Listen To Your Heart (9 page)
Read Listen To Your Heart Online
Authors: Fern Michaels
“You don't want to go there,
Mr.
Brouillette,” Josie said.
Mr.
Brouillette,” Josie said.
“Now you're angry with me. You aren't going to take it out on my dog, are you?”
Josie opened the door and motioned him to leave. “Your dog will be just fine.”
“That was kind of bitchy wasn't it?” Kitty said quietly.
“Yes, I guess it was,” Josie said, her eyes on the dogs in the yard. How happy they were. She could almost forgive Rosie's defection. Wasn't love about making the other person happy? That's what her mother had told both her and Kitty when they were seventeen.
Suck it up, Josie. He's just a guy. Another fish in the ocean. A guy with a ponytail. A guy with dark laughing eyes and an engaging smile who just happens to have a rogue dog who just happens to be in love with
your
dog.
your
dog.
Kitty watched as her sister picked up the bakery box by the string and dropped it into the trash compactor. Damn, her tongue was hanging out for one of the warm, sugary
beignets.
beignets.
“How about some coffee, Kitty?”
“No time. I have too much to do in the kitchen. What time do we have to have the food at the Andreponts'?”
“Twelve sharp. Mrs. Andrepont has a wonderful kitchen with lots of room. Everything will go off on schedule. Tonight is going to be tight and close. As soon as I finish my coffee, I'm off to pick up the ladies. I'll be back inside of an hour.”
“He seems like a nice guy, Josie. Cut him some slack. Don't let this dog business throw you. I don't want you getting all pissy on me now. Think this through. Hey, the guy gave you the key to his house. He didn't have to do that. You'd kill me if I ever gave Harry a key to this house. Think about
that
.”
that
.”
Josie turned her back so her sister she wouldn't see the tears that were about to flood her eyes. Why was she crying anyway? That would be the day when she cried over some man. The tears were because of Rosie. God, how she loved that little dog. “Traitor,” she muttered.
Five
P
aul Brouillette leaned back in his custom-made chair for a better view of the stack of financial reports in front of him. A deep frown etched his brow. He wished he could make the reports disappear. He'd been in the office since six o'clock trying to make that very thing happen. It was eight o'clock now, and his secretary was making coffee. He could smell it, but he knew it wouldn't be half as good as the New Orleans coffee he loved.
aul Brouillette leaned back in his custom-made chair for a better view of the stack of financial reports in front of him. A deep frown etched his brow. He wished he could make the reports disappear. He'd been in the office since six o'clock trying to make that very thing happen. It was eight o'clock now, and his secretary was making coffee. He could smell it, but he knew it wouldn't be half as good as the New Orleans coffee he loved.
He jolted forward and reached for the folder with the red tab; that folder had information about the company his mother managed. It was so far in the red nothing could save it. He'd been subsidizing it for years, and it was like pouring money down an open manhole. The dinner meeting he'd had last night with the accountants had given him a king-size headache that was still with him. The accountant's final words were still ringing in his ears. “Shut it down
now!”
How was he going to do that to his mother? It was all she had left. What about all the cousins and relatives and their families that worked for the company? A severance package meant only months, not years, of security. What would happen to all of them when the severance money ran out? Somehow or other he should have made her listen. Instead, he'd gotten angry when she refused to accept new methods, new advertising, and new packaging. Why wasn't he able to set aside the old hurts? Why did he keep opening up old wounds? Business was business. Family was family. The two couldn't work in harmony for some reason.
now!”
How was he going to do that to his mother? It was all she had left. What about all the cousins and relatives and their families that worked for the company? A severance package meant only months, not years, of security. What would happen to all of them when the severance money ran out? Somehow or other he should have made her listen. Instead, he'd gotten angry when she refused to accept new methods, new advertising, and new packaging. Why wasn't he able to set aside the old hurts? Why did he keep opening up old wounds? Business was business. Family was family. The two couldn't work in harmony for some reason.
