Page 13 of Hunt You Down

The wind coming off the river was cool, but a blanket of pollen settled over everything in sight: a typical spring in Georgia.

We chose a small restaurant a couple blocks from River Street, where we were led inside by a curly-haired brunette. André helped me out of my jacket before I took my seat, and I thanked whatever god existed that I was already sitting down when he shrugged out of his coat. Oh, I was hungry alright—but not for food.

The heavy winter coat fell away to reveal a pale gray, well-tailored suit, forming to the best parts of André’s body. To my relief, he paid me no mind. I sat there, nearly drooling, while he unbuttoned the jacket to take his seat. The white button-down seemed just as luxurious, as well as the seamless silk tie. When he sat, he noticed me watching. “You alright?”

“F-fine,” I stammered. “That suit’s impressive.”

“Thank you,” he said, almost bashful. “I’d been in a meeting when your brother called. I ran home to pack and didn’t bother to change.”

“It looks expensive.”

A server swung by the table to take our drink orders—mint juleps, naturally.

“It was expensive,” he answered once she left. “Tom Ford.”

“I don’t have the slightest clue who that is, but he sounds… expensive.”

“You get really caught up on numbers, don’t you?”

“When you grow up without a lot of them, you can’t help it.”

André reached across the table and grabbed my hand, not seeming to care that we were in public. “You don’t have to worry about them with me.”

Our drinks were set in front of us, and André let me order first.

“Same for me,” he said when it was his turn, “but rare on the steak.”

I made a face, and he laughed.

“So, you told me your job keeps you pretty busy. What is it that you do?”

“Commercial real estate.”

“What does commercial mean?” I took a drink, enjoying the smooth bourbon sliding down my throat.

“Businesses over houses. You remember the restaurant I took you to? Mama’s place?”

I nodded, slowly sipping at my cocktail.

“She was my first client. She was an empty nester, her kids had gotten married and moved away, and she’d always wanted to open a restaurant. She took a chance on this kid who had just passed his real estate exam. The firm I was working for gave me this run-down building and challenged me to sell it in post-Katrina Louisiana. That woman put her life savings into that place and made it into what it is today. In all that, she gave my business card to a hot shot businessman who needed a new office space, and that was my first big sale. That hot shot gave my name to his hot shot friends and now, you’re sitting across from a man who makes seven figures a year and wears expensive suits.”

I briefly hesitated. I did get hung up on numbers. I’d started my adulthood being dependent on a man, and I was still trying to dig myself out of that hole. There was no way I was putting myself in that position again. “I don’t want to be kept.”

André’s brows furrowed. “Who says I’m keeping you?”

“That’s usually what people with money do with people like me.”

André’s thumb gently stroked my skin. “I’m not one of those people. I’m not going to keep you, but I do plan to give you the treatment you deserve.”

I blushed and ducked my gaze into my drink. “Fair enough.”

I asked André about his past, and happily sat back to let him talk. He was thirty-two, and moved from Germantown to New Orleans after graduation. He was an only child and close to his parents, even though they still lived in his hometown. His favorite color was pink. He hated lima beans, brussels sprouts, and tomatoes judging by the way he picked them out of his salad. The conversation lulled, and I awkwardly pushed lettuce around my plate. I knew what was coming next.

“Are you ready to talk?” André asked. He cut into his steak, blood oozing onto the plate.

“I don’t want it to change your opinion of me,” I muttered into my food.

“If it would, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”