might not have been the best idea.
The phone rang on the desk and Pascal fumbled to answer. “Littington Surprises—I mean Enterprises, may I help you?” He spun his chair, giving Lucie his back.
While Pascal negotiated his way through the phone call and queried Eric’s office, Lucie drifted around the lobby. She checked her purse again for the clear pill bottle she’d scraped the ladybug into. The bottle was still there. The ladybug, with its strange, alien-like green glowing backside, climbed around the inside.
“Miss LeBieu.”
Lucie spun toward the desk.
Pascal stood at attention, his eyes staring straight ahead, not at her.
He reminded her of one of the guards at the queen’s palace in London. All he needed was the fuzzy hat and a red jacket to complete the image. Well, that and a haircut. You could take the Cajun out of the swamp, but you couldn’t take the swamp out of the Cajun. “Mr. Littington will see you now. Take the elevators up to the fourth floor. First office on the right.” The man had gone all business.
“Thanks.” As she walked toward the elevator, Lucie caught Pascal’s gaze sliding sideways, following her, his brows drawn together in a confusing mix of anger and longing. What the heck?
She stepped into the elevator, and as the doors closed, she turned to smile at Pascal. Not too much. She didn’t want him to think she had any feelings for him other than friendship. In the fifth grade, she’d been nice to him on the playground. Afterward he’d clung to her like a leech. For the entire school year, he’d practically stalked her until her grandmother had threatened to put a hex on him.
No, getting mixed up in a stalker situation with Pascal wouldn’t be good for her campaign to snag the bigger fish. Eric was her first-class ticket out of Bayou Miste.
And away from Ben…
As soon as the doors slid open on the fourth floor, butterflies attacked her stomach in a swarm. At the back of the elevator she hesitated. Did she really have the nerve to hex a man to get him to marry her? Had she no shame?
Guilt weighed on her conscience. Her hesitation stretched long enough that the door started sliding closed.
Did she want to stay in Bayou Miste indefinitely? A vision of Ben in the dim lighting of the Raccoon Saloon, smiling across the table at his buddy Eric swam into her head. She could just imagine him smiling across the table from his latest girlfriend, or wife, God forbid.
Her hand shot into the narrowing space between the two doors. The door continued closing, smashing her fingers. With a rush of adrenaline, she gripped the rubber edge with her free hand and pried it open, stepping through to the other side.
Well! A deep, shaky breath, a pat to the treasure in her purse, and she was ready for the next step in her journey. No doubt remained in her mind. This town wasn’t big enough for her and Ben.
Her skin twitched at the thought of him moving on with his life without her. She couldn’t stand it. No sir. She was better off making a clean break and starting a new life as the wife of a promising young politician on the rise. Imagine the people she’d meet, the galas she’d attend on Eric’s arm.
The tight shoes and even tighter smiles she’d have to endure in the name of public appearances .
Her footsteps faltered in sympathetic anticipation of her social obligations and sore feet. If she didn’t marry Eric, she’d be forced to leave Bayou Miste penniless and start over anyway—without a single familiar face or friend. Her shoulders straightened.
Her mother, Lynette LeBieu, had been content to move from place to place without money or support. Thank God she’d relented and dropped her and Lisa with her grandmother at the age of six. Otherwise, they would still be scrounging for their next meal, possibly out of a Salvation Army shelter, or worse, a trash can.
Ever since then, she had refused to leap without a net, and Eric Littington would make a terrific net. If she