Be My Baby Read Free Page B

before?
    There was no way in hell the Pissant was going to let him off the hook with this assignment. It was to be Beau’s personal punishment not only for the C’s granddaughter, but for hacking off Pfeffer in the past as well.
    Pfeffer was a confirmed ass-kisser, however, and if the prim Ms. Lowell were to petition for his transfer, he’d have no choice but to comply with her wishes.
    Beau turned his head and gave her a big, feral grin. “What’s the address, sugar?”
    She blinked those gray eyes at him. “Excuse me?”
    “The Garden Crown, Jules. What’s the address?”
    “Oh.” She colored, which he’d noticed she seemed to do easily, and supplied the information.
    He cornered Fourth Street and then Coliseum Street with screaming wheels and raced up the final block, roaring through the filigreed gates and coming to a screeching halt beneath the porte cochere of the former mansion that was now the Garden Crown Hotel.
    Oh, God, this was brilliant. He grinned again.
    It hadn’t escaped his notice that little Miss Juliet didn’t seem to like him invading her personal space. He licked his lips, contemplating all the possibilities such a repressed personality provided. He’d just get a little up-close-and-personal with the woman. Hell, he could kill two li’l ole birds with one stone by dragging her to some of the Big Easy’s more tawdry establishments while he pursued his own case. Introduce her to a few select folk outside her rarefied social strata, and it shouldn’t take any time at all before she was demanding his replacement.
    He hopped out of the car and rounded the hood to open her door. “Here you are, angel face: all signed, sealed, and delivered, safe and sound as ordered.” He felt almost tender toward her as he watched her unbuckle her seatbelt. Reaching out a hand, he offered his assistance out of the low car. “Why don’t we go on in and take a look at your schedule.”
    She ignored the extended hand and sat there as if his muscle car were a throne: erect spine not quite touching the back of the leather seat, ankles together, hands folded in her lap. Those charcoalrimmed, rainwater eyes leveled on him. “My name is Juliet,” she informed him coolly. “I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Juliet, or Juliet Rose if you must, or Ms. Astor Lowell. But kindly don’t shorten my name. Nicknames are vulgar.”
    He hadn’t thought she could possibly poker up any more than she already had, but damned if she didn’t actually manage it. He swallowed a smile.“Whatever you say, Rosebud.” Reaching down, he wrapped a hand around her wrist and hauled her out.
    Ah, man. This was gonna be like taking candy from a baby.
     
    Juliet’s assistant, Roxanne Davies, slapped closed the appointment book that she, Juliet, and Beau had just finished perusing at the hotel’s front desk, and watched the detective saunter out the front entrance and disappear into a blinding wash of light. “Ho-ly catfish, mama.” Using the book to vigorously fan herself, she turned back to Juliet. “And you thought having a police escort was going to be a bad thing.”
    A hysterical bubble of laughter nearly erupted from Juliet’s throat, but she managed to suppress it. “I’m still not convinced it isn’t,” she said with creditable coolness.
    “Are you kidding? That is one whole helluva lot of man, Juliet. I can think of worse fates then to have a guy like that at your beck and call.”
    That’s probably because you’d actually know how to handle “one whole helluva lot of man .” Juliet still burned to remember the way she’d said, Nicknames are vulgar . Dear God, Grandmother had nothing on her—could she possibly have sounded more priggish? Aloud, she merely said, “Have you met with the Hayneses yet?”
    “Don’t want to talk about the studmuffin, huh?”
    Juliet winced. She had hired Roxanne over her father’s strenuous objections, digging in her heels with unaccustomed stubbornness when he’d