Tell Me Something Good

All names, characters, stories, and incidents featured in this novel are imaginary. They are not inspired by any individual person, incidents or events known or unknown to the author. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is coincidental. TELL ME SOMETHING GOOD was originally published in 2002. This is a reprint.

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© 2002 Margaret Emery Hubbard

Chapter 1

Lyrissa Rideau stood beside her boss, barely able to believe he was about to introduce her to the Georgina St. Denis. She’d chosen her clothes for the occasion with great care. The soft dove gray silk suit was conservative without being too severe. A rose blouse beneath the jacket softened the look

It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. St. Denis. Shelton Taylor’s voice dripped old New Orleans Creole charm. Welcome to Taylor Gallery.

Georgina St. Denis held a carved mahogany walking cane, but didn’t lean on it. Her iron gray hair was brushed back into a French twist at the nape of her neck. Thank you, Mr. Taylor. She inclined her head ever so slightly and gazed at Lyrissa, a question in her eyes.

This is my assistant, Lyrissa Rideau. Mr. Taylor turned to Lyrissa.

Lyrissa nodded to Mrs. St. Denis with deference. Hello. Mrs. St. Denis gave her a cool smile that was more a dismissal than a greeting, yet Lyrissa was hardly intimidated. In fact, she was practically giddy at her own good fortune. No, that wasn’t accurate. Good fortune implied luck. But luck had had little to do with this meeting. Lyrissa had made this day a reality. A careful word in the right circles she’d carefully cultivated for the last three months had borne fruit. Today the plum had dropped right into her lap. Perfect.

Come this way to my office. Mr. Taylor paused and turned to Lyrissa. Would you please get us some coffee? Of course, Lyrissa said.

I’ll have decaffeinated cafe au lait, Mrs. St. Denis said over her shoulder as she walked on ahead as though she owned the place. Doctor’s orders.

Anxiety flittered across Mr. Taylor’s face. Would you mind, Lyrissa?

No problem. I’ll get it from CC’s Coffee House, Lyrissa said quickly.

Thank you, he whispered, handing her a twenty- dollar bill. Here. Say a prayer for me. This woman is just as likely to eat me alive as hire me, he muttered before scurrying off after the imperious woman.

Lyrissa laughed. Georgina St. Denis had a reputation for being a Rottweiler in pearls. She should feel guilty. After all, Lyrissa was the indirect cause of the poor man’s panic attack. Yet she was too happy at the prospect of getting close to the St. Denis family art collection to feel anything but triumph.

She strode past Mr. Taylor’s office and around a corner down another hallway. The storage room had a wide door that led to the alley and a loading dock. A muscular young man was unpacking a massive cast-iron sculpture.

"Kevin, I’m going out to get coffee for a potential client. Do you want something?

He stood straight and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Nah, I’m okay. What’s wrong with the coffee we got?

It’s not decaf cafe au lait, Lyrissa intoned in a voice to imitate Georgina St. Denis.

’Scuse me! Kevin grinned at her. Guess we’d better start stockin’ the good stuff.

Lyrissa waved a hand. Not necessary. Her highness won’t be back soon. We’ll be visiting the royal palace from now on to see her art collection. Sure you don’t want any-thing?

No way. I’m in training. Nothing but bottled water for me these days. The young man was on the Southern University wrestling team.

What discipline, Lyrissa said with a grin and left.

She walked back down the hall toward the side en-trance and paused outside Mr. Taylor’s office door. The murmur of voices came through the smooth oak, but she couldn’t make out the words.

Maybe if you pressed your ear to it you could hear better, a deep voice said.

Lyrissa jumped and turned sharply. I, I work here and...

Her voice died away when she looked into a pair of eyes the color of dark amber with a hint of green. Shapely, masculine eyebrows lifted above them. The man stood at least six feet three inches tall. His skin was the color of vanilla caramel candy. His face was framed by dark thick bronze curls cut into a short, neat style that suited him. The custom fit navy linen and silk jacket did not disguise broad shoulders. Lyrissa imagined an equally broad chest covered in downy curls. For a moment she forgot to be embarrassed as she pictured this man naked to the waist. Before she could undress him further he spoke again, breaking the spell.

