Charlie sat stiffly, wishing there was more than just a table between them as the waitress set a plate in front of her, then one in front of Leon. Looking up, she caught the woman giving him a flirtatious smile, but he was all business, checking his phone.

Again.

This made her wonder, again, what exactly he did for Remi.

When the waitress left them, he tucked his phone back into his suit jacket. Charlie picked up her fork and poked at her Caesar salad, waiting for him to speak.

"Did Mr. Robicheaux come to see you today?" he asked, making her look up.

"I'm not really sure that's any of your business," she retorted, setting her fork down and crossing her arms over her chest.

Leon stabbed at the lobster linguini he had ordered, but didn't eat. Another awkward silence drifted around them, made even worse by the three previous awkward silences they had suffered through on the way to this tiny—but still expensive—restaurant off Saint Charles.

But she had no intention of breaking this one, either. He was the one who'd wanted to talk, so he could talk. Meanwhile, she'd enjoy the free meal.

Picking up her fork, she speared a crouton. The crunch as she chewed was atrocious, and Leon shot her a dark look, but she didn't care. 

He finally let out a long-suffering sigh and leaned forward a little, his dark brown eyes cold as he raked his gaze over her. "I just can't figure it out," he said, shaking his head.

All she did was raise an eyebrow, nibbling on a piece of romaine.

"What exactly is it about you that has Mr. Robicheaux so enthralled? Because I'll admit I'm having a hard time seeing how you could possibly be worth the kind of money he's fronting you."

Those words stung a little. She set down her fork. "Well, then perhaps you should ask Mr. Robicheaux why," she said, voice frosted. "Because I have no earthly idea why that man does anything he does."

That came out more harshly than she'd intended, and Leon sat back in his seat.

"He told you."

"You'd think he'd try to hide something like that."

"That, at least, I believe we can agree on Miss LaSalle." He finally took a bite of his pasta. "But he's not the type to hide or run from anything."

"He did a damn good job of it before I signed those papers," Charlie nearly hissed, but really she knew it wasn't Leon's fault that she'd been so stupid and naive and... interested.

Among other things.

"Mr. Robicheaux is many things. Stupid is not one." He twirled a strand of pasta around his fork. "But I still don't know why he feels like we need you."

"Apparently because hospital visits are awkward. And suspicious." She'd unconsciously lowered her voice.

"They are. But I still don't know why he picked you."

Charlie was sure she didn't like how he'd said that last word. "Well, I guess you'll still have to ask him. Because I have no goddamn idea. Look, I..." She let out a breath and looked down, shaking her head helplessly. "I have no idea what I'm doing here. I'm not... He said I could leave."

"Maybe that's best."

This made her look up, startled. What?

Leon barely blinked, staring at her. His handsome face was decidedly less handsome with the expression he was wearing, his features marred by the icy sternness.

She wondered if he ever smiled.

"Maybe that's best," he repeated, then cleared his throat. "I think you're a distraction at best and a one-way ticket to a small cell at worst."

"You think I'd get him arrested?" Her voice was quiet again.

Leon cleared his throat again, but he didn't shift or move his gaze away from her. "Maybe not on purpose. I can give you that. Maybe..." She waited, imitating him when he narrowed his eyes. He continued, "But there's just something about you... something spiteful. I think you might just to spite him."

"He is... really not as important as you make him out to be." She shook her head, not wanting to be here anymore.

But she didn't know where it was she did want to be.

"He is to me," Leon snapped, making her jump slightly. "He is to everyone who works for him. You didn't stumble into some gangster movie. There's no Valentine's Day Massacres with Remi. He uses force when he needs it and that's it."

Where did that come from?

"What do you want, Leon?" she finally asked with a tired sigh. "What do you want me to say?"

This made him frown and fall silent. He looked out the window they were seated next to, watching the people walk past.

Once more, she waited.

"I think maybe you should leave. I think maybe you should leave and forget all about Mr. Robicheaux. Forget about all this and find a different meal ticket. You can't handle this. You don't belong here."

She shivered as he eerily echoed her thoughts from earlier today.

But his words made an ugly stubborn streak rear its head and she stood up. He looked at her, that perfectly composed mask still in place.

She wanted to knock that calm look right off his face. 

"Well that's really between me and Remi." She cocked her head, putting on a nasty little smile. "I get the feeling that he keeps me around for maybe more than the fact that I'm a doctor, if you get my drift." She snatched up her bag, throwing it over her shoulder.

His face didn't move a millimeter. "You aren't a doctor."

"Yet," she said over her shoulder. "But Remi will make sure I am. And maybe get a little more out of it than he expected."

With that, she left the restaurant, not bothering to offer to split the ticket. He could afford it.

It annoyed her that she couldn't get a rise out of him. It annoyed her more that she'd said those things just in an effort to do so.

Her heart was so still in her chest she wondered if it was even beating anymore. 

She continued to walk, hand gripping the strap of her bag. While her heart might be quiet, her mind was anything but. Her thoughts turned into a whirling dervish intent on driving her straight to the nuthouse.

There was no way she was leaving.