The headache continued to hammer at the base of his neck. He needed to work it out. A good long run in Central Park might be the answer. Before he could change his mind, he headed for the lavatory, where he changed into running gear. The phone rang just as he was about to leave the office. He grabbed it on the run and barked into the phone. “Jack! When did you get in? Dinner? Can't make it tonight. You headed for home? Listen, do me a favor. I had to leave Zip with a . . . a friend. She wasn't crazy about taking him. I kind of needled her into it. If you can see your way clear to taking him to my house, I'd appreciate it. I'll call her later and tell her you'll be by to pick him up. Zip knows and likes you. You'll be doing me a hell of a favor, buddy. You'll do it! Great! I owe you, Jack.” He listened to the boisterous voice on the other end of the line for a moment. Why was everyone in the world happy but him?
“Get real, Jack. How in the hell do you expect me to turn my back on this thriving family business? I can't do it. So what if I spent ten years going to school at night to become an architect
after
I got my business degree. It's not something I can work at. We both know that. I know you'll keep offering me a partnership every week, and every week I'll have to tell you the same thing: Family obligations prevent me from accepting your kind, generous offer. So, tell me: What are you building these days? On second thought, don't tell me. I don't want this headache to get worse. What's who like? Oh. She's kind of dumpyâyou know, thick around the middle, big feet, hair that stands out like a bush. Pop-bottle glasses. Loves dogs, though. She has a twin in case you're interested. Your loss, buddy. Ah, how long are you planning on staying in N'awlins? That long! Uh-huh. Make sure you treat my dog good. On second thought, I think I'll call my friend and tell her to drop Zip off at the house. I left a key with her. What time are you getting in? I'll time it so he's only alone for a few minutes. He's kind of
skitzy.
Yeah, yeah, that's what I'll do. No sense getting her and the dog worked up. Call me if you think the flight is going to be late. Remember, Zip knows how to open the French doors, so keep a sharp eye. No, I'm not trying to pull a fast one on you. What gave you that idea? You must be between women. You're paranoid. Yeah, yeah. See you in five days.”
after
I got my business degree. It's not something I can work at. We both know that. I know you'll keep offering me a partnership every week, and every week I'll have to tell you the same thing: Family obligations prevent me from accepting your kind, generous offer. So, tell me: What are you building these days? On second thought, don't tell me. I don't want this headache to get worse. What's who like? Oh. She's kind of dumpyâyou know, thick around the middle, big feet, hair that stands out like a bush. Pop-bottle glasses. Loves dogs, though. She has a twin in case you're interested. Your loss, buddy. Ah, how long are you planning on staying in N'awlins? That long! Uh-huh. Make sure you treat my dog good. On second thought, I think I'll call my friend and tell her to drop Zip off at the house. I left a key with her. What time are you getting in? I'll time it so he's only alone for a few minutes. He's kind of
skitzy.
Yeah, yeah, that's what I'll do. No sense getting her and the dog worked up. Call me if you think the flight is going to be late. Remember, Zip knows how to open the French doors, so keep a sharp eye. No, I'm not trying to pull a fast one on you. What gave you that idea? You must be between women. You're paranoid. Yeah, yeah. See you in five days.”
One last worry off his shoulders. Kind of. Sort of. More or less. Paul smacked his leg in satisfaction. He didn't trust Jack Emery any further than he could throw him. When it came to women, Jack was like a wild stud in a harem. Once he set his eyeballs on Josie Dupré it would be all over but the shouting. He raced by his sputtering secretary. “You'll see me when you see me!”
“What about . . . ? When are you coming . . . ?”
“Deal with it or call André. I'm not taking my beeper, so don't even think about trying to get hold of me. Maybe I'll never come back!”
Paul jabbed at the elevator. “That's the stuff dreams are made of. I'd make a hell of a ski bum. Or a beach bum. On the other hand, I'd make one son of a bitching grade A number one architect,” he mumbled as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby.
Paul settled himself comfortably in the cab that would take him to the park, where he would do his ten-mile run. He squeezed his eyes shut. He'd never asked for this damn job. He'd never wanted to run the family business. All he ever wanted was to be an architect. He hated tradition and responsibility. He wished, the way he wished every day of his life, that he had an older brother, even a younger brother. Hell, he'd settle for
anyone
willing to take on his job. His mother had been adamant.
As the only son you will take over from your father.