You get paid to eavesdrop? His full mouth lifted at one comer as his dark eyebrows arched even higher.

Yes. I mean, of course not! Lyrissa blinked her way back to reality. His smart-ass tone pinched a nerve. May I help you? she said in her best chilly tone.

Nice collection, he said, untouched by the frost in her voice. He waved a large hand back toward the main gallery. Mr. Taylor deserves his reputation, Ms?

Lyrissa Rideau. I assist Mr. Taylor in acquisitions and appraisals. She extended her hand. She felt a shock of warmth like a soft electrical charge at the sensation of his large hand closing around hers. His palm was dry and smooth. He smiled and revealed even white teeth. Her breath went shallow for a split second at the sight. This man went from being merely tall and good-looking to drop-dead gorgeous in the blink of an eye. He let go of her hand too soon.

I’ll just look around a bit more.

Yes. Her answer was more a sigh than a word. She watched his broad back retreat.

Mr. Taylor opened his office door. I’ll just check on that, Mrs. St. Denis. The short wiry man literally bowed his way out into the hallway. He bumped into Lyrissa. Where’s the cafe au lait?

Um, just on my way, she said, craning her neck to keep the stunning vision in sight

Excuse me, Mr. Taylor said sharply. This is Georgina St. Denis, okay? You don’t keep this woman waiting for anything.

Lyrissa took in a deep breath, and then let it out. Right, right. It’ll just take me a few minutes to get it.

She flashed an encouraging smile at her jittery boss, then scurried out the side entrance. Thankfully the coffee shop wasn’t very crowded. Frank, one of the owners, helped her. He filled a small black insulated pot with decaffeinated coffee, then added hot, frothy milk that formed white foam on top. As she’d promised Mr. Taylor, Lyrissa was back at the gallery within five minutes. She went to the kitchen and put the pot, white china cups, and a matching sugar bowl on a red lacquered Chinese serving tray. With skills gained from working her way through high school and college as a waitress, she balanced the load expertly on one hand.

The handsome gentleman appeared from nowhere again. Need help? he asked in that sonorous voice that could melt the clothes off the coldest woman.

I’ve got it, thanks. Of course, Lyrissa stumbled and the cups rattled ominously.

Here, let me. He opened the door to Mr. Taylor’s office.

Lyrissa rushed to block his view into the room. She imagined Mr. Taylor’s eyes bulging with alarm. Mrs. St. Denis was known for her obsession with privacy.

Thanks, but I’m fine. This is a private meeting and— damn! she muttered when the carafe of coffee wobbled.

He steadied it with one quick motion. There you go.

Mrs. St. Denis sat in one of six forest green leather chairs arranged around an oval table. What in the world is going on? Well, it took you long enough to get here!

I’m sorry, Mrs. St. Denis. But— Lyrissa began, then realized the royal disapproval was directed at the man be-side her.

He smiled at Mrs. St. Denis. It’s not easy finding a parking space around here, Grandmother. Let me help you, Ms. Rideau. He took the tray from Lyrissa and set it on a long rosewood table against the wall.

Her mouth open in surprise, Lyrissa barely registered his action. She held her arm up as though the tray was still there. Grandmother? she repeated.

He flashed another dazzling smile at her. Noel St. Denis at your service. I’ll pour.

Mrs. St. Denis accepted a cup from him. We don’t have much time, Noel Phillip. We have a meeting at the office in another hour.

Noel St. Denis shook his head. We’ve got plenty of time. Henderson cancelled. Ms. Rideau? He handed Lyrissa a cup.

Thank you, she managed to mumble as she sank into a chair across from Mrs. St. Denis. Noel sat in the chair next to his grandmother.

Ah, here we are. Mr. Taylor came back in. He looked at the newcomer.

My grandson, Noel. He’s the CEO of Tremé Corporation, Mrs. St. Denis said with obvious pride.

