Troublemaker (New Orleans Bourdons Book 2) Read online

  "You should have still called the cops."

  "Or at least taken the key from her and kicked her out."

  I shot a glare at Luke then shook my head. "I was going to but she was so upset and—"

  "Not as upset as you're going to be when you get home and find out your place has been wiped clean."

  "No, I don't think so. I didn't get that kind of vibe from her."

  Tristan slid his chair out of kicking distance from Jacqui then sneered. "Probably because you weren't thinking with your big head."

  "It wasn't like that. I mean, hello? Today was supposed to be her wedding day. That's not exactly a turn-on."

  "Seriously? If she really was a jilted bride, I'd be all over comforting and reassuring her. As long as she was hot. She was hot, right? I mean, why else ignore all common sense by leaving her alone at your place?"

  I didn't bother to answer Luke's question about Morgan's looks. Yes, she was definitely attractive, with dark reddish-brown hair and vibrant green eyes. But that wasn't why I let her stay—

  I let her stay because I felt sorry for her.

  Well shit. Maybe the guys were right. Maybe I had totally been played and would return home to an empty apartment. Had I let misplaced sympathy override common sense?

  Probably.

  I took another long swallow of beer then ran one hand through my hair before defending Morgan. No idea why I felt like I needed to, I just did. "She's not a jilted bride. She left him."

  "So she's already in the habit of running out. Yeah, you definitely need your fu—" Tristan shot a wary glance at Jacqui, cleared his throat, then looked back at me. "You need your head examined."

  Jacqui brushed Tristan off with a wave of one large hand before leaning across the table. "What does this runaway bride of yours look like, cher?"

  "She's not my—"

  "Semantics. What does she look like?"

  I studied Jacqui for a long minute, trying to decide if I should answer her or not. Jacqui ran a clothing boutique in the Quarter and seemed to know everyone and everything. Maybe she knew who Morgan was. If that was the case, then maybe she'd be able to get the guys off my back.

  "She's about this tall—" I held one hand near my shoulder. "Dark red hair. Green eyes. Kind of cute, I guess—"

  "I knew it!"

  I leveled a warning frown at Tristan then turned back to Jacqui. "Her name is Morgan. I don't think she's from around here. Do you know her?"

  "Not her, no. But I heard something earlier about a wedding being called off at the last minute because the bride got nervous feet."

  "She didn't really strike me as the nervous kind."

  "Hmm. Maybe not. But if it's the same runaway bride, you may want to head home, cher."

  The bottom of my stomach dropped open to let in a cold wave of doom. "Why? Is she really going to clean out my place?"

  "I don't think it's her you need to worry about."

  "What do you mean?"

  "If she's the same runaway bride, they're probably looking for her."

  "They, who?"

  "The groom and his family. From what I understand, they don't take kindly to losing their possessions."

  Well shit.

  Chapter Three

  Morgan

  I was in so much trouble.

  So. Much. Trouble.

  I paced around the room, barely registering the furniture I stepped around. Sofa. Recliner. Coffee table. Huge television mounted on the white-washed brick wall.

  Just normal, everyday furniture in a normal, everyday apartment.

  Except this wasn't Cassie's apartment, it was some stranger's. What the hell was his name? I paused in my pacing, squeezed my eyes shut, and mentally thumbed through my memory banks.

  Dylan. His name was Dylan.

  Kind of cute but not very bright. I mean, what sane person would leave a total stranger alone in their apartment?

  One that's a little too trusting.

  I ignored the words in my head and looked over at the bed across the room. The apartment had a weird layout, with angled walls and a completely open floor plan. The bedroom itself—if you could call it that—was a large alcove off the living room separated by absolutely nothing. No walls. No doors. Not even a privacy curtain or screen of some kind.

  I should have realized Cassie wasn't living here when I first walked in. There were no feminine touches at all in the apartment. No plants. No flowers. Not a pink ruffle in sight.

