When she started picking at what was left of her food, Remi decided he might as well throw his cards on the table. He sighed and scooped up both their plates, placing them in the sink. She blinked slowly at him, like her physical motions were having to take a backseat to her racing thoughts.

He wondered if this was a mistake.

"Give me a minute to change and then," he frowned at what she was wearing, "we'll get you something to wear."

If it was a mistake, then it was hers for wanting to know more than was good for her. 

He walked toward the door, mind shuffling through the things he still needed to get done today, and which of those wouldn't scare her too badly. The club would have to be the first stop; he needed to take care of a suspicious lack of funds. Plus Danny would be in the ring tonight.

"You still haven't told me where we're going!" she called.

Remi stopped at the door and looked back. Her eyes were narrowed, her lovely mouth set in a grimace. He wanted to see how far he could get with this air of mystery bid.

A smirk curled his lips. "Wonderland."

An indignant huff from her made him laugh, and he left the kitchen. He strode to the stairs, then up them to his room, unbuttoning his shirt. Toeing off his shoes, he threw his shirt in a hamper, grimacing when he remembered he'd left his tie and jacket in the kitchen.

Having things out of their place annoyed him. Enough that he let out a sigh and went back downstairs to the kitchen. Charlie was still sitting at the island, her head in her hands, thumbs massaging her temples.

The action made his own lingering headache throb lightly in sympathy.

His socked feet were silent on the wood floors, but her head still jerked up, blue eyes widening.

"Well if you can go like that, then I'll be just fine in this," she said, expression turning dry.

The corner of his mouth twitched up without his permission. Not gracing that with a retort, he grabbed his clothes, not missing how her gaze lingered on the scar just below his ribcage on the right side.

But she didn't ask. She hadn't asked the other night either, even as her fingers had traced the ones across his back and her tongue had explored the one right next to his heart.

And he wasn't inclined to offer an answer until she asked the question. Even then he was sure he wouldn't be inclined to answer.

Turning on his heel, he made the trip back to his room and quickly hung up the jacket, putting the tie back in its place. His fingers skimmed over the other ties before he settled on a black silk.

He needed something menacing tonight.

The grey trousers were replaced with black ones. Black shirt, black jacket. Tie in a simple Windsor. He put the brown shoes he had been wearing earlier away, trading them for shined black as well.

A nearly silent step behind him let him know her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

He took a moment to check himself in the mirror, then turned. There was something in her gaze that made him wonder if he'd miscalculated and the all black clothes just made him look washed-out, rather than menacing.

Then again, a white shirt would show blood much too easily if it came down to that.

She stepped into the closet, glancing around at the rows of neat suit jackets and precisely folded shirts, before turning a speculative look on him. He raised an eyebrow as she stepped around him, heading toward the back of the closet where he kept his watches, tie pins and cufflinks.

Curious to see what she'd do, he let her open all three drawers, her head tilting this way, then that as her hands hovered over the expensive trinkets.

She glanced over her shoulder, then turned back to the drawers, plucking a single object from each. It surprised him when she tucked them into the pockets of the shorts she was wearing. She shut the drawers with care, then turned back to him.

Approaching slowly, she asked, "Where are we going?"

"I always thought show was more fun than tell."

When she was standing right in front of him, making him look down at her, she took his left hand, undoing the clasp of the gold watch he was wearing. Still moving slowly, she took it back to the drawer, placing it in what he hoped was the right slot.

"Will the dress I wore the other night work?" She came back to him, digging into her right-hand pocket.

He was pleasantly surprised when she extracted the Breguet, its white-gold face and black band well suited for what he was wearing. She offered it to him, holding it gingerly like it might bite her.

"Don't you have anything else?" he asked, then realized how stupid that question was as he extended his left wrist.

Her fingers shook a bit as she put the watch on. "No."

He pictured the two of them walking in together, all in black, and rather liked the image, especially considering what that dress looked like on her.