Pleased to meet you. Mr. Taylor shook hands with him. Here is a sample of the kind of report we would complete for you if you hire the Taylor gallery to catalog your art collection.

Mrs. St. Denis put her cup down on the table and took the report. The others were silent as she read one page, then flipped to another. Lyrissa studiously avoided gazing at Noel St Denis. She was sure her concentration would dissolve if she looked into those arresting eyes again. A St. Denis, she reminded herself. The phrase forbidden fruit- popped into her head. Noel St Denis was from a wealthy old New Orleans Creole family. Correction: make that the old New Orleans Creole family. The St Denis clan was on the A+ list. These were the same people who Lyrissa had learned to love to hate. Mrs. St. Denis seemed to epitomize the breed. Her long, thin nose tilted up so that she continuously looked down at everything and everyone. Lyrissa revised her impression of Noel St Denis. The fluid walk that had so captured her was more arrogance than grace, she concluded. That charming smile held a trace of condescension. Nice reality check, girlfriend. Lyrissa knew their kind only too well. Her family had been slighted and snubbed for at least two generations by these people.

Fortified, she glanced at Noel. He was staring at her intently. Lyrissa assumed an impassive expression. Despite her effort not to be affected, a tingle traveled up her arm as though he’d touched her again.

What does provenance mean? Mrs. St. Denis tapped a page with one polished fingernail.

It means the origin or source of the item—how it was acquired, Mr. Taylor replied.

We would list which auction company or dealer sold you the item, Lyrissa put in. But of course, in your case, most of the items were inherited.

Yes, such a fantastic family collection! Mr. Taylor’s eyes gleamed.

Of course, we would describe how your ancestors acquired each piece, Lyrissa added and watched the older woman carefully.

I see, Mrs. St. Denis said. She closed the folder. Most of our collection is spread out. Over the years we’ve had a tendency to exchange and lend out paintings, sculptures and the like. Among only family, of course.

Naturally, Mr. Taylor purred. More cafe au lait? Thank you. Mrs. St. Denis reached out the cup to Lyrissa without looking at her.

Lyrissa pushed down the urge to snap at the old bat. In-stead, she smiled sweetly and rose as though serving a St. Denis was a pleasure. When she returned to her seat, Noel was studying her with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

We would do our appraisals on-site. No problem, Mr. Taylor said, beaming at her.

Mrs. St. Denis frowned. Wei I don’t want another gallery or museum brought in. If you can’t handle a collection of this magnitude—

I meant myself and Lyrissa, Mr. Taylor broke in quickly. No, no. Taylor Gallery would handle everything. Ms. Rideau has a master’s degree in fine art and is working on her Ph.D. in art history. She has over twelve hours of course work from Lindenwood University in professional fine art evaluation.

Mrs. St. Denis looked at Lyrissa carefully for the first time. Really?

Lyrissa smiled. Yes. My particular interest is Louisiana Creole art, especially the influence of immigrants who came to New Orleans from St. Dominique, Lyrissa said, meeting Mrs. St. Denis’s gaze with confidence. Though upper crust Creoles could still make Lyrissa feel socially inferior, she had no doubts about her credentials.

Very good. Mrs. St. Denis nodded to her slightly, then turned to Mr. Taylor again. Noel’s secretary will get you a list of the collection.

Mr. Taylor smiled with relief and joy. Excellent! Then we—

Wait, Mrs. St. Denis raised a hand as though she were a queen shushing a subject. It’s not complete.

I don’t understand. You don’t have a complete list? Mr. Taylor’s bushy brows came together.

Noel cleared his throat Not complete in the sense that some of the descriptions are vague. For example, pictures may be described without naming the artist. And in some instances we’re not sure which relatives have what pieces.

How many items are we talking about? Lyrissa asked through clenched teeth. She’d thought locating her family’s painting would be the easy part.

We’re not sure, he said with a lift of one shoulder.

You own possibly the most important private collection of Creole and French art in the south, and you don’t know where most of it is? Lyrissa blurted out before she could stop herself.