  In my defense, I wasn't really paying that much attention when I got here. I was just glad to get away from yet one more mistake in a long line of mistakes. I'd grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, drained it, then climbed the five steps to the main living area and collapsed onto the bed. I must have been more exhausted than I realized because sleep came pretty fast.

  Until the guy scared the living daylights out of me.

  And for reasons that made absolutely no sense at all, he'd let me stay here while he went out to meet some friends.

  Yeah, definitely not very bright and entirely too naive and trusting—which was a bonus for me since I still had no idea what to do next. I should probably call someone to come get me, or at least send me some money so I could get home.

  Except I didn't have anyone to call. I hadn't talked to my mother in at least two years, not since she ran off and married husband number three. Was she still with him, or had she moved on to number four by now? With Mom, it was hard to tell. If I had to bet, I'd place my money on husband number four.

  Calling my father was out of the question, considering I had no idea who he was.

  Cassie? Probably not. I hadn't talked to her in almost a year and we were never really close—obviously, since I hadn't even known she didn't live here anymore. Maybe she never had. Maybe she'd lifted the key from someone else and had given it to me as a kind of joke.

  Yeah. Ha ha. Very funny.

  Maybe it was good thing the guy—Dylan—was too trusting for his own good. If it had been anyone else, I'd probably be in jail right now.

  Or at least tossed out on the street.

  While I was grateful that neither of those had happened, it didn't really help my current situation. I needed to get out of New Orleans but I had no money to leave and nobody I could call for help.

  I really needed to work on my relationship building skills.

  Would Brandon help me? Probably not. I mean, why would he help the woman who had left him the morning of their wedding? Yes, he'd known what I was planning—we had talked about what a huge mistake it would be for both us if we went through with the charade. That didn't mean he'd be willing to go out of his way to help.

  Maybe...

  I stalked toward the bedroom area and stared at the wedding gown neatly laid out on the bed. It was a gorgeous gown, made with yards of satin and lace and decorated with sparkling accents that would have caught the multi-colored lights coming through the stain glass windows of the cathedral as I walked down the aisle. And I looked good in it, too, like a princess in some fairytale. A warped fairytale, maybe, but did it matter?

  I reached out and traced one finger along the full skirt of the gown. The dress had probably been pretty expensive. If I could find someone interested, maybe I could sell it. I didn't need much, just enough for a bus ticket, or maybe a train ticket, with enough left over to get by for a week while I figured out what to do.

  Maybe I'd go west this time, to California. I'd never seen the west coast so it would be a nice little treat. The weather would be a bonus because I wouldn't have to worry about dealing with cold and winter.

  Yeah, that would definitely be a bonus.

  My mind made up, I reached for the gown then had to swallow back a scream when the door burst open with a bang. I spun around, struggling to keep my heart in my chest while I fought to catch my breath.

  The burst of fright quickly evaporated, replaced by irritation when Dylan hurried into the apartment like a warrior rushing into battle. He stumbled to a stop
in the open kitchen and stared at me like he'd never seen me before.

  "You're still here."

  "Yeah."

  "I thought..." His voice trailed off as he slowly climbed the steps into the living area. He looked around for a few quiet seconds before turning his gaze on me. His eyes were a deep hazel, the kind that could be green or brown or maybe even kind of gold depending on what he wore. Right now, they were more of a green and I wondered if the color might have something to do with the confusion I saw in his gaze as he watched me.

  "You're still here."

  I frowned and took a cautious step back. Maybe he wasn't as safe as my initial instincts told me. Or maybe the word I was looking for was sane instead of safe, because he'd already said that.

  Unless he was just in the habit of repeating himself.

  "Yeah. Still here."

  "You didn't leave."

  "No."

  "And you didn't take any of my shit."

  I folded my arms in front of me and glared at him. "I'm not a thief."

  "I didn't think you were."

  "Obviously you did since you seem so surprised that everything is where you left it."

  "I just thought—"

  "Although it would serve you right if I had cleaned you out. I mean, what kind of idiot leaves a total stranger alone in their apartment?" I rolled my eyes then moved back into the bedroom area. "Do you know anyplace where I could sell this thing?"

