Funny. She hadn't thought about that day in forever.
"Did you ever meet her?"
"Only once. She came to Dad's funeral." The petite woman had worn beautiful clothes and a heartbreakingly sad smile.
Belle had been a child then-confused and angry that her father was suddenly gone forever. The grandmother she'd never met had hugged her for one brief, mournful moment, exchanged a few words with her daughter-in-law, then she'd been gone again. But not before she'd stood over her son's casket and whispered, "I'm sorry, baby boy."
Belle knew almost nothing about her grandmother. The woman and her past were mysteries. Belle could use some of those to get her mind off her own problems now.
"I remember her. She was the beautiful older lady in the tweed Chanel suit." Only Kinley would remember what someone had worn fifteen years before.
Belle had no idea what the stranger had worn, but she did know the woman had bequeathed her something. "She left me her house in the Quarter."
The package from her grandmother's attorney had been very light on information. When she'd talked to the man on the phone, he'd assumed she would wait until the will finished probate, then he would handle selling the house. Apparently the place needed some repairs before it realized its true market potential, but he'd assured her he could find a buyer.
The will had been finalized two days ago. And Belle realized that she didn't want a buyer; she wanted a challenge.
The plan crystalized in an instant. She needed time to heal and figure out where she was going. She needed a place to stay that was far away from everyone she knew. New Orleans would be perfect.
The puppy in her lap looked up at her, complete adoration in its dark eyes. Oh, she was such a sucker. "Kinley, I'm taking the dog."
Kinley's eyes widened with delight. "Are you serious?"
She pulled the puppy up and checked to see if she was getting a boy or a girl. Fate, she sighed. He was her man now, and he wriggled with excitement as though he knew his little doggie life was changing.
"Yes, I'm taking him with me. And I know just what to call him. Sir." He would be the last man on whom she bestowed that title.
"Oh, honey, you can't call him that. You'll get your ass spanked."
By whom? "Nope. His name is now Sir." She giggled. "I'm going to build this puppy's self-esteem. He's going to be an alpha dog."
Sir wagged his tail.
"I don't think he'll ever be an alpha, but he's lucky to have you." Kinley reached out and grabbed her hand. "How can I help? What do you need?"
Sometimes it was good to have a best friend who had an indulgent, rich husband. "A car."
"Oh, you're plotting. You know I love a good plot." Kinley hopped to her feet and dashed to the desk. "We need to make a list."
Kinley and her lists. There was something soothing about letting Kinley take over. She really did like to plan. Kinley started jotting notes and making calls.
Belle settled back, the sadness of the night washing over her. She would leave notes for her bosses about the meeting, then another that explained why she was leaving. Maybe. Or maybe they wouldn't care. Most likely, they would be relieved not to have to deal with her again.
But Belle feared she would miss them forever.
Chapter Six
Eric straightened his tie and kept his eyes on the hostess station. He checked his phone again. Eight thirty-five. Belle was late. She was never late. In fact, she always arrived early, just in case something went wrong. But he'd walked into the café about twenty minutes ago, hoping for a chance to talk to her alone. He'd scanned the place, fully expecting to find her waiting at a table surrounded by all her notes. Instead, he'd seen no trace of her.
Concern niggled at him-not that she'd fallen victim to foul play. It wasn't impossible, but the odds of Belle being attacked in her hotel room, especially one this nice and full of guests from the wedding, seemed slim. She was much too smart to let a stranger in her room. Operating on the premise that she hadn't been hurt left Eric one major worry: What if she just decided not to show? And what did that mean?
He had to track her down.
He pulled up his contact list on his phone. Belle's number was easy to spot. She was the only one of his hundreds of contacts with a photo attached to her profile. His heart did a weird flip-flop as he stared at her picture. In the still, she sat at her desk, the morning sun illuminating her from behind, making her glow angelically … but she wore a devilish little grin. That was his Belle. God, he hoped she was still his Belle. The alternative was too horrific to contemplate.