All the pieces are in the family, Mrs. St. Denis said crisply. Her light brown eyes flashed a warning signal.

Mr. Taylor rushed in to head off the rising storm. I’m sure the entire collection has been well cared for. The St. Denis family has a reputation for refined tastes and a keen appreciation of fine artwork.

Precisely. Mrs. St. Denis gave Lyrissa one last scouring gaze before turning to Mr. Taylor. Apparently your employee isn’t familiar with our family history.

Lyrissa realized she’d made a tactical error. Her grand-mother had warned her hundreds of times about her smart mouth. She affected an apologetic expression. Noel seemed about to say something—to rescue her? She wondered—but hurried to reply, I certainly didn’t mean to imply otherwise, Mrs. St. Denis. It’s just such a surprise, given the value of your collection. I do know that your hard work and attention to detail made Tremé Corporation what it is today.

The older woman’s severe expression relaxed in the face of a personal compliment Well, my husband and I built the business together. She sighed. But the young woman has a point. There’s no excuse for not having a complete list.

Lyrissa said a silent prayer of thanks. At least her quick tongue had gotten her out of this tight spot. Actually it’s not uncommon in large, wealthy families for art to be spread out. She smiled widely at the older woman.

Yes, yes, Mr. Taylor said. Now I’ll go over our con-tract with you.

I’ll go out front to make sure Kevin doesn’t need help in the gallery. I look forward to seeing you both again, Lyrissa said, smiling at Mrs. St Denis and then eyeing Noel. She closed the door behind her and clasped her hands together. Yes!

She was still grinning when she walked to the main gallery. Kevin had arranged the placement of a cast iron sculpture of three dancers in flight on a granite pedestal. He stood back, both hands on his narrow hips, to examine his handiwork.

How’s that, Lyrissa? he asked.

Perfect. Any customers here?

A lady is in the red room looking at the paintings. I’ll bet she’s just killing time on her lunch hour.

How can you tell? Lyrissa played their usual game. Mr. Taylor had trained the young man to spot the serious customers with money to spend.

Kevin grinned. For one thing, she acted too snooty to me. Real rich folks don’t waste any time on us little people. They don’t see you at all.

Lyrissa laughed. You’ve learned well, my son. Take those two, she said gesturing toward Mr. Taylor’s office. They’re the real thing. Old money and old family name.

I gotcha. We better smile when they treat us like dirt. Kevin joined her in laughter. I’ll get back to the salt mines. He headed for the storage room again.

Noel St. Denis stepped from behind a wide decorative screen that came from Madagascar. We’re not as bad as you think.

Oh I, uh ... Lyrissa looked into his shrewd eyes and decided flattery wouldn’t work She gave him her most winning smile. You got me.

He smiled back. It’s okay. Grandmother is used to being in charge.

Mrs. St. Denis is still with Mr. Taylor? Lyrissa glanced over his shoulder.

Yes. He walked around looking at the art on display. The agreement seems fine. They’re just chatting about mutual acquaintances.

Lyrissa followed him at a respectful distance, as she did with most wealthy customers. He stopped in front of a wooden sculpture by Frank Hayden. Noel circled the panel of smooth walnut fashioned in swirls. While he studied the art, Lyrissa studied him. Her first impression had not changed: he was one fine man. Yet she felt sure he had an inflated ego to match his good looks. His bearing said he was as used to getting his way and being in charge as his grandmother. Watching them together, it was obvious that he was the apple of his grandmother’s eye— handsome, spoiled, and arrogant, Lyrissa mused. One tall package of everything she detested. Or should. He turned to face her, his striking face radiant with pleasure. Unexpectedly, desire flowed through her body like warm milk.

The wood seems to pulsate with energy, he said in a reverent voice. It tells a story, like a griot.

She moved closer to him as though drawn by a magnet. The lines are sinuous, inviting you to touch it. You’d expect it to be warm like a living thing.

Yes, he said, now looking at her instead of the sculpture. So beautiful, it’s hard not to touch it.

