LITMIR.BIZ

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home—a construction trailer parked behind Fleur House. The nondescript trailer served as an office and a place to stay. He’d designed it that way so he didn’t have to rent out a room or stay in run-down hotels. And while Fleur had some quaint little cabins along the bayou, he much preferred to be alone in his own traveling home. He liked the privacy and the ease of transporting himself.

      A quick, clean getaway.

      That was how the last woman he’d left had described his mode of operation. Or rather, she had called his trailer a means of a quick and easy escape.

      And she’d been so right.

      He liked to get in, do the job and get out.

      No ties to bind him. No hassles to hold him.

      So why was he sitting here now doing an online search for any information he could find on Brenna Blanchard?

      Because he needed to know her so he could work with her. Of course.

      When he pulled up a society picture from the Baton Rouge Advocate newspaper, Nick pored over the words with a hungry intent. Dated a few months ago, the caption stated that Brenna Blanchard and her fiancé, Jeffrey Patterson, had attended a dinner to raise funds for a Baton Rouge art event. The note went on to talk about Brenna’s position at the art gallery and Mr. Patterson’s work at a Baton Rouge law firm. Nick quit reading after that, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman in the picture.

      Brenna, dressed in a shimmering dark blue cocktail dress, smiled up at the man next to her, her gaze bright with love and admiration. And happiness.

      Fiancé?

      Had she been engaged to this man?

      If so, they must have broken up. Maybe that was why she was unemployed and back in Fleur. Her attitude regarding marriage indicated she wasn’t the marrying kind.

      And she wasn’t wearing an engagement ring now.

      So much for vetting.

      Nick had more than enough information on Brenna Blanchard. She wouldn’t stick around too long, either.

      So he had nothing to worry about really.

      * * *

      She worried with the collar of her blouse.

      Not sure how to dress for her first official meeting with Nicholas, Brenna waffled between jeans and a T-shirt to a blue button-up cotton shirt and dress pants.

      She finally settled on putting the button-up shirt over some nice trouser jeans. Sensible cushioned loafers would be better than heels while walking throughout the house. She didn’t want to listen to the tap-tap of her shoes while she was trying to envision art on the walls.

      Or maybe she didn’t want to distract her new boss with a pair of high heels because she planned on keeping this relationship strictly professional. But she did mist herself with perfume, just for good measure.

      After researching him online, she’d found him only in a few professional pages, but his work reviews were all five-star. Clients raved about his work ethics and his professionalism. Apparently, he was that good. His client list read like a who’s-who of prominent Texas tycoons. Only she couldn’t find any reference to Fleur House or his current client. That was interesting.

      She’d found something else interesting, too.

      Nicholas Santiago was also an artist. Some paintings had shown up under the name Nick Santiago, paintings he’d done as a teenager. Or at least she figured it had to be the same Nick—her Nick? Well, not her Nick, but the man she’d agreed to work with. One of the paintings was of a beautiful dark-haired girl on a horse. She looked young and carefree. He’d won an award for it in high school.

      “Jessica.” That had been the name of the painting. Of course, now she wondered who Jessica was and what did she mean to Nick.

      She’d seen another article, but Callie had called her and they’d chatted too long for her to go back and read that one. It had something to do with that painting, though. She’d have to remember to read that later. Right now, she had to get to Fleur House.

      A few minutes later, she was in her car about to leave when her daddy, Ramon, came strolling out of the house. She loved being back here with her father. She tried to pamper him as much as she could, but her overly protective father seemed to think she was fifteen again. So he lectured her. And worried about her.

      Brenna cranked the car and tried to make a quick exit.

      In spite of his bad knees, he shot down the brick steps of the white clapboard house. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, missy?”

      Brenna stuck her head out the open car window. “Papa, remember I told you I got a part-time job? Today’s the day for the first meeting with Nicholas.”

      Ramon adjusted his suspenders and eyed her with a sharp intent. “You mean that fancy fellow over from San Antonio? Are you sure about working for some stranger?”

      “Very sure.” She cranked the car and waved at her perpetually perplexed father. “The pay is good, so I’ll be able to help you with some rent money.”

      “Don’t need no rent from my own daughter,” Ramon said on a disgruntled huff, his south Louisiana accent thickening like a steaming roux.

      They’d already had this argument. “I know that, but your daughter wants to contribute.”

      She blew him a kiss and took off before he insisted on escorting her. Papa was such a sweetheart. It was rather endearing how he watched over his three girls. But they all put up with it because they loved him and they all missed their mother, Lila. Especially Papa.

      That strong thread of love kept Brenna going each day when she woke up in her old bed and stared at the aged pictures of her cheerleading days and the pictures of now-old rock stars she often dreamed about. Those still hung curled next to her prints of Van Gogh and Monet. She’d always loved sunflowers. She’d dreamed of going to Europe to explore all the places she’d only read about in art books. Maybe even get back into painting pictures herself.

      So many dreams, and all for naught. She’d had to admit defeat and come back home. Who could paint that picture?

      But at least she had a welcoming home and a solid foundation of faith to guide her. Jeffrey Patterson, her ex-fiancé, had frowned on such things. He didn’t need anyone to “guide” him, as he’d often told her.

      Now she had to wonder what she’d ever seen in the man. Maybe a bit of prestige and a way to penetrate the high-brow society of Baton Rouge? Now she realized she didn’t need those things as much as she needed someone to love with authentic intent. And someone to love her back completely.

      So when she pulled her car up the winding drive of Fleur House and saw Nicholas standing there in jeans and his own button-up shirt, she ignored the little dips and sways of her battered heart. The man cut a fine figure, there on the porch of the looming mansion.

      Too fine.

      Maybe she should turn around and go back to waiting tables.

      * * *

      Nick heard the car roaring up the drive. So she drove a late-model economy car that looked like a go-cart. Interesting. The car was cute in a strange kind of way and seemed to suit her. He watched as she climbed out and adjusted her briefcase strap over her shoulder. Even though she was dressed in casual clothes, she looked ready to be professional. He needed to be professional, too.

      “Hello,” he called as he moved down the rounded stone steps to meet her. “You’re right on time.”

      She smiled and shook his hand. “I didn’t want to be late.”

      Nick discreetly checked her fingers for an engagement ring. Her fingers were bare, but she wore a nice watch on one arm and a dainty flower-encrusted bracelet on the other. Sunflowers. Quaint and totally unexpected.

      He let go of her hand, the memory of her slender fingers

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