The Pepper in the Gumbo (Men of Cane River #1)(6)

Paul smiled at Andy’s dig because the guy wasn’t far behind, himself. Tech industries did that, making normal programmers with a great idea into the wealthy elite. He’d always liked Andy, but watching the way he’d handled the rise in his fortunes made him trust him, too. The guy was solid. Paul wasn’t sad to hear about Reilly. He wasn’t convinced she liked Andy for anything more than how famous he was. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Andy, let me tell you a little secret about women.”

“I don’t need your dating advice.” He adjusted a shirt cuff and pretended to straighten his tie. “I’m an MIT grad. I go to the gym. I never eat red meat and drink only on holidays. I have a great relationship with my mother and I’m best friends with Paul Olivier, the boy genius who made technology so simple your granny can use it,” he said. “Women love me.”

“Sure they do.” Paul tried not to smile. “But they’d love you more if you were Southern.”

Andy let out a grunt. “Are you telling me to fake an accent?”

“Nope. When you’re there for a while, it sort of just… happens. Women can’t resist it.”

“I don’t see the magic happening for you. When was the last time you seriously dated anybody? A year ago?”

“I’ve been busy.” Paul tried not to remember, but she popped into his head, unbidden. Holly was beautiful, smart, funny. He couldn’t have been happier. But the more time they spent together, the more he realized that she was far more interested in when he planned to sell his stock and retire than in him. When she mentioned a pretty little chateau for sale on a lake in Italy, he knew that she wasn’t interested in him at all. He’d decided then and there to focus on his job.

“Well, I did want to ask out Janine Land, that pretty girl who works for Dell,” Andy said. “You know, the redhead? But every time I strike up a conversation, we get interrupted and she wanders away.”

Paul shook his head. Andy was taller, better-looking, and funnier than Paul. But when it came down to it, they were both geeks, through and through. No matter how expensive the suit or how tall the high-rise, they would never be the smoothest guys in the room.

“Let’s make a bet,” Paul said. “We’ll go to Natchitoches for a month or two. I’ll rent us a trendy little place in the historic district. Throw the big opening, bring in some famous people, maybe fly in a band or two. Then we’ll spend the rest of the time at the old place on the river. I’ll educate you in all things Southern. We’ll go bream fishin’, frog giggin’, and crawfish trappin’. You’ll eat hush puppies, mud pie, and collard greens. My aunts will feed you gumbo by the bowl and cornbread by the pan. By the end of the month, we’ll see if Janine still wanders away while you’re talking.”

“You just want someone to run interference between you and all your crazy relatives,” Andy said.

“Maybe a little of that, too.” Paul stood up and held out his hand. “So, Mr. CTO, are you in?”

Andy gripped it. “Against my better judgment, boss. I guess we’re headed Natchitoches, Louisiana.”

Paul couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face. “It’s only a month. We’ll go dazzle the townsfolk, get our Southern on, and then come right back to New York City. You won’t regret it.”

“I hope not,” Andy said. He stepped to the door. “I’ll ask your PA to make the reservations. Anything else? Should I go buy some bowties and seersucker?”

“Better not. Seersucker is for pros. We’ll start you small. Maybe a backwards baseball cap or something.” Paul snapped his fingers. “Hey, we’ll get to go to the zydeco festival!”

“The what? Is that a seafood dish?”

“Music. It’s got accordions and rub boards and...” Paul shook his head. “I guess that means nothing to you. Let me think… Oh, it’s the background music in Sims Unleashed.”

Andy stared at the ceiling for a second. “Okay, yeah. It’s been a while since I played that game but I think I know what you mean. And there’s a whole festival of it? Sounds like overkill.”

“Nope. This isn’t the game version. It’s the real thing. Live, surrounded by people, all that energy just seeps into your bones. You start moving your feet.” The more Paul thought about it, bringing Andy to Natchitoches was going to be the best part about going home.

“Okaaayyy,” Andy grimaced, hand on the door handle. “I’m not sure if I want anything seeping into my bones.”

Paul turned back to the map. The orange-red of the sunset tinted the blueprints. If he was really honest, he could have opened that store anywhere from the Gulf to Atlanta. It didn’t have to be in the Creole region he’d left for the scholarship to MIT. But as famous as he’d become, and as much money as he’d made, a part of Paul Olivier was still that scrawny fifteen-year-old kid with the absent dad and the mom who cleaned rich folks’ houses.

Paul walked to the window and stared at his own reflection. The people of Natchitoches might not even remember him. He’d grown another four inches and put on thirty pounds of muscle thanks to a fancy gym membership, a personal trainer, and a chef with history in the healthiest five-star restaurants. He’d traded his old jeans and faded T-shirts for custom suits. The buzz-cut his mama gave him every few months was replaced by a more fashionable style, trimmed every two weeks by a stylist that came to his office so he didn’t have to deal with the traffic.