The King of Bourbon Street by Thea de Salle

Author:Thea de Salle [Salle, Thea de]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary, Contemporary Women, Erotica
ISBN: 9781501156076
Publisher: Pocket Star Books
Published: 2017-02-13T08:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

TWO HOURS OF trying to get around paying off the old hag. Two hours of being stared at uncomfortably by Brutus because, whether or not Sol liked it, the DuMonts were liable for emotional distress even if there wasn’t a mark on Mrs. Cotton. Bats were stupid. Alex was stupid. Everything was stupid.

“The bat didn’t touch her. There has to be some lawyer thing you can do to make this less annoying. You’re brilliant. Be brilliant for me.”

Brutus looked unimpressed by the praise, but then, Brutus often looked unimpressed. It was how his face was made. Flat features, big eyes, a wide brow. His head was bowling-ball big to match his refrigerator frame. He was six and a half feet tall, about six and a half feet wide, with dark brown skin and light brown eyes. It was a stunning package.

Sol sprawled across his chair and looked at the ceiling.

“If you really think we’re going to go to trial because of a flying rodent, fine. Pay her off. I trust you. But let the record show I hate her forever.”

Brutus closed his file folders and stood, ducking to avoid accidental decapitation by the ceiling fan. His shaved head gleamed like he’d waxed it before their meeting. For all Sol knew, he might have done exactly that; Brutus was a man of quiet mystery. He appeared like a phantom to do magical legal things, say very few words, and then leave in the middle of the night to sprinkle his lawyerly fairy dust on another DuMont property.

Sol thought he was fantastic.

Brutus barely tolerated Sol.

Okay, that wasn’t really the case. The man wouldn’t choose to live a room away half of his life if he didn’t like Sol. Moreover, Brutus never forgot a birthday and always sent the best Christmas presents. Last year it had been artfully knitted sweaters, a rare Japanese caviar, and bottles of Dom Pérignon. Sol suspected Brutus knitted the sweaters himself, but the giant of a man would neither confirm nor deny his participation because that would require talking, and talking was generally off the table unless the need was dire.

“Well! Good conversation! So glad Mrs. Cotton’s going to get a pile of my money and my brother was too stupid to charm her before she became a problem. Is there anything else?”

Brutus shook his head, snapped his briefcase shut, and headed for the door.

“Goodbye, my knight in shining Brioni!” Sol called after him.

A finger waggle, Brutus’s diamond pinky ring gleaming in the soft light, and then he was gone, likely up to his room on the fourth floor to listen to good jazz and smoke fine cigars. He was a man’s man.

A knitting man’s man.

The door closed behind him. Sol ran a hand down his face and eyed the time. Nearly noon. Arianna was likely back in her room by now, or maybe off doing the tourist things he’d distracted her from. He’d call to ask about her plans after he felt less violated by the bat situation.

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