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Chapter 1

New Orleans, LA

Wednesday June 18^th

It was 10:15 a.m. when Livia Benoit stormed into her New Orleans real estate office. Elegantly designed with large glass windows that offered a stunning view of Lake Pontchartrain, the front lobby featured a round table and two leather chairs arranged near the windows, as well as framed photos of famous local landmarks on the wall. The sleek reception desk, angled at the back of the room, blocked anyone from entering the inner office without approval.

A slender man with neatly trimmed black curls and features a breath from beautiful glanced up to study her with a raised brow. As always, Marcel Rivera was impeccably attired. This morning he wore a bright yellow shirt, which highlighted the golden flecks in his dark eyes and the rich gloss of his skin and tailored slacks.

Marcel had been her personal assistant since she opened her own real estate agency two years ago. He was not only her employee, but her best friend.

If she was honest, he was her only friend.

Livia was smart, driven, and ruthlessly honest, but her social skills were a disaster. At thirty, she’d finally accepted she would never change. Might as well enjoy her career and the comfy home she’d bought a few blocks from her office.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Marcel drawled. “You’re late.”

Livia’s stilettos clicked against the black and white tiled floor, her brunette curls bouncing against her shoulders as she stomped to stand in front of the desk.

“Love sucks,” she announced in dramatic tones.

“Preaching to the choir, sweetie.”

“No. I mean, it really, really sucks.”

“I know. We’ve been saying it for years…” Marcel’s words trailed away as he abruptly narrowed his gaze. “Wait. I thought you’d switched sides. You know. Everything is rainbows and butterflies. Ain’t love grand and all that nauseating crap.”

“Jacob Pearson happened.”

“Your knight in shining armor? The yin to your yang—”

“Stop.”

Livia clenched her teeth. She didn’t blame Marcel for his teasing. She’d been vocally anti-love since the age of two. Just after her mother had died and her family had sent her off to a foster family in New Orleans. She’d never wavered in her certainty. Not when she’d gone to college at Tulane to get her business degree. There’d been a few casual boyfriends and plenty of fun nights with friends and lovers, but nothing lasting. Not even after she’d gained her real estate license and opened her agency. There were business acquaintances and casual men who she could call to escort her to formal events, but they barely skimmed the surface of her life.

Until Jacob Pearson.

The thirty-five-year-old financial advisor was her complete opposite. He was tall with the muscles of an athlete. He had short, blond hair and bright blue eyes.

Livia, in contrast, was a little over five feet with full curves, she emphasized with her hand-tailored power suits. Her dark curls held hints of fire in the sunshine and her skin was remarkably pale, even when she spent time in the sun. Her eyes were a light gray, like the mist that would rise from the bayous in the early morning.

And unlike her, Jacob was funny and charming, with the ability to fit into social situations with casual ease. A confident extrovert.

Still, there’d been an immediate connection from the moment Jacob had strolled into her office looking to buy a house. And for one glorious month, they’d discovered that opposites truly do attract.

Jacob might be outgoing, but he’d insisted that he loved spending quiet evenings at home with her, watching old movies and sipping wine. He hadn’t even complained when she had to work late. He said he admired her commitment to her career.

Livia had foolishly started to hope that she’d been wrong. Maybe true love did exist.

Of course, it’d all been a scam.

“Livia?” Marcel leaned forward, his expression worried. “What did he do?”

“He lied to me.”

“And?”

“What do you mean, and? Isn’t that enough?”

“We all lie, sweetie.” Marcel pressed a hand against his chest. “Even us saints.”

“You?” Livia snorted. “A saint?”

“Just ask my momma.” Marcel batted his lashes.

Livia managed a weak smile before abruptly turning to pace toward the large front windows. “I’ll agree you’re more saint-like than any other person in my life.”

“Okay, Livia, spill the tea,” Marcel easily sensed her coiled tension. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

Livia stared blindly at the sun-drenched parkway that rimmed Lake Pontchartrain. It was mid-summer and tourist season was in full swing, filling the streets with happy sightseers.

“You remember I gave Jacob a key to my house last Friday,” she demanded, wrapping her arms around her waist.

“Yes, you were hoping for a candlelit dinner after a hard day at the office, right?”

