“Well, we should fix that.” Celeste gestured to the door. “Let’s go to your office and we’ll have some coffee and you can explain it to me.”
“I hate accounting,” Cal grumbled.
Everyone hated accounting, but it had to be done. She followed her son out, perfectly happy with the way the morning had gone.chapter elevenSera stood outside the posh store and wished she’d taken the time to change her clothes. She’d thrown a T-shirt over her leggings, but she feared her athleisure wear and sneakers would stand out among the New Orleans elite.
She was really more comfortable in the Quarter, where no one cared what you wore. Or sometimes if you wore anything at all.
She stared up at the imposing building that housed the luxury boutique known as the House of Hanover. She wasn’t sure where they got that name since the building obviously wasn’t a house, and there was a smaller plaque with the name Justine Reneaux, Designer.
She glanced down at her watch. She was right on time, but she couldn’t see Celeste inside.
Of course, that meant nothing. Celeste probably knew this Justine person and they were in the back somewhere sipping champagne and trying to find more material to cover Sera’s boobs since they might give the elderly aunt a heart attack.
She pushed through the gilded doors and couldn’t help but gape a bit in wonder. This was an impeccably done space, styled to look like a grand Parisian apartment. She had to smile at the glamorous store. The colors were rich, baroque style. And the place smelled good, too. There were clothes along the walls, beautifully displayed near two grand staircases that rose up on either side of the room. There was a large lounge currently taken up by a man in a business suit. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. He was pacing and talking on a cell phone. A woman in a designer suit carried out a tray with champagne glasses and he took one.
“May I help you?” The woman carrying the tray crossed the space between them.
“I have an appointment with . . .” She couldn’t remember the name Celeste had sent her. She was pretty sure it started with a P. Had she deleted the e-mail? She’d written down the address, but the e-mail might still be on her phone. If she could find it at the bottom of her tote bag. Yeah, she wished she hadn’t dragged in her gym bag. The last thing she needed to do was dig through old socks, scrunchies, and her water bottle to find her phone. “Priscilla? Sorry, I can’t remember the exact name.”
The woman who looked completely flawless frowned. She stood tall in front of the lounge as though she was its guardian, sent to ensure only the worthy got through. “We don’t have anyone here by that name.”
“Well, I’m supposed to meet with someone. My name’s Seraphina Guidry. I have a dress fitting for the Beaumont wedding.” At least she was pretty sure it was for the actual wedding. She still had to find something to wear to the brunch coming up, and it had to be approved by Celeste. She was hoping Sylvie had something she could borrow. Sylvie had a very mayoral wardrobe.
“I’ll see if you’re on our schedule. Please stay here.” The woman turned and walked toward the back of the store.
“Hello.” The businessman seemed to have ended his call. He slid his cell phone into the pocket of his slacks as he approached her. “You are not the usual type at this place. It’s all uptight socialites. What’s your name, honey?”
“It’s Nonya.” She knew the type. No man called a woman he’d just met honey without having creepy intentions. Every middle-aged woman in the South called anyone she met honey or hun and meant nothing by it, but it was different when a man used the term while he let his eyes slide over a woman’s body. “Last name Bidness.”
She started to move down the steps. She could sit and wait patiently. Hopefully Celeste was somewhere in the back and they could get this over with as quickly as possible. She would love to study this place and maybe get some design ideas for the house, but she knew when she wasn’t wanted. If she could get in and out with the least amount of humiliation possible, she would call it a win. Unfortunately, before she could get far, the man in the suit blocked her way.
“Now, that was rude,” he said. “You don’t look like a young lady who wants to be rude to a man who knows the owner of this place.”
A sinking feeling hit the pit of her stomach. Celeste knew the owner, too. This man could twist the story any way he wanted to, and she would look like the one causing trouble. “I don’t mean to be rude. I’m only trying to wait for my boyfriend’s aunt. She should be here any minute. This place is doing the dresses for her daughter’s wedding. Angela Beaumont. She’s my boyfriend’s cousin.”