He'd given up the best years of his life for his family and the business. When was it his turn? When did he get to do what he wanted to do? Never, that's when. Sure he had a good life. Sure he could take days off, weeks, sometimes. But he always had to come back to Cajun spices and cornmeal. He had to stew and fret over the restaurants. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a peaceful, contented day. Maybe when he was ten or so. No, that's when it all started to fall apart.
anyone
willing to take on his job. His mother had been adamant.
As the only son you will take over from your father.
He'd given up the best years of his life for his family and the business. When was it his turn? When did he get to do what he wanted to do? Never, that's when. Sure he had a good life. Sure he could take days off, weeks, sometimes. But he always had to come back to Cajun spices and cornmeal. He had to stew and fret over the restaurants. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a peaceful, contented day. Maybe when he was ten or so. No, that's when it all started to fall apart.
“Screw it,” he mumbled, tossing the cab driver a twenty-dollar bill. He checked to see that the other twenty was still safe in his pocket. After a ten-mile run he would be in no mood to hike back to his hotel.
He started out slow, building up momentum as he stared straight ahead, his mind refusing to let go of his thoughts. What the hell was wrong with André Hoffauir running Brouillette Enterprises? The guy loved the company, drooled over the Cajun spices and cornmeal, plus he was a natural when it came to the restaurants. He knew every aspect of the business and was family, even if he was a distant cousin. Blood was blood. The problem was Paul's mother. She'd never give the okay to turn the business over to André when she found out Paul was going to close down the cornmeal plant. And yet, André agreed with him.
Three miles into his run, his head was still pounding, and his thoughts were just as jumbled as when he started out. If he'd been more alert, not so focused on his dark thoughts and the path in front of him, he might have seen the thugs coming at him from the left and the right. One moment he was running on the sun-dappled path. A moment later the sunny world around him turned black as he fell to the ground.
“Shit, man! Twenty fucking dollars! You could bench-press that Rolex. Grab it! C'mon, c'mon! We're outta here, man. Go! Go!”
A nanny wheeling a baby in a stroller found Paul Brouillette fifteen minutes later. She dialed 911 on the cell phone the baby's parents insisted she carry with her at all times. She watched, her eyes tearful when the runner's unconscious body was lifted into the waiting ambulance by EMS workers. In a shaky voice she answered the questions the police asked her over the wailing cries of the child in her care.
Â
Josie looked down at her wrist to check the time. It was hard not to notice the date. Paul had been gone five days, and he hadn't called her. Five days was 120 hours. He said he would call. Men were such bastards. Why did they lie and say they would call when they had no intention of doing so? Jerks. She mentally added Paul's name to her long list of no-call jerks.
Kitty was right: He just wanted a dog-sitter, and I fell for his tired old line. I just might decide to keep this dog.
Possession was nine points of the law.
Kitty was right: He just wanted a dog-sitter, and I fell for his tired old line. I just might decide to keep this dog.
Possession was nine points of the law.
Her shoulders slumping, Josie checked on the two dogs, who were lying under the oak tree next to the cottage. They both looked tired. From the moment she let them out in the morning they ran each other ragged until they both collapsed under the tree. She knew they were only getting their second wind before another game of run and chase. For the moment, they were good for at least an hour. She smiled when they both barked as she made her way to the test kitchen. She noticed Kitty at the window, motioning her to wait outside. She pulled up short and waited.
Her eyes wild, her shoulders shaking, Kitty looked on the verge of tears.
“What's wrong, Kitty?”
“Everything and nothing. I didn't know until today Yvette has cataracts and her vision is almost nil. That's okay because Charlet has a hearing problem and wears
two
hearing aids. She's Yvette's eyes and Yvette is Charlet's ears. It kind of evens out except for the mess they make. Réné can see and hear, but she can't cook worth squat. She does have a plethora of recipes, though. Right now I have her cleaning up. She's been ragging on Yvette and Charlet for two hours. I don't think this is working out, Josie. All they do is fight among themselves. They pretend each dish they're making is for the stars on the soap operas they watch. All morning, when they aren't squabbling, they're whispering about Marie and some family crisis. I tried to . . . you know, listen but they caught on to that real quick. They're sweet and they are adorable but, Josie, this isn't going to work. I don't know how to tell them either.”
two
hearing aids. She's Yvette's eyes and Yvette is Charlet's ears. It kind of evens out except for the mess they make. Réné can see and hear, but she can't cook worth squat. She does have a plethora of recipes, though. Right now I have her cleaning up. She's been ragging on Yvette and Charlet for two hours. I don't think this is working out, Josie. All they do is fight among themselves. They pretend each dish they're making is for the stars on the soap operas they watch. All morning, when they aren't squabbling, they're whispering about Marie and some family crisis. I tried to . . . you know, listen but they caught on to that real quick. They're sweet and they are adorable but, Josie, this isn't going to work. I don't know how to tell them either.”
