Charlie stared at the envelope. She leaned back in her chair, then sat straight up again when she felt the warmth of his arm across her back. Tentatively, she reached forward, her hand hovering over the cream paper. 

Then she snatched her hand back. He blew out a small sigh, his breath warm against her ear and the side of her neck. She turned to him, undaunted by how close he was to her.

He looked at her mouth. Again.

She wanted to smirk. The red lipstick had definitely been the right choice. 

Then his gaze jerked back up. Emerald green eyes bore into hers. Her breath quickened, her nerves getting the better of her. The granite under her arm was chilly as she leaned against the island. 

She jumped when his hand settled lightly against the back of her neck. His rough palm chafed against the sensitive skin there, and she wondered what he did with his hands that would leave calluses. He leaned in just a little closer, and she bit at the inside of her cheek.

The more time she spent around him, the more she realized how horribly attractive she found him to be.

"It's just one little agreement that whatever you learn about me you won't tell anyone else," Remi murmured

"You realize how strange that sounds, don't you?" she asked, her own voice lowered. He opened his mouth to say something else, but she blurted out, "Jazira said there's something off about you. That you creeped her out."

Charlie bit her lip before she could admit that there was something about him she herself found off-putting. Nearly frightening. It had something to do with the hard light in his eyes and the cruel slant of his mouth.

It was easy to see he was not a man motivated by any sort of kindness.

A small smile tugged at his mouth. "Jazira," he tried out the name. "The one you were with at the hospital?"

"That's right."

"Mm." He began to twist a strand of her hair around his index finger, making her shiver at the gentle tugging sensation. "And what do you think?"

Her breath was a little shorter. Goosebumps raised on her arms. She finally managed to say, "I think there's something really weird about the fact that you want me to sign some sort of legal document before you tell me anything."

He gave her a small nod of acknowledgement, his breath fanning out across her mouth. 

"I think there's something really weird about the fact that you took the time to track down someone who hasn't even gone through half a year of med school, and for some reason want to give her a job."

Another nod. 

Building up a little steam, she said, "And it's really weird that people who work for you end up hurt enough that you need a doctor on call. Why don't you just take them to a hospital like everyone else?"

Remi tilted his head, and his eyes slid to the envelope before flicking back to hers. His voice soft, his accent deepening just a bit, he said, "All true enough. All very weird as you've said. And yet, you haven't walked away, despite the fact that your friend told you not to meet me."

"How did you—" she began.

"She'd hardly be a very good friend if she urged you to go and meet with such a very strange man."

Fair enough. She bit into the side of her cheek again. "I just want to know what I'd be getting into here." Swallowing against her dry throat, she asked, "What do you want from me, Remi?"

"What are you afraid I'll ask for?" he returned, answering her question with a question.

Grayson's words from this afternoon rang in her head, and anger flashed through her, making her cheeks flush hot. She pulled away from him and hopped off the barstool she was on. Misjudging the distance, she stumbled right into him, her hands on his thighs to catch herself. The wood floor was cool against her bare feet. 

She couldn't do this. If she did, she really would be no better than her mother.

"I'm not buying you," he said, making her look up at him. "This is me offering you a way to work for a living. I take care of my people, Charlie, you're not going to find anything better."

"But why me? There are actual doctors who would—"

"I don't need any old doctor," he interrupted. His arm went around her waist. There was something about his eyes that seemed a little hungry. She choked on a small squeal when he lifted her up onto the island. The countertop was cold against her warm thighs. The skirt of her dress rucked up around her hips.

"This!"

He grew stock-still, his hands on her lower back, her knees pressed into the sides of his waist. She struggled away from him and scooted across the slick top of the counter. Hopping down on the other side, she looked at him across the island, brushing a slightly trembling hand through her hair.

Fear and desire fought wildly in her chest. She swallowed hard, her mouth feeling like she'd been chewing on cotton. He cocked his head, eyes glittering with desire, but no fear. 

Taking a steadying breath, she said, "I'm not some whore for you to use as you see fit."

"I find that to be a rather ugly word," he responded, running a hand through his hair before he took off his jacket, then his tie. 

She took a step back. "It's an ugly word because it's an ugly thing."

He placed both hands on the edge of the counter and leaned forward. It was obvious that he was losing patience. Slowly, saying each word distinctly, he said, "I don't want it to be like that, Charlie."

"Then what do you want?"

"If a man were to show up on your doorstep, shot and bleeding, what would you do?" The question was said rapidly, demanding a quick answer.

"Stop the bleeding," she responded instantly, then frowned. Why would someone end up shot and bleeding?

He spread his hands to his sides, smiling at her. "That's all I want, cher. I want you to stop the bleeding."

Her mind raced, trying to find an explanation for this. What could he possibly do that called for this sort of precaution? Any answers she came up with were rather distasteful, if not downright terrifying.