  "Your gown?"

  "No, your bed. Of course, my gown. What else would I be talking about?"

  "You want to sell it?"

  "I need money to get out of here and this is the only thing I have that's worth anything."

  "Are you going home?"

  I glanced over my shoulder and offered him a small smile. "Home is such a permanent thing. Kind of suffocating, don't you think?"

  He frowned and moved a couple steps closer then rested his shoulder against the wall. Maybe he was a little too trusting and a little too naive for my taste, but he was kind of cute. He had sandy brown hair that was on the shaggier side and probably in need of a trim—not that I minded, since I had a thing for guys with messy hair.

  Brandon's hair was always short and trimmed and neatly brushed back, without a single strand out of place.

  Hmm. Maybe that should have been a warning sign for me.

  "If you're not going home, where are you going?"

  "I don't know. California, maybe. I've never been out west before. Maybe it's time to broaden my horizons."

  "Where are you from?"

  "Me?" I shot him another look then lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. "Here and there."

  "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

  "No." Not unless you counted being broke as some kind of trouble. But I'd been broke before and survived, this time would be no different.

  "Nobody's after you?"

  "Who would be after me?"

  "I don't know. Maybe the guy you jilted at the altar."

  "Brandon?" I swallowed a laugh and shook my head. "Not hardly."

  "Then maybe his family."

  "I seriously doubt it." Especially since his family hadn't been all that excited to welcome me with open arms. They were probably breathing huge sighs of relief right about now. Yes, the marriage would have been nothing but a charade if we'd gone through with it—but they didn't know that.

  "So you're not in any trouble?"

  "No. Why would you think that?"

  "Because Jacqui said...never mind."

  The brief surge of jealousy that shot through me was completely unexpected—and completely unwelcome. Jealous? Me? Nope, it couldn't be. Yeah. Dylan was kind of cute but I didn't know him—and I didn't want to know him. Our meeting had been a total fluke, nothing else. But still—

  "Who's Jacqui?"

  "A friend. Actually, she's friends with one of my buddy's girlfriend."

  "Oh." No, that was not relief washing over me. Not at all.

  "She owns a boutique here in the Quarter."

  "A clothing boutique?"

  "Yeah."

  I looked down at the gown then back at Dylan. "Think she might be interested in buying this?"

  "I don't think it really fits in with what she sells. Think more goth. Or maybe vampire. Stuff like that."

  "Oh." Well, so much for that idea.

  "She might know someone who might be interested, though." Dylan pushed away from the wall and motioned toward the door. "We can go ask her. Everyone's still at the bar and it's only a few blocks away."

  I glanced down at my outfit—torn and faded jeans, a V-neck t-shirt that had seen better days, and a pair of flip flops covered with cheap rhinestones—then shook my head. "I don't think I'm really dressed—"

  "You look fine."

  "Not for bar hopping."

  "It's New Orleans. And we're not bar hopping."

  "I don't—"

  "Are you hungry?"

  I started to say no but never had a chance to get the word out because Dylan snagged my hand and practically dragged me down the short flight of steps. Well, okay, not really, but he was definitely leading me. Normally I wouldn't put up with something like that but his hand felt nice around mine, big and strong and warm.

  Besides, I was hungry. In fact, I was practically starving. I hadn't eaten since breakfast and that had been nothing more than a few bites of toast choked down under the watchful glare of Brandon's mother.

  I pulled against Dylan's hand, just hard enough to stop him without pulling my hand free. He looked at me with a questioning frown.

  "I don't have any money to pay for anything."

  "Don't worry, it's my treat."

  "Well in that case—" I motioned toward the door with a smile. "Lead the way."

  Chapter Four

  Morgan

  I totally should have changed. The bar and restaurant wasn't fancy or dressy and everyone we had passed on our way to the seating area in the back corner was dressed pretty casual. If we had taken a seat at the bar, or if Dylan had gotten us our own table, I would have fit in with no problem.

