Requisite Vices Read online

“You looked stressed and wound tight last night. It seemed to me like you deserved a bit of relaxation, so I was hoping to make you laugh this morning. You know, to loosen you up a bit. Maybe give you an excuse to cast aside your worries for a day.”

  “So you’re just a regular white knight, trying to save stressed out women from their burdens?”

  “Oh, nothing like that, Miss Cass.” He chuckles. “It’s more akin to seeing someone who could use a smile in their day, and wanting to help. I hardly consider that something deserving of knighthood. I see it more as one human being helping out another. We all need a bit more joy in our lives, these days.”

  I smile at his stirring response as our waitress places our drinks in front of us. She asks if we need anything further, lets her hand linger for a few seconds on Ethan’s drink as her eyes take on a look of longing, then she rushes off to tend to the other customers.

  “What is it you do? If you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Well I’m currently staying here with some mates for a work-related conference.”

  “That doesn’t tell me anything about what you do.” I grin.

  “I’m a nurse, if you must know. Well, technically, at least. I’m here in New Orleans for an annual conference at the request of my employer.” He leans back, sipping on his tea. “I travel around quite often, and it can be stressful. It’s nice to meet new people from the various walks of life, and from the wide array of cultures that span this country. It’s refreshing.”

  “You hardly know me, though, and you’ve invited me out to coffee.” I tease. “You know, I could be a secret axe murderer or something.”

  “Oh, my dear, I’m a big boy. I think I could take care of myself. I do believe I could ward off any attacks from a woman of your…stature.” He stifles a laugh, hiding his grin behind his cup.

  “Is that a short joke? I don’t think you’re giving me enough credit. I’m fairly certain I could take you down. You shouldn’t underestimate those of us who are vertically challenged…”

  “I don’t underestimate you at all. I’m just confident in my ability to bat my eyelashes and make you swoon.” He grins.

  I wrap my fingers around my drink and sip cautiously at the scalding liquid, my thoughts wavering back to my phone. Should I call Delacroix today about that meeting? I think he wanted me to call him today…or did he say he’d call me? Damn my shitty memory.

  “What can you tell me about this city? I haven’t had a chance to wander around yet, but I like the feel of it. It’s almost buzzing.” He asks, his deep, sultry voice spanning the space between us and flowing like honey between my ears. His eyes wander out the window as he speaks, and he seems to lose himself in his own thoughts.

  “Honestly, I don’t think I can tell you much. I moved to this state a few years ago with a friend, but this is the first time I’ve actually set foot in New Orleans. I’m just as new to this city as you are.”

  “It’s a shame you’ve never been here before, though I guess I don’t have much of an excuse either. I have a brother that lives fairly close by, but whenever I’ve come to visit, we never ventured out here. It feels a bit rough around the edges; this city, but it strikes me as a bit of a creative haven. Have you heard the street musicians? They’re wonderful!”

  “I suppose they are.”

  “Well, what brings you here then?”

  “My editor pushed me to come here and conduct an interview, which I failed. I didn’t get much that I can use, though I’m hoping to gather a bit more before the weekend is over so my editor doesn’t string me out of her office window by my ankles.”

  “So you’re a writer then?”

  “Maybe, in so many words, though I don’t really know if that suits me. I just write the occasional article for a magazine based out of the city I live in, and write some things for my own pleasure that never see the light of day. I don’t know if anything I create is really that good…certainly not good enough to label myself as a writer. That seems like such a prestigious title to me.” I laugh

  “That sounds fascinating. I have never had the talent to write, myself, though I’m quite the avid reader. I’m sure you’re being too hard on yourself. We’re all our own worst critics.”

  “I suppose. It helps pays the bills at least, though not very well. I don’t always get to write about subjects I’m interested in, but I get by. So, you’re a nurse? Here, in the states? You sound like you’re from…”

  “I’m from Britain, originally. I have still managed to keep the accent. It really helps with the ladies.” He winks.