This made her breath catch and kick-started her heart. It thumped painfully against the back of her sternum, and her steps slowed. She stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk, staring down at a crack in the concrete. Then she looked up.

The sun was starting to sink, the blue slowly leeched away by the orange glow off the clouds.

It would be dark soon.

Someone bumped into her, muttering a quick apology before they continued on their way. Charlie shook herself from her daze and started walking again. 

She jumped when someone yelled after her.

"Hey Red!" the voice screeched, and she turned around to see a scraggly teenage boy running toward her.

His clothes were ratty, his shoes worn. He was dirty, his hair in ratty blond dreadlocks, and his eyes had a hungry, feral look. At his side was an equally ratty pitbull on a chain leash. Definitely a street kid. A gutter punk if she'd ever seen one.

She wondered if she should maybe duck into one of the shops nearby, but decided there were plenty of witnesses here on the street.

Which only made her wonder what he wanted.

He dug around in the pocket of his over-sized black hoodie and, to her astonishment, extracted her wallet. Wordlessly, face pale and eyes terrified, he held it out to her.

After a moment, he flapped it at her and she reached up out of pure reaction, taking it. Her brain caught up to what had just happened, and she hastily flipped open the wallet. To her confusion, she found both Remi's credit card and her student ID still safely tucked inside. Even the change she'd had in the center pocket still rattled when she closed it.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered, knuckles white around the leash as he gripped it. The dog whined, huddled up next to his leg. "I-I-I didn't know ya w-worked fo-for—" He swallowed. "I didn't now you were... his," he whispered.

Her lips parted but before she could say anything, the kid took off running, the dog right by his side. People shouted and cursed as he knocked into them, not watching where he was going in his haste to get away.

"What... the hell," she breathed out, looking down at her wallet when he had disappeared around a street corner.

I didn't know you were his.

The words replayed in her head. There could only be one person he'd been referring to.

"His, huh?" she muttered under her breath. 

Not thinking terribly hard, Charlie flagged down a taxi. Still in a sort of fog, she rapped out Remi's address, and her eyes glazed over as they wound through the city, finally reaching the Garden District.

The driver pulled to a stop at the gate, and Charlie sank back against the seat. He raised an eyebrow at her in the rearview mirror. Reluctantly, she pulled out her wallet... and used his card to pay.

Then she stepped out onto the street, staring up at the massive, white building beyond the gate.

She'd forgot about the gate.

With a long exhale, she closed her eyes, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, wondering what in the hell she was supposed to do now. She squeezed her eyes shut, but they flew open at the sound of an engine slowing down and tires pulling up to the curb.

Right behind her.

Slowly, she turned just to be greeted by the sight of tinted windows and a slick, copper-colored car that definitely looked European.

Then the window rolled down. "What are you doing here, Charlie?" he asked, accented voice deep and unmistakeable.

She said the first thing that popped into her head. "I was robbed by some kid."

The engine died with a small lurch, what she thought was the passenger side door was thrown open and he was standing in front of her.

"He came running back and handed me the wallet, scared out of his mind," she continued, not sure why she was giving him a play-by-play.

Remi relaxed slightly, letting out a small breath as he took off his sunglasses to look at her. "Mm, probably saw the name on the card," he said, completely nonchalant.

"Did you hear what I just said?"

He put a hand up to his face, using his thumb to massage his temple. That made her wonder if he still had a headache.

"I heard," he said softly. "What do you want me to do about it? He didn't touch you, you got your wallet back, and he's probably halfway to Tampa by now."

She held her silence. A soft breeze picked up strands of her hair and whipped them forward, making them point at Remi.

"Did it scare you?" he finally asked, voice softer still.

Charlie blinked once, then twice. Her fingers twitched at her side where her left hand was hanging loosely. "No."

He took a step closer, forcing her to look up at him.

"What are you doing here?" Him asking the question a second time caught her off guard.

She touched her tongue to her upper lip, and his gaze fell to her mouth for a brief moment. Her breath was a little shallow.

"I want to stay."

The words were out and she realized there was just no way to take them back. No way to reach out, grab them and put them back in her mouth before he heard them.

"You want to stay," he repeated slowly, drawing out the last word slightly.

She nodded, unable to back out now. What was left of her pride wouldn't allow that. She'd made her bed and now she'd lay in it.

Closing her eyes, she nodded again then chanced looking up at him.

He was watching her with that narrow, calculating gaze of his. Like he could see right into her head and discern all her thoughts. Charlie didn't particularly care for that idea and dropped her gaze, her arms folding protectively over her stomach.

"You're sure?" he finally said.

This made her pause. Her lips parted, but then her brow furrowed and she shut her mouth. He kept saying things she didn't expect him to say, rendering any pre-prepared statements pointless and sometimes ridiculous. 

Finally, she just decided to tell the truth. "No." She shook her head, looking up at him as she did. "No I'm not. But..."

He didn't move as she struggled to find the words. Didn't shift his weight from one leg to the other. Didn't even raise an eyebrow. His hands were in his pockets, so she couldn't see if they were moving.

"But I don't have any other option. Or, if I do, they're options that I can't really stomach the idea of."

Now he did move, raising both eyebrows in possible surprise.

