The man wore a perfectly tailored suit. Everything about him—from his casually styled hair, tanned skin, and French-blue shirt to his heavy watch and designer shoes—screamed money.

“Lucas, you’re early.” Yve looked down at her watch. “I’ve got seven minutes.”

“And what makes you think I’ve suddenly developed a streak of patience?”

Goose bumps peppered my skin at the hungry look in his eyes as he stared at Yve. JP was probably right—Yve was on the menu for lunch. If he picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and carried her out of here, I would have trouble acting surprised. It seemed at complete odds that a man in such a civilized suit could give off such a primitive vibe.

“Give me five minutes to get Eden rung up.”

“Do you want me to carry you out of here?”

My eyebrows shot up as my thoughts came out of his mouth.

“See, that’s all I want. A man who wants to carry me out of places because he can’t wait to get me alone. But noooo. Bishop has the hots for Eden instead.”

Lucas’s attention shifted from Yve to me. “I’d apologize for being rude, but I’m not sorry I’m stealing my wife away. Good luck with the lumberjack.”

“He’s not a lumberjack!” JP jumped instantly to Bishop’s defense as my body shook with unexpected laughter.

“Close enough. Yve, I’m giving you five seconds to back away from the cash register before the entire block hears you scream as I carry you out.”

He started his countdown, and Yve turned to me with a smile that told me she wasn’t all that upset about the idea of being carried out.

“I’m so glad I got to meet you, Eden. You’ll have to come back and let me know how those dresses work out. And if you’re going to a parade tonight, make sure you let JP set you up with a fascinator. You absolutely need a fascinator.”

Lucas finished his countdown, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her toward the back door. “And it’s time to go.”

JP and I were both staring down the back hallway when the door shut behind them.

“Well, that was interesting.”

JP sighed. “That was alpha.” She spun around to look at me. “Now, let’s get you a fascinator.”

“What exactly is a fascinator anyway?”

“Think Princess Kate’s cute little hats that aren’t really hats. You’ve gotta have one.”

I pictured myself in the retro dress with a cute little non-hat. Totally New Orleans.

“Let’s see ’em.”

I returned to the Royal Sonesta with two giant bags with the Dirty Dog logo on the side, and a smile on my face. I’d been determined to find my way back without carrying the map in my hand the entire way, and I’d only taken three wrong turns. I considered it sightseeing and was pretty pleased with myself.

The streets were already beginning to crowd with people who were intent on getting started early on their hangovers, but no one bothered me.

See, I can do this. No big deal.

The Royal Sonesta lobby was bustling, and the concierge was handing out maps with the route of the next parade and a coupon for a ghost tour of the Lafayette Cemeteries by horse-drawn carriage afterward.

Score.

I officially had plans for the day and night. I was going to check two things off my list—watching a Mardi Gras parade without getting manhandled or lost, and then a tour of the famous cemeteries. And I was going to wear a fabulous new dress and a fascinator while I did it.

Perfect.

“THIS PARADE IS GOING RIGHT past Valentina’s place, so they’re throwing a party. You gotta come out and have some fun.”

I finished cleaning my station and turned to look at Constantine Leahy. “You’re my boss. You’re supposed to tell me to get my ass back to work, not try to drag it out of here.”

“We’re closing the shop for the rest of the day. I’ve had you and D working every night since the season kicked off so we could scoop up those tourist dollars, but you both need a fuckin’ break. Consider this your newest assignment. We aren’t taking no for an answer, and Delilah already agreed.”

We, I assumed, had to mean Vanessa. “Your wife isn’t trying to set me up with anyone, is she? Because I’m out if that’s the case.”

Con glared at me. “I’m not into any kind of matchmaking shit. Who the hell has time for that? Whatever Van is doing is on her, and I’ve got no clue what that might be. I just know there’s food and booze.”

I put the last piece of my machine away and stood. “Fine. I’m in. Where am I meeting you?”

He eyed me. “You’re coming with me. If I leave here without you, we both know you’ll never come.”

Fucker was right, and I wasn’t getting out of this. “All right. Let’s go.”

“Not that I give a fuck, but don’t you want to change your shirt?”

I looked down at the black Voodoo Ink logo T-shirt and back up at Con. “Are you really fucking asking me that?”

Con laughed. “Never mind. I’ll lock up and we’re out of here.”

I followed him out the back door of the shop into the alley behind the building. “I can’t wait until Mardi Gras is over. Is it just me, or do these tourists get more obnoxious every year?”

I watched a group of kids who didn’t even look old enough to drink tromp across the alley wearing their STUPID 1, STUPID 2, STUPID 3 shirts and giant neon sunglasses. Beer cups hung around their necks with their beads.

“Every fucking year. Because they get younger, dumber, and drunker.” Con started off down the sidewalk, and I followed.

Con pulled open the door of his sweet-as-hell Chevelle. My bike was tucked into a small half garage built into the back of the building.

I made myself comfortable in the passenger seat and we headed toward the Garden District via the back roads to avoid the bulk of the traffic.

“Anything I need to know about the shop?”

After Con had stopped working there, I’d taken up the reins as the unofficial manager. Delilah hadn’t wanted anything to do with “being management,” even though she’d worked there longer than me. Even with her aversion to anything non-artistic, she picked up more slack than she let on. It was the title that gave her hives.