"Never mind, it's perfectly fine," he said, keeping his arm up as she fished into her pockets once again. Her only reply was a snort, and he wondered if it was too late to just send her home.

Then she held her hand up, surprising him again. At the very least, she had an eye for detail.

The cufflinks were simple. Square cut jet in a silver setting. Her index finger grazed the cuff of his sleeve, then she frowned. Holding them out, she said, "I don't know how."

This provoked a weary sigh.

"None of the men in my life were the cufflink-wearing type," she snapped. She went to stalk around him, but he grabbed her elbow. 

"Then watch and learn," he said, taking one from her hand. "Now you do."

At her snort, he raised an eyebrow, but she didn't see it, watching intently as he fixed the cufflink on to his left sleeve. Then she met his eyes. "You don't qualify as a man in my life."

Both eyebrows came up as he offered his right wrist to her. She hesitated before doing his other cufflink for him.

"Then what am I?" he finally asked.

"An employer." The way she said it, with something like contempt laced through her tone, rubbed him the wrong way.

He hooked a finger in her left pocket, yanking her forward and her eyes widened, fury snapping in their blue depths as he dug into the pocket. Before she could say anything, he found the tie pin—a simple square of white gold—and left her standing there looking uncertain as he fixed it to his tie.

He straightened his jacket, making sure it was buttoned, then reached out quick as a snake. His arm went around her waist and pulled her flush against him. Her body was soft and warm against his, her head barely coming up to his shoulder. A small snarl escaped her and she struggled to get away from him.

"Am I really just an employer?" he asked, and she stopped moving, her lips pursing.

"Yes."

Not the answer he'd wanted. Remi let her go, and she staggered a little as he turned back to the mirror. He smoothed his hair, straightened his already straight tie and walked out of the closet, into his room.

He waited for a moment at the door and she joined him, careful to keep out of arm's reach. When he gestured for her to leave first she shook her head, and he sighed before walking out, leaving her to follow him down to the garage. 

She cast an untrusting gaze over the cars sitting innocently in their places.

Taking out his phone, he texted Moira, asking her to park the Aston, which he had left on the street upon seeing Charlie at his doorstep. He knew she was around the house somewhere, but she'd been avoiding him since this morning and the meeting with Veronica, sulking.

Generally he knew better than to ask or even say anything to her when she was in one of her moods, but he couldn't very well leave the car out there, even if this was the Garden District.

Once that was taken care of, he looked at the cars with a frown, then found Charlie in front of the Audi R8, glaring at her reflection in the glossy black paint. 

It was very nearly like she had read his mind.

While the red Aventador was overly aggressive, and there was something sleek and untrustworthy about the silver Porsche 9-18, the Audi was relatively sedate with just a hint of malice around the edges.

It matched his mood rather well tonight. 

He took its keys out of the cabinet, then locked it. Charlie startled when he said, "Get in."

The look she gave him probably should have burned a hole through him, but she slid into the passenger seat without any verbal argument.

He took a moment to close his eyes and check his temper. There was something exceptionally trying about this woman.

With a sigh through his nose, he got in and started the car. She made a point to turn away, looking out the dark window as he drove onto the street. The Aston still rested on the curb, but he knew Moira wouldn't disobey a direct order. 

Ten to one she was already sitting in the driver's seat, waiting until he was gone, just so he would have that last image of his car sitting on the curb to drive him insane for the rest of the night.

In seemingly no time at all, they were at the house on Saint Ann. "You can wait here," Charlie said, unbuckling her seatbelt.

She scowled when he did the same and they both got out. This time, he followed her quick steps up to the front door. She threw it open, leaving him to close it as she zipped up the stairs.

He glanced around at the half-finished paint job, scowling at the splotch on the far wall. It was still a little unbelievable, the fact that she'd thrown a damn paintbrush at him. A little more unbelievable was the fact that he'd let her get away with it. 

Standing in the living room, hands in his pockets, he could hear her talking to herself. Nothing she said sounded pleasant, and it all sounded rather like it was directed at him.