“That’s what Jacob wanted. Or at least, that’s what he told me.” Her stomach twisted into a knot of betrayal. “It felt a little soon for me, we’ve only been dating a month, but he pointed out that I hate to go out to a noisy restaurant after working all day, and if he could get into the house before I got home, he could have dinner waiting and we could enjoy a nice, peaceful evening together.” Livia’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “How was I supposed to resist? I hate cooking, I hate restaurants, but I love a good meal and a glass of wine after a long day.”

“Let me guess. There was no candlelight and no dinner?”

“No nothing.” Livia folded her arms over her waist. This morning she’d chosen a sleeveless white silk shirt to match with her black pencil skirt. Summer in Louisiana wasn’t for the faint of heart. It was already suffocatingly hot.

“I haven’t seen him since the night I gave him the key,” she admitted in grim tones. “He texted me to say he was too busy to get together this weekend and that it would probably be next Friday before he’d have time to meet up.”

“Putting you off for an entire week?” Marcel clicked his tongue. “Not a good sign.”

Livia sighed. Of course, it wasn’t a good sign. And if she’d taken one moment to question why the man who claimed to be falling in love with her was suddenly MIA, she might have realized something was up. Instead, she’d blissfully gone about her business without a care in the world.

“I didn’t think about it until my nosy neighbor—”

“Which nosy neighbor? Betty or Lester or Eva?” Marcel interrupted.

“Betty.” She tried to keep the impatience from her tone. It was a legitimate question. Livia lived in a quiet suburb where people-watching was the favorite hobby of her neighbors. The primary culprit was Betty Stonewell, who lived next door. Livia found her poking and prying into other people’s private lives annoying, but she kept her mouth shut. In Betty’s mind, she was simply being a good neighbor. “She stopped me after I got home last night. She was gushing about my decision to invite that nice young gentleman to move in and suggested it was time he made an honest woman of me.”

“Honest woman of you?” Marcel laughed. “She did not say that.”

“It was implied,” Livia conceded, slowly turning back to meet her companion’s curious gaze. “Anyway, I told her that Jacob hadn’t moved into my house and asked her why she thought he was living there? She looked confused and said she’d seen him coming and going during the last couple of days.”

Marcel folded his arms on the desk and leaned forward. “His was at your house when you weren’t there?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Maybe she made a mistake. You said she’s elderly.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Livia had gone into her house and tried to dismiss Betty’s intrusive probing. The woman had always seemed in her right mind, but who knew? She was getting older. It would be understandable if she was getting confused. “But it bothered me. There was no reason for Jacob to be at the house during the day, but that didn’t mean there hadn’t been someone else sneaking around the neighborhood. Thieves sometimes creep around an area a few days before they decide where they want to break in.” She sucked in a deep breath. “So, I decided to check my security video.”

“And?”

“And they were blank.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“How’s that possible? A glitch?”

“Definitely not. They were deliberately erased.”

Marcel released a low whistle. “The thief?”

“Why would a thief go to the trouble of erasing the footage? It would have been much easier just to smash the cameras. Besides, nothing was missing.”

“So who was it?”

The question had gnawed at her the entire night. At last she accepted there was no way she would feel comfortable in her own home until she knew who Betty had seen creeping around, and more importantly, who had erased her security videos.

“This morning I was determined to find out. That’s why I’m late.”

Marcel pressed a hand against the center of his chest. “Good lord, Livia, you have me on the edge of my seat. You should do a podcast.”

“I love podcasts, but it’s not nearly as fun when it’s happening to you,” Livia muttered.

Marcel ignored her complaint. “Keep going.”

Livia shivered as she grudgingly recalled the unnerving details of the morning.

“I got ready for work and drove away from the house like usual, but then I circled around the block and parked on the corner. I could see the house through my neighbor’s hedges, but my car was out of sight.”

“Sneaky. I like it.” Marcel applauded her ingenuity. “Did you catch the thief?”

“About an hour later, I saw Jacob walking down the street. I couldn’t believe it. He just strolled up the sidewalk and used the key I gave him to go inside like he owned the place.”

“He walked to your house?” Marcel demanded. “I thought he was staying in a hotel near the airport.”

“I don’t know where he left his car. I assume he didn’t want anyone to notice it in the driveway.” A tight smile curved her lips. “Unfortunately for him, he’d underestimated Betty’s obsession of keeping track of the neighborhood.”

“Did you confront him?”

Livia cringed at the mere thought. She might be a feral, ruthless opponent in business deals, but in personal relationships? Hell, no.

