Читать книгу French Quarter Kisses - Zuri Day - Страница 15

Chapter 3

An hour before the Bayou Ball was set to begin Roz was no closer to being ready than she’d been two hours ago. She loved red and black, except when red went with carpet, black preceded tie, or like tonight, the colors were part of the requested dress code. Heels. Makeup. Social small talk. Who needed that when life was happening all around you?

More importantly, who needed to chance seeing the guy who’d broken your heart barely one year ago? In going to the Bayou Ball being held at the Ritz Carlton hotel, running into her ex, Delano Richard, was inevitable. He never missed a moment to be the center of attention, the city’s mover and shaker with all the answers, whose business savvy had made him a multimillionaire. When they first met, Roz was a new edition to the city’s number one newspaper. Just beginning her journalism career. Eager to impress. She’d been relentless in her pursuit of the businessman and the story. Transplanted resident promising to restore the famous Ninth Ward, the neighborhood most negatively impacted after Hurricane Katrina. She’d covered him off and on for a year. Developed a friendship that continued past that. And then it went further, to a relationship that Roz thought could go all the way to the altar.

Until she learned that Delano wasn’t the man she thought he was, but was using her position and the glowing articles she wrote to enhance his reputation and advance his agenda. He’d counted on love to keep her blinded to his true social-climbing motives until it was too late. Until he hooked his star to a beautiful socialite, broke up with Roz and broke her heart.

After a six-week whirlwind courtship, the spoiled rich girl had tossed him to the curb. He’d tried to come back to Roz, but that wouldn’t happen. Delano had taught her to never, ever mix business with pleasure. And to not trust pretty boys with her heart.

Roz straightened her shoulders. Melancholy morphed into resolve. She’d sworn the last tears over this breakup had been shed long ago. She wasn’t going to dredge up more of those emotions. In fact, she was going to cover them up with a sexy dress, some killer heels and a change up from her curly do. Ugly memories of the ex added to frustration at the hard-to-reach celebrity chef she hadn’t even wanted to cover. She practically flung the stylish, yet safe, pantsuit she’d planned to wear off her bed and stepped into the walk-in closet. Once there, she released the towel from around her freshly showered bod and reached beyond her normal casual fare for a dress she’d bought on a dare and never worn. It wasn’t her style, which, according to the cousin who’d bet money she wouldn’t buy it, was the point. Roz pulled it out, turned to the mirror and held the silky, silver maxi with the thigh-high split against herself. She swallowed a lump of shyness, beat back insecurities left over from a childhood of being teased, and took the look even further with a pair of designer stilettos she’d worn only once. The strappy sandals beaded with Swarovski crystals matched the dress perfectly, added just the right amount of bling to the diamond teardrop necklace and matching earrings that she donned for every fancy occasion.

Next she marched into the bathroom and grabbed her curl conqueror from the cabinets below the sink, a gift from the same cousin who’d lost twenty dollars on the dress bet. Roz could count the times she’d used the deluxe flat iron on the fingers of one hand. But she handled the tool and her curls like a pro. Thirty minutes later her hair was straight and long, curled only on the ends, cascading over her shoulders and down her back. When she took a final look in the mirror, all toned and sleek and sexified, she hardly recognized herself. After reaching for her crystal clutch, she flung locks of hair behind her as she headed for the door. Feeling confident and looking the part, she now felt ready to step into society and hold her own against anyone in the room.

Five minutes inside the hotel’s ballroom and Roz thanked the gods that she’d changed outfits. All New Orleans’s who’s who were present. She quickly recognized people she’d grown up with, knew socially or had met in a professional capacity. Unfortunately, one of the first to approach her as she sipped a sparkling water was just about the last person in the room with whom she wanted to converse.

“Hello, Rosalyn.”

“Delano.”

“You’re looking quite beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

She watched his eyes sweep the area around her. “Rolling solo tonight?”

What’s it to you? “Hardly. I know just about everyone in this room.”

Delano flashed the dashing smile that used to turn Roz’s legs to jelly. Her first victory of the night was that she was truly not moved. “Several of whom would have been happy to be your date. Including me.”

“Please.”

“What? I’m only stating how I feel.”

“Just stop, okay. What we had is long over, never to be revived.”

“I messed up, royally. How long are you going to punish me for that?”

“Where is your date?”

“I’m looking at her.”

“Bye, Delano.”

He caught her arm. “Roz, wait.”

She pointedly looked down, then up. He immediately released her. “I’m sorry. Listen, can we at least be friends?”

“Let’s be friendly, how about that? Cordial while keeping our distance.”

“Fair enough.” He held out his hand. “To cordiality.”

She hesitantly placed her palm in his. Covering her hand with his other one, he looked beyond her and smiled. “Rosalyn, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Maybe later.”

He tightened his grip. “He’s coming right now.”

Roz took a deep breath, bracing herself for a hasty hello and an even faster exit.

“There’s the man!” Delano released Roz’s hand to greet the person walking up.

“I heard you owned it.”

Roz recognized the voice and barely suppressed a groan. The same one that had dismissed her a few days ago, though tonight the tone was friendly, laid-back. She took a deep, calming breath and turned. Good thing, too. Roz wouldn’t have thought it possible for the toned, ripped body she saw in the gym to look even better in a tux. But Pierre did.

“Not since you came to town,” Delano responded. “Baby...” Roz cut him a look. “I mean, Rosalyn, have you had the pleasure of meeting the city’s newest superstar?”

Roz held her poise and a neutral expression as she answered. “We’ve met.”

“I don’t think so,” Pierre said, an admiring gaze sweeping her from head to toe and back. “There’s no way I’d forget meeting someone as lovely as you.” He held out his hand. “Pierre LeBlanc.”

She placed her hand in his, watched as he lifted it toward his mouth. “Roz Arnaud.”

The slightest hesitation before kissing her hand told Roz that he remembered. The evening had just gotten more interesting.

“Rosalyn is a very talented journalist. She works for a newspaper called the New Orleans Beat, NO Beat for short. It’s a smaller, independent publication, but several of their articles have been picked up by the Associated Press, Rosalyn’s among them.”

“Impressive,” Pierre said.

Roz thought so, too. If Delano had paid half as much attention to her while they were dating as he’d obviously done lately, their romance may have had a different ending.

“I’ll have to, um, go online and...check out some of your work.”

“Have you been to his place?” Delano asked Roz. “Easy Creole Cuisine? Of course you know the name. There’s not a person in town who doesn’t know who he is.”

“Yes, I know about the restaurant, and no, I haven’t been there. From what I’ve heard that’s not likely to happen anytime soon.”

“You should hook her up, man,” Delano said. “Cook a few dishes for her to try out. Get another article for the PR files. There’s no such thing as too much publicity.”

“I’m sure Pierre is much too busy cooking to speak with a lowly newspaper reporter.” Said with a voice of innocence and eyes that feigned understanding.

“No, well, I...”

“Don’t worry about it.” Roz hated to cut his squirming short, but the one person she wanted to talk with even less than Delano was headed in their direction. “Nice meeting you. Excuse me.”

As Roz walked away, Brooke’s drawl wafted over the din of noise. “There he is, our hometown hero!”

There she goes, Brooke Evans, the groveler, Roz thought as she continued through the crowd.

Which is why she’ll get the interview and the story, said the devil on her shoulder.

If that was the price for keeping her dignity, Roz would pay it. She might regret her actions later, but right now, she just didn’t care.