Page 11 of Heaven Help Me

I wave the carrot, chewing and talking at the same time because I don’t care about impressing Deuce St. Legare. “You said my girl Maggie earlier. And now you just said my girl Mary London. Which one is your girl?”

Deuce cracks up as he plates the salad and dumps warm chicken on top. There’s a smell of lemon vinaigrette on everything, making my stomach rumble louder.

“It’s a phrase, Valentina.” He bats his eyes at me. “You’re my only girl.”

“Ew.” My heart flutters in revulsion.

He hands me a plate and fork. “See? We need to work on those insults.”

I take my plate to the island and pull out a barstool with my foot. “Why, when I can just wave my knife in their face instead?”

Deuce sighs dramatically and sits next to me. The scent of cologne, vinaigrette, and man sweat hits me. It smells much nicer than one would think. I ignore it and decide to mouth breathe every time I’m in Deuce’s presence.

“You’re in Heaven, Mississippi, now, Landry. Try to fit in, huh?”

I roll my eyes and shove a huge bite into my mouth.

Fit in?

Absolutely not. I’ll be long gone before I need to do any such thing.

CHAPTER FIVE

Deuce

I went for a longer run than usual yesterday and my legs are feeling it today. Felt like I needed to get my new girlfriend out of my head. Sadly, nine miles didn’t do anything to erase her scent from my nose or delete the way the scrape of her throaty voice set my nerve endings on fire. I chalked it up to a longstanding hatred turning into a visceral reaction. I’m hate-sick, pure and simple.

Then I came home to Valentina ready to karate chop me into the ground, clad only in paper-thin red satin. I saw the outline of her nipples, for heaven’s sake. Normally I’d appreciate the outfit. Literally, on anyone else, I would have rejoiced. But perfect nipples on a she-devil were best ignored. I somehow cobbled together dinner and conversation, relieved when she excused herself quickly and headed up to bed.

I check my watch and curse myself for agreeing to take her shopping today. I should be working at my boutique, not handing everything over to Lottie, the woman I hired straight out of college five years ago. She’s fully capable of running the show without me—and doing it well—but I like to stay involved in everything. What’s the point of owning your own business if you hand over the reins completely?

“Val—” I call up the stairs, then cut myself off with a curse. “Landry! Let’s go!”

A door opens upstairs. Fuck. I can smell her already. Does she bathe in her perfume? Spritz on half the bottle with an evil grin on her face? Wouldn’t put it past her to put some pheromone in it that turns the entire male species feral just so she has an excuse to knife us.

Valentina descends the stairs like a queen at her coronation, nose high, shoulders back, and fingertips barely gliding down the wood banister. She’s in a teal button-down shirt with the thick collar popped in the back and the sleeves rolled up to show off a stack of gold bracelets and a watch. Her pants are replicas of yesterday’s, the crease starched so severely she could cut homemade sourdough with it. Her heels, only slightly lower than yesterday’s, clack down the hardwood steps like a metronome of doom.

After the last step, she turns her head my way, eyes so stunning I have to fight myself not to stagger backward.

“I’ll never forget the first day we met, Deuce.” Her exquisite face transforms into a smile that makes my blood run cold. “But I’ll keep trying.”

Her eyes start to dance with some inner joy that should be studied by psychologists wanting to understand the mind of a psychopath. It takes me a few seconds, but I finally understand what she’s doing. I keep my tone dry when I reply. I would never give her the satisfaction of knowing her comment is actually quite amusing.

“Brushing up on your insults, are you?”

She tosses her ponytail behind her shoulder. She must own stock in hairspray to keep that slicked-back ponytail looking so lethal every day. “I just want to fit in.”

I snort, turning away to grab my keys. Valentina will never fit in. Not even in New York where her harsh but beautiful look is appreciated. She’s the kind of woman who stands out. Both from her good looks, but also the way she carries herself. If life had turned out differently, she could have made a stunning model.

“Let’s go get some florals for you.”

Valentina growls behind me, but I hear her heels click their way toward the front door. I lock it up, not something I normally do, but with Valentina hiding out here, I make it a priority. I hustle over to open the passenger side door of my matte-black Mercedes AMG C-class. Valentina sniffs like she’s not sure the vehicle is good enough for her, but she does fold herself into it. I’m tempted to close the door before she pulls her foot inside, but I restrain myself. We can’t all be violent. Plus, I don’t want blood on my baby.

We keep a nice charged silence in the car all the way into the downtown area. I park on the far end of Eternity Street. Valentina doesn’t wait for me to round the hood before she climbs out of the car. I lift an eyebrow, but she ignores me. I already see heads turning to check her out. She sticks out like a sore thumb.

I grab her elbow and yank her down the sidewalk with me. “Come on, Cruella. We need to get you clothes. ASAP.”

She huffs, but picks up her pace to match mine. We make it into the Golden Halo without having to greet anyone, which is a relief. Maggie lifts her head from the register and calls out a greeting.