“Don’t be silly. I did what any other mature woman would do. I snuck into the backyard and peeked through the window.”

“Good choice.” Marcel looked riveted. As if Livia really was repeating what she’d heard on a podcast. Not revealing the painful events of her morning. “What was he doing?”

“He was in my bedroom, going through my dresser drawers. He looked like he was searching for something.”

“Through your drawers? Seriously?” Marcel looked suitably scandalized. “What was he looking for? Money? A gun?” He grimaced. “Ew. Maybe he’s one of those weirdos who smells women’s panties.”

Livia had stood on her back porch, peering into her bedroom with a numbed sense of disbelief. She’d already accepted that there was no legitimate reason for Jacob to be sneaking into her house at that hour. But the sight of him rifling through her drawers had still shocked her.

“I don’t know what he was looking for. It’s not like I hide anything with my undies.”

“What happened next?”

“I was about to go in and confront him when I heard the front door of my house open and a stranger walked into my bedroom.”

“Holy crap. A woman?”

“No, it was a man.”

“Ah.” Marcel waggled his brows. “Intrigue.”

“There was intrigue,” Livia agreed. “But not like you think. He wasn’t there for a hookup with Jacob. The stranger walked into the bedroom and shoved Jacob against the wall like he was threatening him.”

“Did Jacob know him?”

Livia took a second to sort through her memories. The last thing she’d expected was for some stranger to appear in her bedroom and attack Jacob. The whole encounter had taken on a strange, dream-like quality.

“Jacob at least recognized him,” she finally said. “They looked like they were arguing, but Jacob wasn’t trying to fight back. I think he was trying to convince the man of something.”

Marcel’s amusement faded, as if he sensed Livia’s smoldering sense of unease. She didn’t know what was happening between the two men, but there’d been an ugly expression on Jacob’s face that she’d never seen before.

“Did you call the cops?”

“No, the stranger left and a few minutes later, Jacob took off.”

Marcel clicked his tongue. “You should tell the police, Livia.”

“And say what?” Livia spread her arms in a gesture of helplessness. “That the man who I willingly offered a key to my house showed up and searched through my underwear drawer? And that a stranger came in and pushed him and left? As far as I know, they didn’t take anything, and didn’t do any damage. I’m not sure there was any actual crime committed.”

“Still…it’s weird.”

“It’s beyond weird,” Livia agreed, pulling her phone out of the leather satchel she’d slung over her shoulder. She searched through her most recent photos before turning the phone to show Marcel. “Which is why I took a picture of him through the window so he couldn’t deny what I saw, and then sent him a text telling him to come by today and leave the key to my house. The creep.”

Marcel narrowed his eyes, as if struggling to make out the blurry image. It wasn’t entirely her fault. The thick screen over the window had cast a shadow and her hand had been shaking so badly she couldn’t hold the phone still.

Obviously, it was enough to convince him she was telling the truth. Marcel shook his head, leaning back in his swivel chair.

“A shame. But I warned you when Jacob walked through the door that he was trouble.”

“Bullshit.” Livia dropped the phone back into her satchel. “You told me to—and I quote—‘hit that fine thing’”

Marcel tried and failed to look innocent. “Did I?”

Livia rolled her eyes. “It’s my fault. I should never have listened to you. You have terrible taste in men.”

“Brutal, but accurate,” Marcel conceded.

“Love sucks,” Livia muttered, stomping past the reception desk and into her office at the back of the building.

She might have terrible taste in men, but she was an amazing real estate agent.

Time to focus on what mattered. Making money.

Lots of money.

Chapter 2

New Orleans, LA

Monday June 23rd

Livia arrived at her office bright and early to discover Marcel brewing himself a large cappuccino. He was the only one who knew how to work the complicated machine that had cost her a small fortune, and he took full advantage of his expertise. This morning he stylishly attired in a tight, short-sleeved cashmere sweater and white slacks.

Livia had chosen a loose tunic dress that reached her ankles. Her brunette curls were knotted on top of her head, leaving a few tendrils to fall against her neck. It was too hot for her expensive skirts and tailored jackets. Plus, today she planned to inspect the new subdivision that a local developer had given her the opportunity to sell. The dozen homes were in various stages of construction and she kept a close eye on them. She wanted to make sure they were perfect before she put them on the market. Today was a day for comfort, not starch and high heels.

“Still nothing?” Marcel demanded the second she stepped through the front door.