All she could do was stare at him. Slowly, like she was a wild animal he was trying not to startle, he came around the center island. She backed up until she ran into the counter running along the wall. He placed a hand on either side of her, trapping her.

"It would be a dirty lie if I said I didn't find you attractive," he said, pressing just a little closer to her. "But that's not what I'd be paying for, Charlie. I want you to use what's in here," he tapped the side of her head, at her temple, "to benefit my business. I've told you before, but discretion is important to what I do. I cannot tell you more than that, dear."

"Can I read them first?" she whispered.

He jerked back slightly in surprise, then let out a laugh. Stepping to the side, he gestured toward the envelope. She stared up at him for a moment, but when he didn't make any move to touch her again, she edged around him and picked up the envelope.

She took out page after page, five total. Her eyes scanned over neat text on thick, official looking paper. Like she did when she was trying to memorize something, she muttered certain important phrases out loud.

"Agree to terms of discretion." 

"No refusals unless case is absolutely beyond skill and available materials and tools."

"Plausible deniability." Her mouth quirked to the side at that. It begged the question of what she'd need deniability from.

War crimes? Crooked stitches on a famous face?

"Agree to closed... contract?" She finally looked up at him, reaching the end of the last page.

"You work for me, and only for me," he clarified. He'd fixed himself another drink while she'd read.

She paused at that. Work for him? As far as she knew she'd never seen the name Robicheaux on any hospital in New Orleans, private or public.

But anything else sounded so far fetched. Military or private contractor. Personal security. None of it would add up correctly. 

"I'm... still not exactly sure what you're asking me to do for you," she tried.

But there had been nothing she disliked beyond reconciliation within the pages she had just read through. Even if some of it raised at least one eyebrow.

He took a silver pen out of a nearby drawer, and placed it gently on the paper, the tip resting on a line clearly meant for a signature. She touched her tongue to her upper lip. Then she looked at his watch. Softly, she said, "Your hour's up."

Remi glanced at the watch. "One more minute."

"Then after that?" There was a strange sinking feeling in her stomach.

"Well, cher, I suppose that's up to you." He leaned against the counter. "What is it that you want?"

She stared down at the piece of paper, the other four spread out above it. "What will this stop me from having?"

Remi let out a small sigh. "Truthfully?"

"Always," she demanded, voice more fierce than she intended. Charlie was done with lies about herself, what she wanted, or what she'd be willing to do to get it.

"In a way, you will belong to me. Robicheaux is an enterprise, not merely a name." When she balked, he said, "I won't ask for more than you can give."

"What if I want more than I can have?" she asked. 

He grinned, the expression wolfish. "Then you'd fit right in around here."

Charlie gently touched the thick, expensive paper. Softly, she said, "You pay my way through school, and I agree to work for you. Doing something you won't tell me about until I sign that."

"That's it."

"Is that all?"

He paused, seeming to consider this. "What more do you want?"

Her heart was beating hard in her ribcage. It had not escaped her attention how his white shirt stretched across his chest. Not taking the time to think what she was saying through, she said, "One more night."

There was no lack of understanding in his eyes as he gazed speculatively at her. She turned to where her back was to the island, then hauled herself up onto the counter. Her breath was short again, but with anticipation this time.

He stepped closer, and she tilted her head back to looked at him. Moving slowly, like he was giving her the chance to change her mind, he leaned forward and lightly kissed her mouth. She gripped his bicep.  

"Just the one?" he asked, close enough that his lips brushed hers as he spoke.

That wasn't exactly the response she'd expected. Charlie wasn't sure what it implied that that was what he was asking.

She kissed his jaw, liking the way the stubble there scratched at the sensitive skin of her lips. Growing a little bolder, she nipped at his chin. "After I sign that piece of paper, I think it would legally be considered prostitution." 

Remi pulled away from her, frowning at that. He reached behind her, eyes never leaving hers as he pressed into her, and picked up one of the pieces of paper. His eyes scanned over it. "Doesn't make any stipulations about that in here."

She scooted closer to the edge of the counter, wrapping her legs around him. "Then what would this be?"

He buried his fingers in her hair, tipping her head back to kiss her throat. "Signing bonus," he muttered against her skin. "Work perk. Pick one."

Charlie wondered if she was going to regret this in the morning. He took her hand and pulled her down off the counter, leading her toward the back of the house and into a different hall taken up mostly by a staircase leading both up to the second floor and down to a basement.

He stopped at the base, then nodded up toward the ceiling. She turned to face him, then reached a foot back to find a step, then another. Remi's gaze swept over her body, and he stepped up after her, following her one step at a time until she got to the top.

Then he seemed to lose patience again.

He pulled her body flush against his, then slowly, slowly dragged the zipper of her dress down. It fell to the ground and she stepped out of it, moving slightly away from him in nothing more than a black strapless bra and underwear. 

She turned and scanned down the hall, then pointed to the nearest door, looking back over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. But he was too busy staring at her.

