Burn for You (Slow Burn Book 1)(17)

Immediately I thought of my mother. She’d be all over this one like white on rice.

“Must be Jackson’s driver.” I watched him come toward the door. “Wonder if he’s as mean as his boss.”

“Mm-mmm!” said Eeny, smacking her lips. “He could be meaner’n a drawer of snakes and I’d still take him for a roll.”

I formed a terrible mental image of all three hundred pounds of Eeny rolling around naked in bed, chicken feathers and voodoo charms flying, getting her freak on with the well-dressed driver.

I grumbled, “Thanks for sharing,” just as the gentleman in question came through the door.

“Mornin’, ladies,” he said, smiling. “Don’t you two look prettier than a picture standin’ there by the window!”

He flashed a set of pearly whites and an adorable pair of dimples, and Eeny nearly fainted.

“Good morning.” I stepped forward with my hand extended. “I’m Bianca, and this is Ambrosine.”

“Call me Eeny,” she drawled, flagrantly flirting. “How do you do?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he said, shaking my hand and nodding warmly at Eeny. “I must admit, I’ve been dyin’ to come in and get a taste of your cookin’ since you opened, Miss Bianca, but I just haven’t found the time. I was a real big fan of your mama’s restaurant. And might I say you bear a striking resemblance to your mama, too. Those beautiful cheekbones.”

Eeny and I shared a look. This man could charm the birds right out of the trees. What on God’s green earth he was doing working for the Beast was anyone’s guess.

“Thank you, that’s a lovely thing to say. Mr. . . . ?”

“Where are my manners! I’m Rayford Hayes, Mr. Boudreaux’s majordomo.” He gave a short bow. “At your service.”

He must be a new hire. No way someone this pleasant could work with Beastie for more than a week without losing his mind.

Wanting to get this meeting over with as quickly as possible so I could get back to the restaurant and prep for dinner, I said, “Shall we go?”

“Yes, ma’am. Eeny.” He turned his warm gaze to her and lifted two curved fingers to his forehead in a little salute. “Have yourself a wonderful day.”

Her soft sigh and furiously batting lashes had me pulling my lips between my teeth so I didn’t smile.

“You do the same, Mr. Hayes,” she said, waving at him with her fingertips. “Toodle-oo!”

Shaking my head, I followed Rayford out the door. He opened the car door for me. When I hesitated, he asked, “Everything all right, Miss Bianca?”

“Yes, but . . . would it be all right if I rode up front with you?”

He looked surprised. “With me?”

I was beginning to feel a little silly for having asked. “It’s just that I’m not accustomed to being chauffeured. It seems a little . . . well, let’s just say it’s not my style.”

Rayford’s dimples flashed in his cheeks again. “Why of course. Whatever makes you most comfortable.” He closed the rear door, opened the passenger door, and held out his hand. “Right this way.”

Smiling gratefully at Rayford, I settled myself into the passenger seat. He closed the door, rounded the car, and got in on the driver’s side. He started the engine, and we pulled away from the curb.

“This is a very nice car,” I said, looking around at miles of supple leather and acres of gleaming wood. There was enough technology on the dashboard to make an astronaut dizzy.

Rayford chuckled. “You don’t sound too impressed.”

I wasn’t impressed, but I did feel a bit embarrassed. “I don’t even own a car. I live six blocks from the restaurant and walk to work every day. I couldn’t tell you what kind of car this is if you held a gun to my head.”

Rayford’s chuckle was louder this time. “I’ll be sure not to tell that to Mr. Boudreaux. It might break his heart.”

He has a heart? Who knew?

“Have you worked for him long?” I was trying to make casual conversation, but I was curious, too.

“I’ve worked for his family for most of my life. Known Jackson since he was born.”

Startled by that, I glanced at Rayford’s handsome profile. “Really?”

He nodded. “Went to work for Clemmy and Brig before I even had hair on my chin. Started out in the stables, muckin’ stalls, worked my way into the laundry, eventually got promoted to the kitchens.”

Stables? Laundry? Kitchens, plural? Sounded like he’d been working at a castle. Fascinated, I listened as he continued.

“From there I learned everything there was to know about runnin’ a grand house. Though Jackson’s estate is much smaller than his parents’, it’s still an awful lot of work.”