Lyrissa watched the movement of his lips. His words seemed directed at her, not at the sculpture. She tried hard to ignore the insistent prickle in her hips as she stepped away from him.

Of course, that’s the genius of a great artist, to breathe life into his creation. He makes us feel it as much as see it, she murmured, still staring at his mouth in fascination.

Noel gazed into her eyes steadily and took a step to-ward her. I definitely feel it.

The room, indeed the whole world, tilted in his direction. The air between them crackled with electricity—at least, that’s what Lyrissa would have sworn at that moment. Then Kevin walked in.

I think they sent us the wrong catalogues, Kevin said, peeling stiff cellophane wrapping from a package.

What? Lyrissa felt a bit dazed.

These are for some medical supply company. Kevin held up a stack of glossy brochures. The wrapping snapped and crackled as he wadded it up into a compact ball.

Kevin glanced from her to Noel, who was now studying the dancers’ sculpture. Oops, bad timing. Sorry.

No, no. We’re talking about the art, Lyrissa stammered.

The young man gave her a puzzled look. Right, you’re with a customer. You okay?

Fine. I’ll, uh, look at those later, Kevin, she said.

Lyrissa gave him a thin smile. Kevin nodded, and then left. Noel hovered near, the subtle scent of his cologne drifting out to tickle her nose. She fought the urge to close her eyes and follow it until their faces touched.

You know, I’m not that educated on art. Maybe you could teach me more, Noel said, an inviting inflection in his tone.

I...

Lyrissa shivered with anticipation at spending hours alone with him. Before she could make a more coherent reply, the front door opened. A tall, elegantly dressed woman came in. She wore a short olive wrap skirt and an ivory cotton blouse.

Noel, I can’t believe my eyes!

Hello, Felice. Noel met the woman halfway and they embraced.

Felice took off her sunglasses. She glanced at the ex-pensive watch on her slim brown wrist. My God! It’s ten in the morning and you’re not hard at work conquering the business world, she teased.

I manage to stumble out into the sunshine now and then, he said with a soft laugh.

Lyrissa felt another shiver at the sound. Then reality bit hard. The haze she’d been in dissipated and she saw clearly. Felice Gerard was from another old Creole family. As she and Noel exchanged pleasantries and referred to a party they’d both attended, Lyrissa felt the familiar feeling. It was as though she stood looking through the window of an exclusive club she could never join. Felice threw her head back and let out a silvery laugh.

Oh, Noel! You’re so funny, she trilled, a delighted expression on her face.

Actually the party wasn’t so bad. At least no one got drunk and fell into the fountain this time, he said with a devilish glint in his eyes.

I’ll be in my office if either of you needs assistance, Lyrissa said and nodded to her small office. It was located right near the entrance. A glass wall allowed her to see the front door and into the main gallery.

Noel turned to her. I’m sorry, Lyrissa. This is Felice Gerard. This is—

I come here all the time. Hello. Felice waved a hand at Lyrissa as though her name wasn’t important.

Good morning, Lyrissa said stiffly. She fought to maintain a smile.

I’m going to rent art for our annual sorority charity function. You know, it dresses up the club ballroom, Felice went on.

Then Ms. Rideau will be able to help you. She’s an ex-pert, Noel said and moved to stand beside Lyrissa.

Felice raised one delicately arched eyebrow as she looked at them. Ye-es, 1'11 bet.

That was the last dash of cold water Lyrissa needed. The mystique of Noel St. Denis had been effectively doused. Excuse me, Lyrissa said in a flat tone and headed to her office, leaving the door open. Once inside, she opened a folder without reading its contents. Instead she listened carefully to Noel’s and Felice’s conversation.

Mr. Taylor came out of his office with Mrs. St. Denis. He held the elderly woman’s elbow lightly. I’m certainly looking forward to seeing the famous St. Denis collection. To think I’ll be the one that will unite it under one roof. Mrs. St. Denis patted her gray hair. We might even arrange an exhibit at a local museum.