  Laughing, I shake my head.

  Yes, I’m sure it does help you with the ladies.

  Whether he was making a simple jest or not, his accent mixed with the deep tones of his voice are difficult to hold out against. His voice is definitely having an effect on me.

  “What brings you to this side of the pond, then?”

  “My brother and I moved here about seven or eight years ago when we were teens. My father relocated to this country for work and I saw no real reason to go back afterwards. My brother found work here, in Louisiana, and I briefly moved up north just outside of Boston, Massachusetts. My parents live along the eastern border of the country, on the coast of Virginia.”

  “I see. So you have a brother that lives here?”

  “I do. Not here in New Orleans, but yes, in Louisiana. He’s maybe an hour’s drive away. Maybe a bit more. We’ve always been close growing up, and I usually stay with him when I make trips here. He’s not exactly close to this conference, however, and it was easier to stay in a hotel than it would be to rent a car and drive the distance.”

  The conversation slips into him speaking more of his childhood, his family, and his work as we sip our respective drinks. I seem to have this curse where people find themselves immediately comfortable around me, and spill the secrets of their lives within minutes or hours of meeting. A blessing, and a curse, I suppose; as it often helps with potential partners when trying to figure out their desires.

  His eyes shift from blue to green and back again as they seek out mine, but I can’t seem to keep myself focused. My eyes slip from his, over his prominent cheekbones and down to his soft lips that I had the pleasure of feeling on my hand the night before. There’s something about him; something odd that makes him stand out of the crowd, and as my ears pull the sound of his voice from the air, my mind wraps lovingly around each syllable. Each sound from his mouth melts through my body, trickling down my spine to rest between my thighs.

  I’m aching unexpectedly, and I don’t know how to make it stop. The conversation has gone so well and it’s nice having something so casual and non-sexual, but my body is rebelling against me. I absently nibble the corner of my lip as my eyes trail down his neck and take notice of how the buttons on his royal purple shirt strain against one another, begging to burst free and reveal the pale skin hiding beneath.

  I shift uncomfortably and find him staring at me with his head tilted ever so slightly to the side.

  “Are you feeling alright?”

  “Yes, sorry. My mind wandered a bit. I’m still trying to wake up, I suppose. You were saying?”

  “Oh. Yes…right. I was actually saying that I’ve kept you quite long enough, and I should be heading back as I must attend yet another meeting. Part of the convention, you understand. I do thank you for the company. It has been a wonderful experience, and I’m honored you agreed to join me.”

  “Of course, thank you for the coffee.” I reply, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice. I’d love to sit here and do nothing other than listen to the delicious bass tones that resonate out of those soft, parted lips.

  “Not at all, miss. Perhaps, if you’re free, we can explore the city together later on.”

  His eyes rest on mine and I’m transfixed. The shifting colors demand my attention, and I regrettably tear my gaze away from him.

  “I would love to, but I’m supposed to meet up with someone tonight to finish the
interview I mentioned earlier. I’m sorry, really.”

  “Ah, well I’ll leave you to your day, then. Some rather boring people will be awaiting my presence shortly, and I mustn’t keep them waiting. Perhaps we will see each other again?”

  “I would love that.”

  I smile sweetly, take my purse and stand. After I thank him again for the drink and offer him a handshake, I head back to the hotel alone. My phone rings the minute I step into the lobby and startles me. So rarely do I leave my ringer on, that I have forgotten what it sounds like. The call is from Alexander Delacroix.

  “Miss Roman.”

  “Speaking.”

  “I’ve made some free time tonight. Shall we meet around 7?”

  “Sure. That sounds great.”

  “Any preference on a venue?”

  “No. I’m not too familiar with this area, so wherever you’d like to meet is fine with me.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll text you the address.”

  He hangs up instantly with a snap of the line, and I peek at the screen in time to see a text pop up, stating the address he’s chosen for us to meet.