Livia shook her head. There was no need to ask who he meant. They’d both been waiting on pins and needles for Jacob Pearson to come to the office and drop off her key.

“Nothing. I spent the weekend texting, calling, and leaving messages. He’s ignored all of them.”

Marcel sipped his cappuccino. “You have been well and truly ghosted, sweetie.”

“Good riddance.” Livia didn’t have to pretend her indifference. She’d had five days to come to terms with the knowledge Jacob hadn’t been the man of her dreams. He was just another loser who’d disappointed her. “I had the locks changed and upgraded the security system at my house. Time to move on.”

Marcel sent her a horrified glance. “You’re going to let him walk away without a proper goodbye?”

“Like I said. Good riddance.”

“Girl, I don’t think so.” Crossing the room, Marcel settled behind his desk and logged into his computer. “You might not be a bitch, but thankfully I am petty enough for both of us.”

Alarmed by the expression of determination on her friend’s face, Livia hurried toward the desk.

“What are you going to do?”

“Leave a few messages on his social media.” Marcel concentrated on his task. “The world should know that he’s a creep who breaks into women’s homes and sniffs their panties.”

Livia flinched. “He didn’t sniff my panties.”

“You don’t know that he wasn’t going to. I mean, he had to be in your bedroom for a reason.”

“Marcel, please,” Livia protested.

She didn’t mind humiliating Jacob. In fact, she hoped someday that he got exactly what he deserved. But she didn’t want any public drama.

What if he tried to retaliate?

Marcel ignored her plea, leaning forward to study his monitor. “Wait. It’s Pearson, right? P. E. A. R. S. O. N?”

“Yes, why?

“He doesn’t have any social media accounts?”

“Of course he does. I checked after he asked me to join him for a drink. I’ve had too many jerks hit on me who have a wife and a pack of kids waiting for him at home.”

Livia sighed at the memory of how eagerly she’d scoured his accounts, enlarging every picture of Jacob on the beach or in his expensive sports car. She’d made very sure there weren’t any women standing next to him with a wedding ring on her finger.

“I can’t find anything.” Marcel glanced up with a frown. “At least none that look like your Jacob Pearson.”

“He’s not mine, thank God.” Livia pulled out her phone. “I’ll find it for you, but you’re not leaving any messages.”

“Party pooper.”

“You mean mature adult?”

“No, I mean party pooper. Where’s your sense of fun?”

“Childish revenge isn’t my sense of…” The words dried on Livia’s lips as she stared at her phone. She closed out the social app and opened another, then another. All of them showed the same thing. “What the hell is going on?” she muttered.

“Livia?”

“Someone deactivated his accounts.” She glanced up to meet Marcel’s curious gaze. “All of them.”

“Bastard.” Marcel shook his head in disgust. “He must be afraid you intend to out him as a weirdo.”

“If that was the reason he could have easily blocked me,” Livia pointed out, unable to dismiss a niggling anxiety. “Scrubbing his online accounts seems a little drastic.”

“What about his business accounts?” Marcel suggested. “He’s a financial advisor, isn’t he?”

“He has a website.” Livia used her phone to pull up his page. Or at least she tried. What she got was a warning that the website no longer existed. The niggling anxiety turned up a dozen notches. “Shit. What’s going on?”

She turned the phone for Marcel to see the blank page. His brows slowly lifted, as if struck by a sudden realization.

“Oh, Livia. You weren’t ghosted. You were catfished.”

Livia shoved the phone back into her satchel with a frown. She was still trying to accept the fact that Jacob had crashed into her life and then just as abruptly disappeared. Like a hit and run. Now she had to consider the fact that he wasn’t Jacob at all? No. It was giving her whiplash.

“There has to be another explanation,” she insisted. “Why would anyone catfish me?”

“I listened to a podcast about a dude who was dating over a dozen different women at the same time.”

“Why?”

“When he was exposed, he said the women were giving him everything he wanted. Sex and money and a place to stay. Plus, he liked the thrill of sneaking around. They didn’t catch him for years.”

“Gross.” Livia made a sound of disgust. “Men.”

Marcel held up a slender hand. “Again. Preaching to the choir.”

Livia shook her head, stubbornly wanting to dismiss Marcel’s warning. It didn’t seem possible, but then again, she couldn’t think of another reason for his social media and professional website to be wiped clean.

“If Jacob did catfish me, I still don’t understand why,” she grudgingly conceded. “It’s not like I gave him any money.”