He was tempted to walk up the stairs and hear what she was saying clearly, but ultimately decided against it.

Minutes ticked slowly past and he was beginning to get frustrated. His phone buzzed and he glanced at it to find a text from Leon requesting his presence at the club. They'd found the missing money.

Just as he was considering going up the stairs and throwing her over his shoulder, she came stomping down. Her outfit caught him by surprise, revealed step by step as she descended the stairs.

Same strappy heels she'd worn the other night, but that was the only similarity. Tonight, she wore skin-tight, black jeans and a silky red shirt that could have been painted on. Her hair was done up, the collar of the shirt enough to hide the bruising around her throat.

He realized there was one more similarity.

Her brilliantly red lips parted, and she asked, "Will this work?"

It took him a moment to find an answer. Then he shook his head and shrugged. "If it must."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she hissed, triumphant look turning sour.

"Just what I said," he returned. "We're running late."

Again she muttered something he was sure was less than complimentary under her breath, but since he could hear her heels tapping as she followed, he didn't let it bother him. She could think as she pleased about him.

They got into the car, and he struggled to just watch the road.

He was beginning to think Leon was right about her being a distraction. But he held firm to the belief that eventually he'd lose interest.

Just not tonight. 

Thirty minutes later and she was letting out a soft groan as he pulled up to one of the three nightclubs he owned. This one wasn't on Bourbon Street and so drew a few less gullible tourists, but it made up for it with the fact that locals liked it.

"Wonderland," she said, face looking like she'd just tasted a lemon. 

The Rabbit Hole was busy tonight. The name had been Leon's idea, and while Remi had thought it ridiculous, apparently the patrons took its name as permission to drink things they probably shouldn't and do things they certainly shouldn't.

As soon as he pulled up to the curb, his door was being opened by one of the valets. Young kid, and new since he didn't know his name. But apparently the kid very much knew who he was, because his face paled beneath his freckles and his fingers trembled a little as Remi handed him the keys.

"Just don't scratch the paint," Remi said with a wink, trying to set him at ease. He didn't know if the kid really knew who he was. Didn't know if he was one of Leon's hires, or if he was just someone filling an empty slot on the club's payroll. Either way, he knew Remi was his boss and would treat the car with care.

Charlie was already standing on the sidewalk, frowning at the doors and the people lined up, waiting to get inside.

And it was only a Thursday.

He put his hand on the small of her back to guide her past the bouncer, who nodded at him with respect, opening the door. Charlie didn't exactly pull away from him, but curved her back so that only his fingertips were touching her.

In that moment, he decided he preferred her open hostility to this passive-aggressive bullshit. At least when she was mad and yelling she was beautiful, her eyes snapping and her high cheekbones flushed with temper.

Inside was hot, despite all the money he had spent on cooling systems. But people didn't seem to care as they danced with strangers and drank with friends. As they paid over the counter for things they could have, and slipped cash into knowing hands for the things they weren't supposed to want.

The place positively reeked of money, and he loved it.

Neon outlines of diamonds, clubs, hearts and spades decorated the walls, casting soft halos of electric blues and poison greens, bloody reds and soft yellows. The DJ did something that made a throbbing bass ripple through the crowd and batter Remi's ears. 

The walls were actually dark blue, but looked black in the dim room. Strobe lights flashed brilliant streaks of white across the dance floor. The ceiling extended into true darkness, broken only by the small lamps on the intimate tables behind the bannister that usually made sure no drunk patrons accidentally fell to their death from the mezzanine that ran along the perimeter of the wall and peered down over the dance floor.

Remi could make out couples huddled over the tables, leaning into one another as they anticipated leaving this place for something more... private.

Perfumes and colognes mixed with the stench of sweat and booze.

The bartenders were kept busy filling and refilling glasses with brightly tinted liquids. In keeping with the Wonderlandian theme, only clear liquors were served because they could be dyed. Red vodka, green gin, blue tequila. He honestly had no clue how people drank that swill, but he didn't really care.

