Free French Quarter by Stella Cameron Page B

her what he’d decided—what he’d promised Errol several years back. “I’ll be taking an active part in Dreams, Celina. That was Errol’s wish.”
    “An active part?”
    “A certain amount of time in Royal Street. And...Celina, I’m going to be taking over Errol’s place. More or less. I’m hoping that if we get you more help you’ll agree to take some of the routine things off my plate. I’m not a man who enjoys public appearances, although I will make them when you consider them necessary.” And from the way she was looking at him, he doubted there would be many of those.
    She sat down again, this time on the cane chair he’d vacated, and scrutinized the room from the old Aubusson carpet that had belonged to his grandmother on his mother’s side to the green-painted wooden ceiling fan that wobbled on its rod. He supposed you’d call the decor ancient and modern and the color scheme mud, but he liked it. Celina’s sleek presentation didn’t fit here, but then, neither did Celina.
    “Are you goin’ to give me any thoughts on what I just told you?” he asked.
    “When I can stop my brain from going in circles I’ll give it a shot.”
    “Fair enough. Any estimates on how long that might take?”
    “Look.” She fastened him with a hard stare. “This isn’t easy for either of us. You’ve just dropped a whole new concept on me. I’m used to being pretty much autonomous. I don’t want to... no, that would sound like some sort of ultimatum. I hate ultimatums. Do you honestly think we could work together?”
    “I think we’re going to try.”
    “Why?”
    “Why are we going to try to work together? You already said—”
    “No. Why are you going to do this at all? You’ve got your fingers in a lot of pies. And this isn’t exactly your kind of thing, is it?”
    Jack began to wish he did keep some hard liquor around. “First of all, you don’t have any idea how many pies I’ve got my fingers in—as you put it. Secondly, how the…how do you know what is or isn’t my kind of thing?”
    She had the grace to color. “Tell me how it’s going to work. You can’t blame me for wondering.”
    “I don’t blame you. You’re going to do exactly what you’re already doing. Solicitin’ donations, layin’ on functions. Plus, you’re going to help me orchestrate the other end of things—with the recipients. By the way, I have no objection to continuing the arrangement you have with your parents.”
    “Errol had the arrangements.” She looked at the floor again. “I’m not going to lie to you. He did it for me. But it does work very well, so, thank you.”
    “Do you think we can work along the lines I’ve set out?”
    “This is going to sound wild, but I don’t think it’s the business I’m most worried about.”
    This ought to be good.
    She played with the wineglass a little longer, then set it down. “I can’t imagine working with you, Jack. I’d be lying if I said anything else, but I owe it to Errol to keep what he started afloat, and I think you want that too. So we’ll work it out.”
    “Good. There isn’t a security system in the house, is there?”
    She blanched again. “No. Errol didn’t believe in things like that.”
    “I’ll deal with it tomorrow. You might want to go to your parents’ place at night until it’s installed.”
    “Going home to Mama isn’t something I do. I’ll stay where I am.”
    “Suit yourself.” But he didn’t like the idea of her being alone over there. Antoine didn’t live on the premises. “The police are goin’ to be all over the place in the daytime.”
    “I know. I don’t care.”
    He knew when to quit. “Okay, but if you find you aren’t comfortable, don’t stay just to be hardheaded.”
    That earned him a ladylike snort. “Doesn’t gambling draw some unpleasant types?” she said.
    He laughed and sat on the edge of his desk. “Where did that come from?”
    She crossed her legs and jiggled the free toe. “I don’t know.