughts when you write, don’t you?”
She threw her cone in the trashcan. “I write for me
, not for the readers. I have to write what I believe in and not just put something out there for commercial success.” She pulled the black bag from under her arm.
“But you have commercial success, too.”
“Only because what I write resonates with readers. You have to write with your heart, otherwise what you write won’t feel…real.”
When Tyler rested his back against the railing, he saw a small group of young women coming
down the bricked walkway toward them. They were huddled together talking and giggling, as girls tend to do. Tyler was reminded of Tessa. He wondered what she was up to back in Dallas, and how she was taking the news of his divorce from her mother.
One of the girls spotted Monique and stared at her for several seconds. The dark-haired young woman
came closer. “Excuse me? But are you…Monique Delome, the writer?”
Monique’s
posture stiffened and she put on a fake smile. “Yes, I’m Monique Delome.”
Squealing began, and Tyler wanted to place his hands over his ears as the painful noise went on for what felt like an eternity.
“Oh, I’m your biggest fan,” the dark-haired girl shrieked, clasping her hands to her chest.
“Can I have your autograph
?” another from the group called.
“Oh, me too,”
yet another voice cried out.
Within seconds,
a swarm of frenzied female fans surrounded Monique. As the girls searched purses and backpacks for any scrap of paper for her to sign, Monique handed the black bag from Mr. Binky’s Boutique to Tyler.
“I just loved
Blossoms Become Her
. Your Beau Haskins was to die for,” the dark-haired girl beamed.
Tyler
slowly stepped back while Monique fielded the different pieces of paper being shoved at her. He waited off to the side as she diligently signed every autograph, making sure to get the name of the girl wanting it.
One of the young women approached
Tyler. “Are you with her?”
He nodded. “I’m a friend.”
“You look very familiar.” The girl paused and closely examined his features.
“I’m not anyone.” Tyler waved the girl back to Monique. “Better get your autograph.”
Monique answered a few questions about her books, posed for a picture, and then received a round of hugs. When the posse of exuberant fans had moved on, Tyler glided to Monique’s side.
“Does that happen often?”
She wiped her hand across her brow. “Don’t ask me why, but for some reason teenage girls are my biggest fans. I don’t know how they know it’s me.”
“Perhaps the photograph of you on the back of your book gives it away
,” he cracked, handing the black bag back to her.
“I never thought people would pay attention to that, but they do. I’ve been stopped at the grocery, the hardware store, and in the mall. The first time it happened I was shocked, now I’m a bit overwhelmed.”
“Why? You’re famous.”
“I want my books to be famous. Me? I just want to live my life and write my stories.”
Monique sagged against the railing behind her. “You seemed to have shied away from the spotlight.”
He rested his hip
next to her. “I prefer to keep a low profile.”
“How can you do that as CEO of your company?”
“In my business, it’s rather a necessity not to attract a lot of recognition.”
“Why
is that?”
“When my stepfather, Gary, was CEO, he and my mother were pretty active in the Dallas social scene.
You know how Barbara was. Well, a few years before he retired, Gary started getting death threats. He even hired security guards for my mother and his daughter, Helen. After that, I thought it best if I did not follow in my stepfather’s footsteps in quite the same way. When I married Hadley, I became even more paranoid about protecting her daughter, Tessa.”
“
Tessa, you mentioned her before. Are you two close?”
“When she and Hadley moved in with me, I tried
to get to know her.” He shrugged. “But no matter what I did she remained…distant. After a while, I gave up.”
Monique gazed out over the
rushing water. “It must have been tough for her being bounced around like that. I can understand why she would be apprehensive about you. She didn’t want to get close to you only to end up being hurt again.”
“
Somehow I get the impression we’re not just talking about Tessa.” He positioned his arm about her shoulders. “We never got to finish our talk at the restaurant…about us.”
“
I know.” Monique settled against him. “How about we get out of this hot sun and head on home?”
Tyler removed his
Porsche sunglasses from the front pocket of his polo shirt and slid them over his eyes. “Good idea.”
Monique held up her black bag
in front of him. “I want to try out these handcuffs.”
Tyler
softly chuckled. “I think I’ve created a monster.”
Chapter 1
7
After they walked in the door of Monique’s home, Tyler reveled in the brisk embrace of the air-conditioning. Despite the ride back from the French Quarter in Monique’s cool Toyota Forerunner, his body was still moist with perspiration.