“He did sneak into your house. Maybe he thought that you have something worth stealing. Cash. Jewelry. Antiques.”

“I told him I put every penny I earn back into the business. I even admitted that I buy my clothes off-rack and that my car has over one hundred thousand miles. Hardly the sort of woman with expensive jewelry hidden in her drawers.”

“Yes, but you’re Livia Benoit.”

“So?”

“So everyone in Louisiana recognizes the name Benoit.”

Livia clenched her teeth. It was true that most people in the state would recognize the name Benoit. Her mother’s ancestors had been powerful landowners for over two hundred years. Starting with the Willows, a large mansion surrounded by vast acres of farmland and bayous outside of New Orleans, they’d expanded their empire to own office buildings, shopping centers, and a chain of hotels from New Orleans to Baton Rouge. Over the years, their wealth and influence had diminished. Most dramatically since the death of her grandfather, Henri Benoit, who’d been a ruthless force of nature. But the name Benoit remained a formidable key to opening doors in Louisiana.

Both in society and politics.

“I’ve never been a part of the clan,” she insisted. Her sole link to her extended family after being dumped into foster care was the mandatory summers at the Willows, where they attempted to mask their aversion to her presence. “I’ve earned everything I have.” She paused, realizing that she wasn’t being entirely honest. After the death of her grandfather ten years ago, she’d received a yearly lump of cash from his trust fund. It meant that she could buy her small home without draining funds from her business. “Mostly.”

Marcel shrugged. “It doesn’t change your name. Or the assumption that you must be loaded.”

The knot of queasiness in the pit of her stomach doubled in size. Just when she thought her brief relationship with Jacob Pearson couldn’t get worse, it did.

“Well, whatever his intention, he obviously realized I’m broke and decided to move on.”

“Or he got what he wanted.”

Livia shuddered. She was sick of Jacob Pearson and his lies. The sooner she got him out of her mind, the better.

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing for him to get,” she insisted. “My name might be Benoit, but it ends there. My supposed family pretend like I don’t exist.”

Marcel parted his lips, but whatever he was about to say was forgotten, as he abruptly recalled something.

“That’s not entirely true,” he said. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunate for you or for me?”

“Both of us.” Marcel warned. “Your Aunt Delilah called this morning.”

Livia groaned. Unfortunate was an understatement. Delilah Laurent-Benoit was married to Livia’s uncle, Adrian Benoit. The older brother of her mother and the heir to the Willows, as well as her grandfather’s businesses. She was also mother to Livia’s only cousin, Celeste. She was three years younger than Livia, and the two couldn’t have been more different.

Celeste had been adored by her parents, as well as spoiled rotten by Henri Benoit as a child. Livia had detested her. And since Celeste had grown up, she hadn’t improved. She’d gone from a juvenile diva to a pampered, catty bitch.

“Did Delilah leave a message?”

“Not so much a message as a threat.” Marcel paused for dramatic effect. “She said she was in New Orleans and intended to stop by and see you.”

“Stop by here?” Livia demanded in horror. She could count on one hand how many times someone from the Benoit clan had visited her over the years.

“Yes.”

“Did you tell her I was busy?”

“How? She just announced she was coming and hung up.”

“Thanks.”

Marcel looked offended. “What did you expect me to do?”

“What you always do with people who try to bully you. I’ve seen you make grown men cry.”

“No way. She scares me.”

“Me too,” Livia muttered.

“We could close early and hit happy hour at the Tin Roof.”

A pitcher of margaritas at the corner bar instead of being thrown to the lion? Or rather, the lioness? Yeah, that sounded perfect. The only problem was that she would later regret revealing her cowardice.

“Tempting, but I decided a long time ago I wasn’t going to let my family intimidate me.”

“What about me?” Marcel complained.

“Buckle up, buttercup.” Livia headed around the desk, sending her friend a tight smile. “Word of warning, keep your head high and your spine straight, but don’t look her directly in the eye. That’s how she destroys your soul.”

“That’s not funny.”

Continuing down the short hall into her office, Livia settled at her desk and tried to concentrate on the stack of bills awaiting her attention. She’d wasted far too much time dwelling on Jacob and his mysterious appearance and disappearance in her life, not to mention the effort and expense to upgrade her home security over the weekend.

She would not waste more time worrying about Delilah or what she might want.

End of Excerpt