Page 77 of The Match
Once again, I wondered if I should bring up my conversation with Gaston, but it felt weird. In that regard, we were still competing. They would probably just choose the better offer, which was fair. I’d do the same.
I decided on a more pleasant topic instead.
“So,” I said, shifting a bit in my seat, “when do we start the flirty part?”
“You mean dirty talking?” Zachary said.
“Oh goodness.” I cleared my throat. “Right. I don’t think I can do this on the phone,” I whispered, which made him laugh.
“There’s no pressure, Grace. I promise there’ll be plenty of opportunities in person. In fact, I’d prefer that.”
“How come?”
“Because you turn me on faster than I thought was humanly possible. The last thing I want is to walk around my office with a hard-on.”
My entire body was on edge right away. I cleared my throat, then choked on absolutely nothing and started to cough.
“Grace, are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. I just wasn’t expecting that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Completely raw and unfiltered, huh?”
“That’s the only way I know how to deliver it.”
That was true. I enjoyed that about him.
“But for now,” he went on, “I’ll let you enjoy your dinner. Actually, you know what? Let me know what you want tomorrow, and I’ll make it happen.”
“Why don’t you surprise me?”
“Will do.”
After hanging up, I devoured the rest of my dinner. I feared that I’d go into a food coma after finishing it because the portion was quite large, but I’d been starving, so of course I ate it all. But I had a lot of energy, so I stayed at the office late into the evening.
The next morning, I decided to head down Dumaine to Fragrant Delights. I arrived in front of the shop at nine o’clock on the dot and glanced inside. Two elderly women were milling around. One was dressed in all black, and her hair fell right to her chin. The other one wore colorful clothes. Her hair was even longer.
I stepped inside. “Good morning.”
Glancing around, I immediately felt at home. The floor-to-ceiling shelves were filled with bottles of all sizes as well as other paraphernalia. I loved the labels on the bottles—all handwritten, and of course bearing the LeBlanc-Broussard crest. Even though I knew the company was called the Orleans Conglomerate, theystill used the family crest on several products, such as their famous pralines.
“Good morning,” the woman dressed in black replied.
“I’m Grace Deveraux.”
“Isabeau,” she said.
I went toward the ladies to shake her hand.
“And I’m Celine,” the other woman said, shaking my hand as well.
“It’s nice to meet you both. I hope it’s okay that I came by so early.”
“Of course, of course,” Celine exclaimed.
I felt instantly at ease with these two. So many people in the Quarter practically winced when they heard the name Deveraux, but not them.