“The humidity here is awful
.” Tyler pulled his polo shirt over his head.
“Yeah,
it takes a bit of getting used to.” Monique shut the front door.
“Not sure if I will ever get used to it.”
She paused as she flung her black bag from Mr. Binky’s Boutique on the stairs. “Does that mean you would prefer living in Dallas as opposed to New Orleans?”
He gave her a questioning glance. “Where did that come from?”
“You just made it sound like living here would never be an option.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He
paused, looking her over. “Do you want me to consider living in New Orleans?”
“Perhaps commuting or something…
.” She tossed her hands up. “I don’t know.”
Monique
quickly headed down the hallway next to the stairs. Tyler took a few long strides to catch up with her and then clasped his hand over her arm.
“Are you asking me to move here, Moe?”
She confidently raised her head to him; her face was completely bereft of any emotion. “I was just suggesting you might want to come back and…see more of the city.”
“If I come back, it won’t be to see the city.”
Monique arched back from him. “If you come back? Am I supposed to beg?”
“No, want.” He pulled her into his arms. “Want me to come back. Want to be with me.”
“I want to be with you, Ty.” She smiled obstinately. “How’s that?”
“You….” He was about to kiss her when the ringing of the phone from the kitchen distracted him.
She twisted her head toward the kitchen doors just as a man’s voice came out over the speaker of the answering machine.
“God damn it, Monique! What in the hell is this shit you sent me
? We can’t publish this. You’d better call me ASAP. And why aren’t you picking up your cell phone? Call me back now!”
She crashed her head into Tyler’s chest, groaning.
“What is it, Moe?”
“It would seem
Chris read my new book.” She leaned back. “I knew he would hate it.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?”
She wiggled out of his arms. “I’d better call him back. I left my cell phone here this morning, hoping to avoid this.”
“Moe, what’s wrong with the book?”
She casually waved her hand at him. “It’s about you. The real you this time, and there are parts that are…how should I put this…risqué.”
“You mean the sex?”
She nodded. “Rough sex, bondage, and a few things that I got online doing some research.”
Tyler r
an his hand through his hair as he remembered the young girls crowding around Monique at the riverfront. “But you told me your fans were mostly teenage girls. You can’t write things like….” He let his voice trail off as he began to comprehend why Chris Donovan was so furious. “Moe, you could hurt your career,” he vehemently added.
“It’s my career, Ty. I told you before, I only write what I want, and I won’t have my stories dictated by the desires of my reader.”
“But if your audience doesn’t like the new stuff you write, you could lose them and in the process your publisher and your income could suffer.”
“But it’s what I want. It’s what I’m feeling, and that is what goes into my books. Not the commercial benefits I hope to gain, the emotional release I need to write about.” She
set her eyes on the kitchen doors. “I’ll call Chris and straighten it out.”
After she slipped
into the kitchen, Tyler was gripped by a sickening wave of guilt. Was he the cause of her sudden change in writing styles? What if he was threatening her successful career? He knew Monique was only the tip of the big business machine working behind the scenes. There were a lot of other people whose jobs were dependent on her book sales.
But instead of following her into the kitchen to talk her out of pursuing her latest novel, he
went to the stairs and climbed the steps. Perhaps it was best if he did not interfere. It was her business, after all. The one thing he had learned from his marriages was to never tell a woman what you were thinking. That way you did not spend the rest of your life wishing you had never opened your mouth in the first place.
***
Later that evening, after a quick shower, Tyler checked the messages on his cell phone that he had let roll over to voice mail while touring the French Quarter. Spotting the three missed calls and assorted texts from his stepfather, he silently cursed.
“Gary, I’m sorry I missed you,” he began when he returned his call. “But I was—”
“Where in the hell have you been, Tyler?” Gary shouted, interrupting him. “I’ve had to call Hal Askew back twice when I couldn’t get you. He’s been waiting to talk to you about the mess in Oklahoma.”
“I’ve been tied up,” Tyler asserted.
“Tied up with some woman, I’ll bet. When are you going to get your head out of your dick, boy, and start devoting yourself to the business?”
“I have been
devoting myself to the business for ten years now, Gary. I’ve even got the two failed marriages to prove it.”
“You married a bimbo and a gold digger, what else did you expect
?” Gary took in a labored breath. “Now, I’ve texted you Askew’s contact information, and—”