Mr. Taylor’s eyes widened with pure joy. That’s a fantastic idea! I could contact the New Orleans Museum of Art right now. I know the curator and she’ll be downright ecstatic at the prospect.

First things first, Mr. Taylor, Mrs. St. Denis said. We need an appraisal. We’re considering a limited sale at some point.

Lyrissa’s head snapped up at that. A sale? She had to move fast, then. In today’s market, a Jules Joubert painting would bring on serious high bidding from collectors. Yet the painting was not theirs to sell.

Hello, Mrs. St. Denis, Felice called out gaily. Did I hear you say something about an art auction? Why, that would be a wonderful fundraiser for the St. Mary’s Academy booster committee. We could—

Hello, Felice, Mrs. St. Denis cut in with a dry tone.

How is your grandmother? I hope Charlotte is feeling better after her fall.

Grandmother is a resilient lady. She didn’t even break a bone. Remarkable, for a woman her age. But then, we’re a strong breed. Felice flashed a toothy smile.

Charlotte was always a tough old bird, Mrs. St. Denis tossed back.

Er, yes. Felice blinked at her rapidly.

Goodbye, Mr. Taylor, Mrs. St. Denis said. We’ll be in touch soon. She glanced at Felice without affection. Goodbye, Felice. Noel, I’ve kept you away from the office too long. I’m ready, she added before Felice could answer.

Noel shot a significant look at his grandmother, but she seemed not to notice. Nice to see you, Felice.

Give me a call, Felice purred. Daddy is having one of his famous fishing events at our camp in a couple of weeks. You’d love it.

I’ll get back to you, Noel said.

Be sure you do, she said, dropping her voice to a soft, intimate timbre. Felice walked away from him with hips swaying.

Lyrissa watched from her vantage point and rolled her eyes. Oh, please, she muttered to herself.

I’ll get the car in a minute, Grandmother. I want to say goodbye to Ms. Rideau, Noel said and headed to Lyrissa’s office.

Mrs. St. Denis pursed her thin lips in an expression of displeasure, but said nothing. She nodded distractedly as Mr. Taylor prattled on excitedly about the collection. Noel strolled into Lyrissa’s office as though he belonged there. Noting his serene confidence, Lyrissa was sure there had never been a time when he didn’t feel he belonged.

She stiffened her spine, determined to resist his unsettling ability to get her blood pumping. Thinking about the wide social gulf between them helped, a little. A small shock of heat went down her back when he walked right up to her.

Thanks for the personal attention, Noel said with a winning smile that could soften any heart of stone.

Lyrissa put on a reserved smile. We work hard to give special treatment to all our clients.

Noel lifted one dark eyebrow at her. I understand, he said without losing his good humor. A teasing glint lit his gorgeous eyes. I look forward to seeing you again soon. She cleared her throat. His cocky expression seemed to say, It’s not over, lady, VU get to you yet. Lyrissa added a bit more ice to her attitude. Goodbye, Mr. St. Denis, she said in her most formal tone.

Noel merely nodded and left. Only when he was several yards away did she let out a long breath. She watched his graceful stride as he went through the glass doors and down the sidewalk until he was out of sight. She shook her head slowly. If only he weren’t a St. Denis, she groaned inwardly. Warning signals clanged that she shouldn’t even think about it. After a few seconds she realized the clanging sound was actually the phone on her desk ringing. Her eyes still on the door, she picked up the slim receiver.

Hello. Yes, they’re just leaving now, she said. Don’t worry. We’ll have our painting back in the next few weeks.

Chapter 2

Noel eased his pearl white Infiniti 130 into downtown traffic on Poydras Boulevard. His thoughts were still at Taylor Gallery. Lyrissa Rideau had left a strong sensory impression. He could still smell the subtle floral scent of her cologne. Each time she’d moved, the scent floated toward him, faint enough to tease and make him want more. Then there was the way she moved. Her shapely legs, revealed beneath her short gray skirt, could stop traffic. Like a camera, the image in his mind moved up her fine figure to her face. She had