Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 108531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“I’ve been telling you to bring someone in for years,” Rene said with a sigh. “Good luck with Jayna.”
Quaid pulled down the long driveway that led to the big, Creole-style house his grandfather had built back in the thirties when he’d settled here in Papillon. That house represented all of his family’s happiness and prosperity and all the backbreaking responsibility that came with it. “I’m going to need it. Talk to you later.”
Luck wasn’t something he’d had a ton of lately. Quaid hung up and he could fully concentrate on driving down the paved road that took him home.
His heroine had long hair, but suddenly that didn’t make a ton of sense. She was a spy. Short hair was probably better to have in a fight. He could give her a fashionable bob, one that drew a man’s eyes right to her lovely lips.
If he was lucky, his mom had some function to go to this evening. If she wasn’t around, he could eat dinner in front of his computer without his mother giving him grief about working through a meal. Of course, once she realized he was working on his latest novel, the grief wouldn’t end.
Why on earth would you waste your days away in some fictional world, Quaid? You’ve been given everything you need to have an amazing life. Why subject yourself to rejection? You’re a lawyer, not a writer.
He would reply by telling her half the time he lied for a living anyway, so he didn’t see the difference. Four finished novels and fifty-two rejections later, he had to think she might be right. Still, writing those books was the only thing that kept him sane sometimes.
He realized his luck wasn’t running any better when he saw the Porsche in the driveway.
He didn’t know anyone who would drive a Porsche around Papillon with the singular exception of the one person he didn’t want to see.
The front door opened and his mother waved from the porch. “Quaid! Quaid, come inside. Your brother’s home!”
Paul stepped out next to their mother. His brother had dropped weight. His elegant clothes now looked slightly too big for his lanky frame, but he was sure his brother still did well with the ladies. He’d gone to LA to pursue a modeling and acting career. At least that’s what he’d said. Quaid had always thought what his brother was pursuing was an easier way to get high.
It was a cycle with his brother. He got some money and times were good for a while, then the money ran out and he came home.
Quaid’s gut tightened. The last time his brother had come into some money was when he’d gotten access to his trust fund at the age of twenty-five. That had been five years before.
Had his brother run through ten million dollars in five years?
He might have bigger problems than seducing Jayna Cardet.
chapter three
Four days later, Quaid sat at the breakfast table, and still had zero idea why his brother was truly there.
After that first night Paul had been home, Quaid had been called away to New Orleans to deal with a problem at Beaumont Oil’s headquarters. The company was his second-biggest client, and the issue had been over drilling rights. He’d spent several nights at Rene’s house in the Quarter poring over international law and making calls to experts.
He’d solved the problem, but he was irritable since he was running on very little sleep and hadn’t had a second to write or read or even watch an episode of television. The last thing he needed was his brother’s bullshit, and he was getting a big dose of that this morning.
“I was at this party with one of the biggest producers in Hollywood and he tells me the problem is I’m too handsome. Every director is trying to go a more natural route,” Paul was saying.
Their mother shook her head. “That’s not right. Movie stars have always been attractive. It’s one of the reasons the movies are so enjoyable.”
“Who wants to watch normal-looking people?” Paul replied. “It’s hard to find work when all the directors are looking for average-looking people. It’s a real problem for me.”
“Sure. All the movies I’ve seen lately are filled with average-looking people.” Quaid took a long drink of the coffee Caroline had set in front of him. “We recently had a movie filmed here. Lots of ordinary-looking people.”
They hadn’t been. The two leads had been far too beautiful to play an aging small-town sheriff and his angry deputy daughter, but that was Hollywood. Of course, the actress who’d originally been set to play the daughter had dropped out to run off with one of Papillon’s deputies.
Paul sat up straighter in his chair. “I’m good friends with the actress who played the daughter. Ally Pearson. Such a fun girl. We’ve gone out a couple of times.”