Page 11 of Savage Prince
“I don’t even know his name!”
Harriet waves off my concern. “If I had a nickel for every man whose name I didn’t know, I’d be even richer than I am now. You can’t take life so seriously. You’ll never make it out alive. Now, you go upstairs, take the rest of this bottle of wine, and get tipsy enough to forget all the shouldn’ts and can’ts. If you need me to do some stalking to find this guy, just let me know. I haveconnections.”
I can’t even begin to imagine what kind of connections Harriet, an elderly artist who has lived in New Orleans for decades, could possibly have, but I wouldn’t put anything past her.
If she told me she was besties with the Queen of England, I wouldn’t be all that surprised.
I reach for the bottle, intending to pour her another glass, but she stops me.
“Don’t worry, I have a second one chilling. Go run along and drink. If you want to skinny-dip later, you’re more than welcome. I’ll be in my studio until dawn.”
A sharp pang of envy lances through me at the thought of spending time in a studio, creating something from nothing.
One more thing I shouldn’t be thinking about.
I don’t have room in my life for that either anymore.
I grab the bottle of wine by the neck and give her a smile. “Good night, Harriet.”
“Bonne nuit, Temperance.”
Chapter 4
Temperance
Ihaven’t been able to stop thinking about Friday night, and not just because I can feel him with my every step. No other experience in my life comes remotely close.
And I have absolutely no idea who he is or how to get in contact with him.
That’s probably a good thing. Right?
He’s still on my mind when I walk into the distillery on Monday morning. As soon as I turn the key, the heat, humidity, and scents wash over me. This is familiar. Sane. Not impulsive and crazy.
I’ve made a career for myself. A name for myself. Within these walls, I have respect, and no one questions that I deserve it. I’m not some girl from the bayou, running wild and trying to survive despite the shitty hand life dealt me.
As my heels click on the old concrete floor, I remind myself that even though whiskey isn’t my passion, this is the right path for me. It doesn’t matter that I spend more time here than I do in my own apartment. This job is a privilege that I’m doing my best to prove I deserve.
Going off the deep end and letting my wild side come back to life isn’t going to help me prove a damn thing except I’ve lost my mind. I have to put him out of my head.
No more club.
No more beautiful tattooed man.
No more getting off track.
I turn the handle of my office door and freeze when I see the lamp on my desk already lit, and thick-soled leather boots resting on my calendar.
What the hell?My hand automatically reaches for the gun in my purse.
“Shoot me, and you’re gonna be the one to patch me up.”
My brother’s distinctive voice halts my movements in a way nothing else could.
“What the hell are you doing here? Get your damn boots off my desk. You can’t be here.”
I can’t even imagine how the hell Rafe got inside. My boss’s husband has this place locked down tighter than Fort Knox. Or maybe the Tower of London. After all, Keira is his crown jewel.
Rafe’s boots stay exactly where they are. “I can’t come ask my little sister if she’s lost her goddamn mind? Because that’s the only reason I can come up with for you to be at Haven.”