"I just," she let out a long sigh, "want to know what I'm doing here. I want to know why you want me out of all the struggling pre-med students in this damn city. And... I just want to know."

"Knowledge is a dangerous thing," he warned, voice still distant, but a little less cold than it had been moments ago. "I'm in the business of money for blood and that is a strange thing indeed."

She didn't answer for a long time. Another breeze played gently with her hair, drawing his eye.

With a shake of her head, she said, "If you're gonna do a thing, you might as well go all in. But you need to tell me everything."

"Everything?" Now his voice was surprised. "Who said you get to know everything?"

"You, if you want to keep me." The words were far bolder than she had realized they were going to be. But she didn't take them back, meeting his gaze as steadily as she could manage with the way her insides were shivering.

"And what happens when you realize you don't want to know everything?" he asked.

"Then I guess you get to say 'I told you so'. Seems like something that should appeal to that giant ego," she snapped.

This made him smile, though the expression was small and danced just at the corner of his mouth. He started toward the house, pausing briefly to lean over and whisper, "I'm not the only one with an ego here, cher."

She turned slowly to watch him open the gate. Not for the first time, and not for the last, she wondered what she was doing.

But he nodded his head in the direction of the front door, and she joined him walking up the path to the house. He opened the door for her, and she hesitated for a moment, eyes going unconsciously to the stairs.

She felt like she was playing some kind of wicked game with him.

His hand lightly touched her back, near her waist, moving her toward the door she remembered would lead to a living room. Despite the fact that he barely made contact, she felt propelled forward and walked through the living room, finding herself in the kitchen once again.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"What?"

He took off his jacket and tie before he undid the buttons at his wrists and rolled up the sleeves of his grey shirt. Just like he had the other night, he opened a cabinet near the kitchen door and took out a glass and an expensive-looking bottle of either bourbon or scotch. She couldn't tell from here.

"Would you like something to eat?" he asked as he poured.

"Um, sure?" She watched as he set his drink on the counter and opened the refrigerator. "You cook?"

"Should I not?" He glanced over his shoulder at her.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know," he said, giving her a half-smile before turning back around, shuffling through the items in the fridge.

Once again, she sat at the center island—the one without the sink—and propped her elbows on the granite countertop. She laced her fingers together and rested her chin on them, watching as he took out what appeared to be a flat of chicken, bell peppers, shredded cheese and an onion.

"What are you making?"

"Why don't you hang around and find out." He took out a pan and put it on the stove, then started to cut the chicken into strips.

He was infuriating. 

She closed her eyes, not sure what the next step in the dance was.

"Why do you want to be a doctor?" he suddenly asked, making her open her eyes to find him leaning against the counter near the stove, arms crossed over his chest.

A sizzling sound started to fill the air.

She raised both eyebrows, looking thoughtfully at the countertop, counting the black dots in the granite. She didn't particularly care to answer that question truthfully and instead took something he'd said to her outside.

"Like you said," she gave him a coy smile, "you're not the only one here with an ego. Maybe I'm just a narcissistic freak and the idea of holding a person's life or death in my hands appeals to my own gigantic ego."

Remi choked a little on his drink, a hand coming up to his mouth as he set the glass on the stone counter. The chinking sound it made was loud as he coughed once, shaking his head.

Then he laughed, though his eyes narrowed as he looked at her. "That a fact?"

All she did was shrug in response. He took a moment to stir the chicken and whatever else was in the pan, then turned the stove down to a lower temperature and grabbed his drink before he walked across the kitchen. She looked up at him, watching as he finished his drink with a single flip of his wrist.

Carefully he grasped her chin with his fingers, eyes heavy-lidded and dangerous. Her breath puffed out accidentally when he leaned farther forward.

She was still sure she might hate him, but her body didn't seem to care.

His eyes flicked down, and he asked, "Do you have anything nicer to wear?"

Her eyebrows jerked together. "Huh?"

"You said you wanted to know everything. So I'll show you everything. But you'll need something nicer to wear."

"Why?" she asked, suspicion creeping into her tone.

"Because," he smiled, bringing his mouth even closer to hers, "you wouldn't want to look too out of place where we're going."

Her lips parted of their own accord, and his eyes flicked down again. She swallowed, trying desperately to get her thoughts on some sort of track. Any track.

"Where are we going?" she finally said, voice whisper soft.

Remi stood up straight, dropping his hand from her face, and went back to the stove. Another breath pulled itself from her lungs, and she watched him, wide eyes glued on his back. The muscle there shifted under his shirt as he worked on whatever it was he was making.

Silence reigned for a good five minutes before he turned back around, two plates in his hands. He walked back over to her and slid one of them across the counter until it rested in front of her.

She raised an eyebrow at him, but all he did was hand her a fork.

Steam wafted up from the fajita, making her mouth water. She loved Mexican food.

Finally, he said, "Eat, and then I'll show you."

Charlie opened her mouth to protest, but he caught her gaze and something stopped her. Scowling, she hacked into the fajita and took a bite, nearly moaning in protest when she realized how good it tasted.

She was sure of it. She hated him.

But that didn't seem to matter.