G.T. Herren - Paige Tourneur 02 - Dead Housewives of New Orleans Read Free Page A

of admired him. He spoke his mind and worked hard, although I knew the story about him dropping out of school and working on fishing boats as a teenager was a fairy tale invented by his corporate publicity department. But he did come from nothing, that was true, and by then he was worth millions.
    Unfortunately for Steve, he also kept having work done to his face. By the time I met him it barely moved and was a shiny as a mannequin’s. His hair was jet black and slicked back into a ponytail. He worked out every day with weights and jogged, so he was in great shape— as evidenced by the tight black shirt he was wearing that had to be a size too small. He was wearing black pleated slacks, black patent-leather loafers, and a gold medallion hung around his neck on a thick gold chain. A diamond stud glittered in his right ear. Within five minutes my admiration had faded into dislike. By the end of an hour I couldn’t wait to get away from him. He kept hitting on me— even with his latest trophy wife in the room. He treated her like a servant, which is what I suppose he thought a wife was supposed to be. When he died of a massive heart attack, I imagined it was a merciful release for Rebecca— especially since he had cut all of his children out of his will and left his entire fortune to her.
    Rumors were flying all around town about a looming court battle between the widow and her stepsons.
    “She doesn’t even live in New Orleans,” Chanse said out of the side of his mouth. “She lives on the North Shore.”
    I smothered a laugh as Chloe Valence appeared on the screen in a floor-length green velvet gown with cathedral sleeves, a tight waist, and a neckline that plunged much more deeply than it should have. Her long black hair was braided like a crown around her head. “She looks like Maid Marian,” Chanse muttered, and that time I did laugh out loud, getting nasty looks from people seated near us. I also missed her little tag-line.
    I’d known and disliked Chloe Valence for years.
    “Too bad we don’t have any rotten tomatoes to throw at the screen,” Chanse hissed at me.
    I’ve tried to get over my visceral loathing of Chloe Valence— seriously, I
have.
    We used to work together at the
Times-Picayune.
We’d been hired around the same time, both of us straight out of college, the ink on our journalism degrees still damp. While my degree was from LSU, Chloe’s was from the University of Louisiana-Rouen, over on the north shore. When I met her on our first day at work, I immediately pegged her as a phony. Her name had been Chloe Legendre then. She was the kind of woman who didn’t like other women, even though she mouthed feminist platitudes. She was a master of passive-aggression, a behavior I have always despised. It wasn’t long before I noted that she undercut other women whenever the opportunity presented itself while sucking up to all the men. She knew how to play the game, all right. There was even a period of time when I wondered if I was being misogynist myself— did I dislike her so intensely because she was beautiful and got a lot of attention from men? I had a long, dark night of the soul over it, and decided to go to the office the next morning and give her another chance.
    Of course, that was the day they announced her promotion to assistant city editor, which sort of meant I kind of had to report to her.
    The next few years we clashed more and more, and I tried to ignore the gossip that Chloe was the mistress of a married man much higher up in the chain of command at the paper. Chloe also began to change into an even more annoying person than she had been before. It caught everyone by surprise when she landed a wealthy society husband— no one even knew she’d been dating Remy Valence until the wedding announcement landed in the paper. I took Chanse with me to the wedding, and the moment the groom’s party walked out to the altar, he leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I’ve slept with the