  He’s decided not to volunteer the name of the establishment, just an address and the time he expects me. I roll my eyes and head to my room for a much needed shower, a change of clothes and to prepare myself as much as possible before tonight.

  Chapter 7

  The clock on the desk flashes 6:30 as I pull on my heels and make one last check in the bathroom mirror. I run my hands over my hair in an attempt to smooth down any wayward strands, and marvel at the style I’ve whipped up. I managed to pull off a pretty clean French twist, which is normally impossible for me. I’m still unsure of how I managed it, but I’m not about to step on the toes of the good-hair-day gods.

  Being unaware of what kind of venue he has chosen, I decided on a simple, tasteful black cocktail dress and a plain silver necklace with a teardrop shaped sapphire hanging from it. I rub my hands together to calm my nerves. Everything will be fine. There’s no need to be nervous.

  This time, I’ve gone through the trouble of writing down every single question I plan to ask him. I have absolutely no intention of floundering over my words this time. I’ll make sure I come off as clean, crisp and professional; the ideal representation for Angela’s pride and joy, and I’ll make damn sure that I get enough from him to spin a good article for her.

  I take a look at the address and type it into the GPS on my phone. After seeing that it isn’t too far from the hotel, I take the elevator to the lobby and catch a glimpse of the back of Ethan’s head from the open door of the conference center. He’s the center of attention, playing the room with the elegance and grace of a trained ballroom dancer, and I smile at the memory of our early morning coffee. He’s a nice guy, and I find myself drawn to him, but I abolish such absurd thoughts from my head. He’s too sweet, and I’m too fucked up to ever mesh well with someone like him.

  Stepping out the door, I slip behind the wheel, letting the GPS chime in and lead me down a street to my right, off of Canal Street. As I turn down the road, my outlook of the city shifts. The roads thin into a nerve-wracking series of one-way streets overflowing with people. They’re everywhere; milling around on every corner and surging out in front of cars in large groups without a care. My fingers grip the wheel as I slowly nudge my car through.

  He wants to meet here?

  The skyscrapers fall off and give way to short, thin buildings that I had seen during my trip to the café, crammed together side by side. I notice cables strung between the buildings, and a thicker one following the same path as the road I’m on. Looking down I notice a track in the middle of this asphalt hallway, and as I follow the road around a corner, a streetcar blocks my path. An honest to god street car! I didn’t realize there was still such a thing, much less one that was still up and running regularly.

  My fingers grip the steering wheel tighter; can I pass it? Do I wait? The tight confines of the roads, mixed with the crowds of people, leaves me anxious, and my mind racing. I feel permanently overcharged with nervous energy, both for this second chance, and because of the slight case of claustrophobia that’s creeping its way up the back of my spine. My nerves feel worse now than they were for my initial meeting with him, and I can’t decide if it’s the area, the tight space, the suffocating streets, the quickly depleting daylight or a combination of all of the above.

  A few more turns and the GPS announces ‘You have arrived.’ Arrived? Great, but the street is packed to the brim with surging bodies and cars parked along every edge. I glance around and notice the street sign. Bourbon Street…wonderful. The address he gave me apparently shares a common corner with this notorious street, and it only serves to further heighten my anxiety. I’ve heard my fair share of stories of this place; everyone has, and they’re always a mix of crazy and dangerous.

  Driving around eagle eyed, I search for a place to park and finally settle on the only parking garage in the area with vacancies. Unfortunately, it is several blocks away from the venue.

  After grabbing the parking ticket, I head back to the address, once again searching around for him. I’m hesitant to call; I’d hate to be a bother, but it’s hard to pick him from the hundreds of other people currently occupying the road. I pull out my phone and zoom in and out of the map, trying to pinpoint the exact building, but they’re all melded together and I see no sign of a building number on any of them.

  I walk along the block, then cross to the other side of the street, hesitant to place even a toe on the corner of Bourbon. After several moments, I come across what I believe to be the place. It’s a small building tucked between two larger establishments, and adorned with thin, dark wood French doors. I finally spot his auburn curls just behind a group of five revelers, and approach cautiously.