Taking a quick step back in his direction, she fisted her fingers in the collar of his shirt, kind of wishing he hadn't taken off his tie earlier and started to pull him toward the door.

Remi made a growling sound in his throat and grabbed her hips, propelling her backwards. The door flew open as soon as her back made contact with the wood. Her feet sank into thick carpet, but he never gave her the time to look around.

He picked her up and tossed her onto a huge bed in the middle of the room. She caught sight of the opposite wall, which seemed to be made of cabinets and shelves, until more interesting movement grabbed her attention.

Propping up on her elbows, she watched as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt. Her lips parted and she flung herself to the end of the bed, catching his hands just as they went to his collar. She took a second to meet his eyes, then said, "What do you do?"

Those green eyes narrowed. Then he cocked his head. She gaped when the contract and pen were pulled from his right-hand pocket.

When had he grabbed those? And, perhaps more urgently, why where they so important to him?

He offered them to her. Her stomach sank again. She knew there was something wrong here.

But in all honesty, she just couldn't bring herself to care. It was easy to ride a high horse when you weren't desperate. 

There was something challenging in his gaze. Softly, she asked, "Are you asking me to trust you?"

"Oh, I would never ask that." He gave her a hungry grin. "That would be like asking the sheep to trust the wolf."

"I'm no sheep," she shot back.

"Aren't you?" he taunted. "Constantly at the mercy of the world and its cruel whims."

Her breath rushed out, her teeth clenching. "And you're the wolf?" she managed, tone clipped. "Always nipping at the heels of everyone else, constantly run off by the shepherd."

"You're getting the idea, cher," he answered, though his eyes had narrowed, "but the question isn't about me."

She swallowed, her gaze going down to the paper. Even though the only illumination offered was ambient light from the streetlamps outside, she had no problem seeing the stark, black line. He cocked his head at her, eyes inscrutable.

When she still didn't move, he leaned forward and bit her earlobe before he whispered, "It's all about what you want, Charlie. About what you're willing to do to get what's rightfully yours."

His words sent a jolt of energy and longing through her. Rightfully hers.

No one had ever put it that way before. It had always been you'll have to work harder than other people and don't expect anyone to give anything to you.

And those were just the nice things. She'd heard more than her fair share of you won't be able to do it and who do you think you are and what, because you're too good for the rest of us.

She blinked, then snatched the pen and paper out of his hands. Before he could do anything, she put the paper against his hard chest and signed her name on the line. As soon as she had written the last 'e', he took the paper and threw it on the bedside table.

Turning back around, he toed off his shoes, then climbed onto the bed, pushing her back into the mattress. She pressed her hands into his chest, making him stop. Softly, dying of curiosity, she asked, "What do you do?"

Not blinking, not flinching, he said, "I run the largest criminal enterprise in all of New Orleans."

She couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up. Grinning up at him, she laughed again. Then she shook her head and joked, "Modern day Laffite?"

That bubble of unease burst, running into her bloodstream. He couldn't be serious. This wasn't a damn Godfather movie. This was modern day New Orleans. Her eyelashes fluttered as a few thoughts clicked uncomfortably into place, but when his hand brushed the sensitive skin of her upper thigh, she lost track of what those thoughts were.

"Better than Laffite." He shifted forward so her arms strained to keep him off of her. "Besides, I hate the ocean."

Now she rolled her eyes, her fingers going to the buttons of his shirt unbidden. She desperately wanted to know what he really did, but a few other, pressing matters were starting to demand her attention.

Or rather... his attention. 

He lowered his head, kissing her throat and down her chest, which made negotiating with the buttons a little more difficult. Before she really thought about it, she tore impatiently at the fabric, gasping in shock when a button went flying and struck the inside of her wrist.

Eyes wide, she swore, but Remi didn't seem to care. With a laugh, he shrugged out of the shirt. He teased, "Should I take that out of your paycheck?"

She gasped when he brushed his fingers along the sensitive skin of her lower stomach, just under her navel. His eyes were hooded and sinister when he said, "Or should I make you pay for it now?"

Charlie scowled and wrapped her legs around his waist, twisting her hips to the side and forcing him down to the bed. On top of him now, she kissed him lightly on the mouth, then grinned and said, "You can afford the loss." She wiggled her hips, making him swear at her. Leaning forward, she smiled. "But about that signing bonus..."

Remi didn't need any more prodding than that, and Charlie could only hope that they were the only two people in this great, big, empty house. 

Fun Fact: Jean Laffite is one of New Orleans' most famous pirates. His name is usually spelled Lafitte, but there is evidence that he and his brother both spelled it the way it is displayed in this chapter. He received a presidential pardon for his privateering crimes after he and his men helped Andrew Jackson defeat the British during the Battle of New Orleans in 1815, but soon resumed his more criminal ways. No one really knows what happened to him, or how he died.