The more they drank, the more money he and everyone who worked for him made.

Which was all it came down to, really.

But this wasn't where the real party was anyway. Not caring to shout in order to explain, he grabbed Charlie's wrist, pulling her through the crowd. She resisted a little, making it difficult to get to the far side of the room, but eventually she relented and followed him.

He turned, just in time to watch a woman in sky-high heels turn. She was already tipsy, and the drink in her hand was headed right for Charlie's bare shoulder.

At the last second, he jerked her forward, not liking the idea of her smelling like tequila all night. The glass hit a skinny man in a vest and too-tight jeans instead, and Charlie ended up pressed against his chest for the third time today.

The glass shattered on the floor, and Charlie looked behind her before turning a frown on him.

He tilted his head, and they both ignored the twittering of the woman as she apologized and the reluctant waving off of the incident by the vest.

Finally he leaned down to speak in her ear. "You said you wanted to see everything. So are you going to let me show you?"

He pulled back just enough to see the indecisiveness flash in her eyes. 

"Tell me what I'll be seeing."

"Not here," he growled.

They finally reached a nearly-hidden door. Another bouncer lounged casually next to it, not drawing attention, but certainly keeping out anyone who hadn't paid up front.

He jumped to his feet when he saw Remi and opened the door for them, nodding politely.

The door shut behind them, bringing with it some relief from the noise and heat, and he realized Charlie was gripping his arm. He found her staring down the dim hallway, no doubt able to hear the cheering.

But that would come second.

Slowly, he grabbed her by the upper arms and turned her to face him squarely. She looked down the hall as a howl went up from the crowd, but he wanted all of her attention.

He gently grasped her chin with his fingers to tilt her face up, and her lips parted as she met his gaze. After a moment to weigh and measure his words, he brushed his thumb just under her bottom lip, not wanting to smudge the blood-red lipstick she'd put on.

Part of him wanted to ask if she'd dressed this way for his benefit. He shook the thought away. She wasn't the kind of woman to do something like that.

"You're about to see something rather ugly," he said. His thumb still rested on her chin, his other hand still wrapped around her slim arm.

Her eyes flicked down to the end of the hall.

"Not that," he said, drawing her eye back to him. "That's just fun. I'm giving you one last chance, darlin'. Take it."

That delicious stubbornness flashed over her lovely face and he very nearly smiled.

"Show me," she insisted. She gestured toward the door with her free hand. "I've already fallen down the darkest rabbit hole available in New Orleans. I might as well join in the fun."

Now his eyes narrowed. "This isn't the fun part, dear. This is the necessary part and, like I said, very ugly. How's your stomach?"

"I want to be an emergency surgeon," she said dryly, understanding the question under the question. "I won't ruin your shoes if that's what you're worried about."

"That's not what you were saying this morning." He didn't know why he was delaying the inevitable, except for the fact that he could feel her rapid breath on his jaw and he'd rather it was in his mouth.

"This morning was a long time ago and, as you and your asshole lackey have repeatedly reminded me, I don't really have any other option." Her words were said harshly, but she didn't pull away.

So Leon had managed to talk to her after all. He really should give the man a raise.

Other questions danced on the tip of his tongue. Why didn't she take his money and stay as removed as possible? Why come to his house tonight, demanding answers? What did she want? What would she give? Could she really live in this world? Would she really want to stay after tonight?

But he was wasting time, and while time wasn't exactly money, it was just as precious.

So all he did was nod and lead her to a door about halfway down that hall.

They stepped inside just in time to hear the telltale wet smack of a fist into an already bloody mess of a face.

Fun Fact: I tried to look up the price for the watch Charlie chose for Remi, and the website told me I'd have to contact the dealer for that... Which means it is way too damn expensive just so you can tell the time. Making it perfect for Remi!

Oh, and the car: