Second, it sold gobs of sugar for her company. We met when she hired the Jenkins PR firm to handle the PR for her company’s acquisition of vast sugar cane farms in South America. I worked on the project with Charlotte. We’ve been great friends since.

“Brad tells me you aren’t a native either,” Tom said. “Where are you from?”

“Indiana, raised on a farm. Nothing like New Orleans,” I answered fidgeting with the stem of my martini glass.

“That would explain your rosy complexion and pleasant demeanor.”

He spoke with such sincerity in his voice that I almost believed what he said. He couldn’t be talking to Alexandra. He must have been talking to Alex, the high school girl who won the science fair. She was pleasant, had a rosy complexion, and was shy and very loving. Alexandra wanted to poke zombies in the head with sticks. I felt like the chemistry between us was as thick as the chicory coffee at the Café Du Monde. And, Tom seemed to feel it too. His sparkling blue eyes never left me as if he and I were the only two in the place. He still hadn’t looked at my boobs, though, and I was happy about that. This was odd because I put them on display for New Orleans to admire. Others admired them but not Tom. I wanted to pull my blouse up and hide my cleavage for fear that he might think I was a slut.

A voice screamed across the bar, “CHARLOTTE!!! WHAT’S UP!?!”

We all looked to see Mandy Morris, wearing a low cut top and skin tight black leather slacks, and her entourage pouring into the bar. Mandy’s father was the owner of Superior Sugar and Charlotte’s boss. No way had Charlotte planned this. This could turn into a real cluster. Mandy was a spoiled brat. We called her the Paris Hilton of New Orleans. Party girl supreme. Ten people trailed behind her as a wannabe entourage. They circled us at the bar and ordered drinks.

All the commotion was apparently too much for Tom. He looked at me and said, “So nice to meet you.