There was also a large, comfortable chair that was situated to catch the late-afternoon light from the courtyard out back. I imagined Remington sitting there, reading, watching the sunset, seeing the city come alive as night fell, hearing sounds from the streets around him. Did he really enjoy quiet, reflective time like that? What would be the purpose of a room like this if he didn’t? I’d love to sit there with him, but that wasn’t what he’d hired me for.
I went upstairs then. The locked door taunted me, but I had other places to explore. The guest room colors were bright, a bold blue on the walls, pale blue bed linens, and a rich green rug.
There was one last space I hadn’t seen yet, the upstairs space that sat over the small library downstairs. I stepped in, and what I saw made my breath catch. There was a gorgeous cello leaning against an antique chair. I could see Remington playing the cello, his whole body moving with the music. I imagined he would be as focused playing music as he was in bed. There was a piece of music on the stand in front of the chair. It was titled “Bayou Melody.”
The walls were decorated with pictures of string instruments and a framed musical score of “When the Saints Go Marching In.” I loved that he had small spaces filled with things I was certain he was passionate about. He might seem cold at first, but he was definitely a man filled with passion. I had no doubt that passion could turn to anger in a second, but when it had been directed at me, he’d made me feel more incredible than I ever had.
Now I had two whole weeks with him. I would not want to leave, but maybe, just maybe I could let myself enjoy the time I had, and when I was done, I would be able to start something new for myself.
I heard the door, and Remington called out to me. I hurried out of the sitting room. He told me I could be there, but somehow it felt too intimate, too much of an invasion of his privacy.
As I rushed to his bedroom, I couldn’t help but question who he really was: dangerous criminal, musician, reader, chef? Was there anything he couldn’t do?
“I’m up here,” I called.
I heard him on the stairs and a shiver of anticipation ran through me. What would he want from me now? He mentioned getting me some clothes, but I wondered if he’d need some stress relief first. He’d seemed tense about the meeting he was headed to.
When he stepped into the room, he smiled as his gaze roamed over me. I was still wearing his t-shirt and nothing else.
“As much as I like you in my clothes, they won’t do for where we need to go, so you’ll have to change.”
“We’re going now?”
“Yes. I told you I needed to outfit you for spending this time with me. You certainly can’t wear these every day”—he held out my clothes, which had clearly been cleaned—“though you’ll have to wear them now.”
I frowned as I looked at my clothes. “Where are we going exactly?”
“Shopping.”
“I know but… I’m imagining you shop at very different stores than I do.”
“Probably. I don’t even want to hear what my tailor will say about your outfit.”
“Your tailor?” This was even worse than I’d thought.
“Yes, He’ll have some off-the-rack items for you, but we’ll also get you measured so you can have other things made.”
“I’m only staying here for two weeks and…”
“Yes, that’s two weeks’ worth of clothes you’ll need. Get dressed. We need to get going. We’re meeting a… work colleague for dinner, and I want you properly attired.”
“A work colleague?”
He nodded. “I know you’ve already agreed to confidentiality, but it is very important that you don’t repeat any of the conversation you may hear.”
I frowned at him. “Who would I repeat it to?”
“No one in particular, but it’s best if you don’t listen too hard and forget whatever you hear. Knowing too much about my business will get you in trouble.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered demurely, looking up at him through my lashes.
“Answering me like that will get my belt on your ass.”
I shuddered. I wasn’t sure I would hate that, but I didn’t want to push him. Not now. Not until I knew him a little better.
I pulled on my pants, hating how shabby they were. Once I’d added my top, Remington studied me.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was considering getting you a sweater. I don’t want anyone looking at you in that.”
Was he always so possessive? And why was it so hot? “I… um… Getting people to look at me was kind of the point of this outfit.”
“Not when you’re with me. For now you’re mine, and I don’t want to encourage anyone else.”
That should put me off, but it didn’t. “I’m all yours. You’re paying me well enough to play this however you’d like.”
There was something in his eyes for a second, something sad I didn’t understand.
“Let’s go,” he said. “As long as you’re with me, no one would dare try to touch you.”
“I thought we were going to some fancy froufrou clothing shop.”
Remington looked horrified. “I assure you there is nothing froufrou about the clothing at Maximilian’s.”
I snickered.
“You better behave yourself in the shop.”
“Yes, sir.” I wasn’t sure where I’d gotten the nerve to tease him, but I could tell he didn’t truly mind it.
“We are, as I think you intended to imply, going to an expensive, well-respected clothing store, but we’re still walking through the streets of New Orleans. Anything can happen here.”
“So I’ve heard. I’ve