“I don't think you're going to have to tell them,” Josie whispered as she pointed to the three ladies exiting the kitchen, wearing their hats and white gloves. Josie found herself smiling. They looked so genteel, so sweet and charming.
“We are terribly sorry, Miss Dupré, but we won't be able to continue working with you. Marie has just called on the cell phone and we are needed. You will forgive us, no, chère.”
“But . . . is something wrong? Can my sister or I help? I'll . . . I'll miss your . . . invaluable help,” Kitty managed to croak.
“We feel terrible, deserting you like this but family must come first. We left our recipes on the counter for you to use. It is the least we can do. Everything is spick-and-span, chère.”
“Thank you for all your help, ladies. Are you sure about the recipes?”
“We are sure. Marie said it was the fair thing to do. We always do what she says. We called a cab so as not to trouble you,” the sprightly Réné said as she adjusted her floppy-brimmed hat.
“I guess that takes care of that,” Josie said. “Call your friend, Kitty. We'll bite the bullet and pay her whatever she wants. It's not like we have a choice. Tell her we'll sign a six-month contract. That will take us through August. We'll be winding down then since you'll be leaving the first of the year. If she's half as good as you are, I might keep her on and keep the business going. Let's just get through this immediate crisis any way we can. Later will take care of itself.”
“No word from the big Cajun, huh?”
“I didn't think there would be,” Josie said.
Liar, liar, liar.
Liar, liar, liar.
“You'll have to hear from him eventually. After all, you have his dog.” Kitty twinkled.
“Look, let's not get into any of that because I'm not in the mood. I have to pick up those dishes you ordered. While I'm out, is there anything else you want me to do?”
“You can pick up my dry cleaning. And, you can stop at the music store and pick up that new CD I've been wanting. I just can't seem to find the time to do anything lately. Write this down, Josie, so you get the right CD. It's Corinda Carford. Her CD is called
Mr. Sandman.
Pretty lady with a great voice. There's a song on it that's a hoot. It's called âThe Pantyhose Song.' You're gonna love it. Better yet, pick up two because you aren't getting mine. Listen, I know this is sneaky but why don't you, you know, sort of cruise by Paul's house or hey, go inside and pick up some of Zip's toys. You could, ah . . . look around. You don't have to touch anything. Just look. You do have a key, and he did tell you if you needed anything to go in and get it. You might pick up some clues as to what makes that guy tick. I'd do it!”
Mr. Sandman.
Pretty lady with a great voice. There's a song on it that's a hoot. It's called âThe Pantyhose Song.' You're gonna love it. Better yet, pick up two because you aren't getting mine. Listen, I know this is sneaky but why don't you, you know, sort of cruise by Paul's house or hey, go inside and pick up some of Zip's toys. You could, ah . . . look around. You don't have to touch anything. Just look. You do have a key, and he did tell you if you needed anything to go in and get it. You might pick up some clues as to what makes that guy tick. I'd do it!”
“You would, huh? Well, I'm not you! That's right up there with breaking and entering. No, I'm not going to do that. Keep your eye on the dogs, okay?”
“Sure. I think you should go for it. Once in a while you need to do something
unJosie.”
unJosie.”
The moment the Explorer was out of the driveway, Kitty clapped her hands and said to the dogs, “She's gonna do it! I ain't her twin for nothin'.”
Zip threw his massive head back and let out an earsplitting howl. Kitty shivered when Rosie ran under the big dog and cowered.
“Relax. You two aren't going anywhere. I think, Zip, we just inherited you. It's okay, Rosie. He's staying.” A smile on her face, Kitty watched as the boxer picked up Rosie by the scruff of the neck and carried her back to the cool moss under the old oak. “Harry loves me like that,” Kitty said happily. “He doesâhe purely does.”
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