  “Good evening.”

  “Ah, you’ve made it! Wonderful.” He smiles broadly as his eyes sweep over me. I feel so vulnerable here; so exposed. I’m sure it’s just the area…

  My mind is frantically working to fill my thoughts with every worst-case scenario possible, and I’m trying my hardest to keep my hands from trembling in nervous fear. I’m not used to being in this area, nor am I accustomed to being around such large groups of people.

  “Shall we?” He asks as he opens one of the doors. I slide through and am greeted by a green tinged light that spills out onto black and white tiled floors. It vaguely reminds me of a New York subway bathroom sans the trash and stench of urine.

  He steps in front of me, and I follow him toward a desk where two young women are dressed in black pants, crisp white shirts and black vests. They nod before he makes it to the desk, and motion toward another set of French doors to their right. He ushers me through.

  The room is long and narrow with high ceilings and muted light spilling from ornate glass wall lamps. The bar itself occupies two thirds of the far long wall. It’s a gorgeous, gleaming dark wood with a small woman standing behind it in an old-style bartender’s uniform; black vest, black bowtie, white long sleeved shirt underneath, and black pants. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, and there’s a clean towel tucked into her belt. She’s petite with shoulder length light brown hair, and greets us with a pleasant, chipper voice. A tall, husky man with an impressive mustache waves at us from the far end of the room nearest the street, then walks to meet us in the middle and begs us to take a seat.

  “Can I get your usual?” he asks Alexander.

  “I’m not sure tonight, Charlie. I’ll let you know after we settle in.”

  Alexander leads me to the side of the room that faces the street, and eases me into an ornate, lion claw loveseat positioned right beneath a large window with wooden shutters that obscure the view of the street, and thankfully, the crowds.

  He pulls up a chair and positions it at an angle with a small table between us. The female bartender comes up and hands us both menus then asks if she can get us anything. I stare uncomfortably at the menu; I’m not well versed
in cocktails, and have no idea what any of these are. I’m much more comfortable pouring some rum in a glass of coke and calling it a night.

  He speaks softly to her, placing his order, then looks over at me with a spark of amusement in his eyes.

  “And what would you like?”

  “I…I don’t know, honestly.” I stutter, embarrassed. “Do you have any suggestions?”

  He glances back at the waitress and smiles.

  “Why don’t we get her something on the sweet side, with a bit of citrus thrown in? Thanks, Rebecca.”

  “Right away.” She replies, and scurries off to start the drinks.

  “I’m sorry about our earlier meeting, so drinks are on me. I’d show you around, but honestly, I’m in a more sedentary mood tonight.”

  “It’s fine…” I respond, as I nervously glance at my phone to check the time. “I don’t know how comfortable I would be walking around here at this hour, anyhow.”

  “That’s silly.”

  Leaning over the table, he looks through me with soft brown eyes.

  “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you while you’re in my care.”

  Smiling, I press my lips together to stifle any impending laughter, as the idea of this man taking down some armed assailant is preposterous. He’s not exactly the body builder type, and with his lean build, I doubt he could take down a grandma coming after him with a box knife.

  Rebecca brings our drinks and places them on the table along with glasses of water. With one sip, the bubbles dance along my tongue and tease my nose, but it was his eyes and silver tongue that intoxicated me long before the first taste. As he launches into a conversation about his recent perusing of an exhibit that had come to the local museum, I feel his words delicately weaving themselves around my body. German artwork, I believe, is what he’s speaking about…but the low murmur of the bar patron’s melds with the blood pounding in my ears, and I find it hard to concentrate on his words.

  The drink tastes like a mix of champagne and sugar with a lemon wedge sitting peacefully in the center of the glass. I chastise myself for not eating before this meeting. The alcohol goes straight to my head as the heat from my blood pools into my cheeks.