The Beau & the Belle
Page 43

“Well, you look great. Wish I was going.”
I smile tightly. “What are you doing here?”
We haven’t seen each other since the night he met up with us on Bourbon. He was at my parents’ luncheon, but he had to leave early. We’ve talked via text a few times, but it’s been harmless and friendly. His presence here is throwing me for a loop.
His gaze flickers back up to mine and his expression turns serious, if not solemn. “I wanted to talk to you for a minute—alone.”
I motion to the empty coffee shop around me. “Well, now’s your chance.”
He nods and steps away, turning in a circle. “The place looks great, better than I imagined.”
Why does it feel like there’s an insult masked by his compliment? “Thanks. It’s nearly finished. Did you get my invitation for the soft opening?”
“I did. I’ll be there, of course.”
I rock back on my heels and let the silence expand between us. It’s obvious he didn’t come here to talk about NOLA, and I don’t really have time for small talk. “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, Preston?”
He’s turned away from me when he asks, “How well do you know Beau Fortier?”
A chill runs down my spine. I don’t want to have this conversation, but I can’t think of a way to kick him out without being rude.
“Pretty well.”
“Are you two dating?”
I don’t hesitate before answering, “Yes.”
Though I have no clue if Beau would give the same response, it’s better that I’m honest with Preston; he’s been nice these last few weeks, and I don’t have any interest in stringing him along.
“Have you considered why you’re dating?”
I laugh. “Um…well…”
I have no clue what to say. Why we’re dating? Because I think about him nonstop? Because I hump my bed every night pretending it’s him? Because if anyone else was dating him besides me, I’d probably be rotting away in a jail cell for committing a crime of passion?
“Why would he be pursuing you this hard, after all this time? Think about it, Lauren—he’s a leech.” His voice grows more passionate. “You can give him the only thing he’s missing. He has the education, the job, the lifestyle, but New Orleans has always been about more than that. The Fortier name was pawned by his grandfather, and Beau’s been struggling to buy it back. You’re the one thing he can’t buy—the perfect, pedigreed wife he can use to gain a foothold at the top of society for good.”
My gut instinct is to laugh. I mean, not just because his theory is absolutely ludicrous, but because I think he actually believes it.
“He wants your name, Lauren. The LeBlancs matter in New Orleans. You mean something.” He points at my chest for emphasis and I take a hesitant step back. “That house across the street from you? It’s his—did you know that?”
My face betrays a moment of surprise, but the revelation spawns pride more than anything else, something Preston misinterprets.
“Why wouldn’t he tell you? It’s because he’s fixing it up so he can tunnel in and pretend he’s one of us, so he can act like he belongs here.”
My heart breaks, but not for me—for Preston.
I step closer and touch his forearm, surprised at how much anger is rolling off him. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why else?” he spits. “I’m trying to warn you! Protect you, from this—this—this liar!”
The calmer my voice sounds, the more indignant his becomes. It’s like he thinks I’m a mouth-breathing fool for not seeing what he sees.
“Beau doesn’t want me for my name, I can assure you of that.”
He steps forward suddenly and grips my bicep so I couldn’t break free even if I wanted to. His eyes dart between mine and for half a second, I wonder if this was such a good idea. I thought I knew Preston, but his eyes look inhuman—angry and wild.
“When you moved back to New Orleans, I thought we’d finally get our chance. My parents have always adored you. They talked about you so much when I was growing up, even before I was smart enough to see what a catch you were. They—I—always assumed we’d be together one day. Didn’t you?”
I press my hand to his chest and try to push him off. “Preston, I think you have the wrong idea.”
I never should have called him that day in Beau’s office. I should have sat down with him and ended things face to face. I’ve left too much room for a second chance and hurt feelings. The wild look in Preston’s eyes isn’t hatred or bloodlust; it’s pain.
“I’m not losing you to him, not when all he wants is your name. I want you, Lauren. I want us to happen. The Westcott name would be your name. You should be with me.”
His voice is pure anguish, and my heart slices in two a little more. It wasn’t so long ago that our roles were reversed. In high school, I was the one throwing myself at his feet, and I haven’t forgotten what it feels like when your love is one-sided. There isn’t a feeling that compares.
My touch turns gentle on his chest. “I sincerely thank you for trying to protect me Preston, but I’m not worried about Beau, and you shouldn’t be either.”
He shakes his head and steps back, finally releasing me. His hand drags through his hair, and the blond threads go in every direction. My chest fills with air and I realize I was holding my breath, waiting to see what he would do.
The door to NOLA opens again and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. It’s Beau; this time I know for sure.
I turn to see him walk in, eyes on Preston. He’s magnificent, dressed down in jeans, boots, a flannel shirt, and a cool leather jacket. I smile and wave.
Preston seems happy to see him, which is strange considering the conversation we were just having.
“Hey Beau, good to see you, man.”
“What are you doing here?” I guess Beau isn’t one for pleasantries. He turns to me. “What is he doing here?”
My brain works overtime trying to think up a solution for this scene he’s just walked in on. I want to be honest, but how would that go down? Preston is here because he thinks you’re a sociopath, using me as a societal stepping stone. Oh, and he wants me to be with him instead. Funny, right? Well, let’s go then.
“Preston came by to check out the space.”
It’s the weakest lie anyone has ever uttered, and it melts like acid on my tongue.
Beau’s jaw shifts as he clenches it and his eyes narrow sharply on Preston. It’s obvious he doesn’t believe me, and he’s trying to figure out what I’m attempting to hide.
I think there are going to be blows. I wonder if I could use the contractor’s tools to dig a trench and fashion a makeshift helmet. When I decide this isn’t an option, I turn to my tried-and-true diffusion tactic: nervous rambling.
“So I was just saying how it’s still coming along. I have a lot to do before the opening—guess the soft opening just keeps getting softer, huh? But as soon as I bring in some plants and hang the paintings on the wall, the space will be ready enough to fake it.”
Preston smiles and shakes his head. “It looks great already. I can tell you’ve put a lot of work into it.”
What is he doing? He should be making a polite excuse to leave and hightailing it out of here!
“Beau? Doesn’t that concert start soon? We’re probably going to be late.”
I scramble quickly for my purse and then dart over to rip my leather jacket off the coat rack.
“Yeah, I’d better get going too,” Preston agrees, looking strangely satisfied.
I shoo everyone out so I can lock up.
Beau assesses him with a dark scowl as he passes. They don’t bother shaking hands, and I’m grateful. The less physical contact the better.
Preston is going in the opposite direction, and when we part in front of NOLA, I do an awkward half-hug, half-wave because I am just a leaf in a stream. He doesn’t miss the opportunity to lean down and kiss my cheek. It’s petty and calculated. “Have fun at the concert. I’ll text you so we can meet up for dinner later this week.”