  But we weren't at our own table.

  And I couldn't have felt more out of place if I had walked in wearing the wedding gown.

  The other men seated around the lounge area were dressed pretty much like Dylan: jeans, t-shirts or polo shirts, loafers or tennis shoes. But the two women with them—yeah, I was definitely out of place.

  The younger one was around my age, maybe a year younger. Any younger than that and she wouldn't be able to legally drink the fruity concoction in front of her. She had long, black hair, thick and wavy, and wide dark brown eyes framed in lashes that had to be fake. Maybe. She was petite and curvy—everything I wasn't—and I was doing my best to hate her. It would have been easier to do if she wasn't being so damn nice. Or maybe it was just her accent that made me think she was nice. I mean, could anyone who spoke that way, with her soft voice and rounded consonants and drawn out vowels, really be all bad?

  The other woman was older and maybe even a little harder. Definitely bigger—I figured she was at least a head taller than me without those ridiculous heels she was wearing. With them, she'd probably tower over me—and a lot of men, too. Her hair was jet black, the kind of color that could only come out of a bottle, and the dark lashes that framed her clear eyes were definitely fake. There was nothing soft about her, from the heavy make up on her angular face to the sinewy muscles of her arms and rock-hard legs.

  I also picked up a subtle warning vibe from her, like she was almost daring me to look closer and judge. Ha! Like I had any room to judge anyone else? Not hardly. That, and I didn't really care. At all.

  You do you, boo.

  I didn't say that out loud, though. I might be guilty of doing some stupid stuff in my life, but that didn't mean I wasn't smart enough to keep my mouth shut. Not that I could have gotten a word in edgewise even if I had wanted to because the men were all talking. I had tried following the conversation for a total of f
ive minutes after the introductions were made but quickly gave up. They were talking about sports and something about a game coming up. I had zero interest in sports and quickly tuned them out. Besides, I was more focused on the food in front of me. As hungry as I was, it would have been easy to inhale every last bite. If I was alone, I'd probably do just that, but I couldn't, not with the two women watching me.

  Like, really watching me. It was almost enough to make me want to stop eating.

  Almost.

  "Dylan said you're a runaway bride."

  "Jacqui! I swear, you are the least subtle person I know." The younger girl—Addy—turned to me with an apologetic smile. "Just ignore her. It's really none of our business if you don't want to talk about it."

  I popped a fry into mouth, chewed and swallowed, then offered the two women a brief smile. "Good. I don't."

  Addy's eyes widened a bit and I got the feeling that she was just as curious as her friend, only she was much too polite to say anything. Jacqui, on the other hand, threw back her head and laughed, the sound deep and throaty and oddly genuine.

  "I think I like her, Addy. Something tells me there's no bullshit with this one." She studied me over the rim of her drink as she took a small swallow. "Secrets, maybe, but no bullshit."

  I raised my brows in mock surprise. "Doesn't everyone have secrets?"

  "Touché, cher. Touché." She took another sip then placed the glass on the low table in front of her. "The groom you left behind isn't related to the Masons, is he?"

  "Who?"

  "His last name. It's not Mason?"

  I cut off a piece of the crab cake with my fork and dragged it through some sauce. "No."

  "His first name isn't Alex?"

  "No again." I popped the food into my mouth then reached for the glass of iced tea, hoping the two women would get the hint. I don't think they did because Jacqui leaned closer and studied me long enough that I had the insane urge to squirm in my seat.

  "Then you're luckier than you realize, cher."

  "Lucky? Sure, if you say so." Yeah, Brandon and I were both lucky that we weren't saddling the other with an unwanted spouse. My lock ran out after that point. I was in a city I wasn't familiar with. I had no money and no job and no chance of getting either. At best, I figured I had maybe one night of having a roof over my head—only because the man sitting next to me was entirely too trusting for his own good. The only clothes I had were the few outfits I'd crammed into my rolling duffle bag before coming down here a week ago—which was pretty much my entire wardrobe.