"Too late."
All four men jumped guiltily at that sweetly sung comment. Whirling, they found themselves confronted by Marguerite. Lucern groaned at the predatory look on her face. She'd obviously heard everything. And judging by her expression, she was already plotting.
At least that was what he thought, so he was surprised when she took the bag of blood Bastien offered and turned to smile at her oldest son. "Luc, darling. If you want to get rid of the girl so badly, why not just agree to do one of the publicity things she's on about? The moment you agree, she'll leave."
" 'Cause I don't want to," he answered, almost wincing as he heard how childish he sounded.
"And I don't want to listen to you whine, but sometimes we have to do things we don't like in life." Her words made everyone fall silent; then Marguerite stabbed her teeth into her bag of blood and drained it. When she'd finished, she turned to Lucern and added, "Kate doesn't want to be here bothering you any more than you want her here. However, her job depends on being able to convince you to do one of those publicity events. She likes her new position. She wants to keep it. She won't leave until you agree to at least one."
Spotting his horrified reaction, Marguerite patted her son's cheek affectionately. "I suggest you tell her you'll do R.T. From what she told me at the spa today, it's probably the best option for both of you."
"What's R.T.?" Lucern asked suspiciously.
"Romantic Times magazine," his mother explained. "Just tell her you'll do it." Then Marguerite Argeneau turned and walked away, heading back along the row of cars.
"Hmm. I wonder how she found out Kate's job depends on convincing you to do one of those publicity events," Bastien murmured as they watched their mother walk away.
Greg shrugged. "She's very good at getting people to tell her things they never mean to say. She would have made a good therapist."
Lucern was silent, and they all handed their empty glasses back to Bastien. He didn't know how his mother had found out what she had, but he didn't doubt for a minute that it was true. Which made him about as miserable as he could be, for now he knew for certain that he would never be free of the woman. She was desperate, and desperate people were both as persistent as hell and unpredictable.
"Here you all are!"
The four men whirled away from the van again, this time to find Kate C. Leever facing them. There was a mischievous grin on her face as she took in their guilty expressions and the way they were all trying to hide something behind them.
"Rachel was looking for you. I said I thought I saw you come out here and said I'd check for her," she explained, still eyeing them with amusement. "She tried to stop me and said she'd go, but it's her wedding—I couldn't let her leave her guests to go chasing after you four reprobates."
Lucern exchanged a glance with the others. They all knew darned well that Rachel had probably hoped to slip outside for a quick nip as their mother had just done. Kate, in her kindness, had made that impossible.
"Why did you call us reprobates?" Gregory asked.
Kate gave an airy wave and laughed. "Because of what you're doing out here."
The four men exchanged glances and shifted into a tighter group, making sure that the open back of the van and the cooler of blood were hidden; then Lucern echoed, "What we're doing?"
"Oh, like it isn't obvious," she snorted. "Sneaking out here, crowding around the van." She shook her head and gave them a condescending look. "I may have been raised in Nebraska, but I've lived in New York long enough to be savvy about you artist types."
Now the looks the men exchanged were bewildered. Artist types? Lucern was a writer, Etienne a program developer, Bastien a businessman and Greg was a therapist. Artist types? And what did she think artist types did anyway? The only way to find out was to ask. Lucern did. "What is it exactly that you think we are doing out here?"
She gave a resigned sigh. "You're smoking pot-joints." She said it as one word.
The men all gaped at her; then Etienne released a disbelieving laugh. "What?"
Kate tsked with exasperation. "Pot. Marijuana. You guys snuck out here for a debbie."
"Er… I believe it's called a doobie," Greg interjected.
"Whatever. That's what you were doing, right?"
"Er…" Lucern began. Then he, Bastien, Etienne and Greg shared a grin.
"Yes. You caught us. We were smoking a debbie," Etienne agreed.
"Doobie," Greg corrected.
"Yes." Bastien nodded. "We'd offer you some, but we… er…"
"Smoked it all up," Etienne finished.
The two men sounded disgustingly apologetic to Lucern's mind. Good Lord.