He knows my name? “Yes, I’m Emma Lia. It’s lovely to meet you, Mr.Broussard.”
“Emma Lia. A beautiful name for a beautifulgirl.”
Oh, I can see right now that this one is charming. “Thank you, Mr. Broussard. Tristan tells me the samething.”
He returns the photograph to its place on the table. “How old are you,dear?”
Well, he doesn’t waste any time getting down to it. “Twenty-two.”
“Mmm… so young. Much younger than myson.”
“Fourteen years. It felt like a much larger age gap before I came to know Tristan, but now it feels like nothing.” I don’t even think about itanymore.
“How well do you know my son? Or rather how well does he knowyou?”
“We’ve only known one another for a few months, but we spend a lot of time together. We’ve come to know one another quitewell.”
He stares at me, making me feel a bit self-conscious. “I’m not sure what it is, but something about you reminds me of my sweetLisette.”
I don’t recall Tristan mentioning anyone by that name. “Lisette?”
“She was Tristan’smother.”
“Oh.” Lisette Broussard. What a pretty name. But the way Joseph Broussard said it led me to believe that he was speaking about a beloved rather than his deceasedsister.
“Tell me, Miss Grant. Does my son know you well enough to see you for the greedy little cunt that youare?”
Whoa, wait. “Excuseme?”
“You’re a greedy little cunt who is after my son’s money. At least admitit.”
This is completely out of left field. “I’m not after anything fromTristan.”
“Every money-hungry bitch that I’ve ever met has saidthat.”
I can’t believe the one-eighty in this man. “I have plenty of my own money. I don’t needTristan’s.”
“And where did your money come from, MissGrant?”
His tone leads me to believe that he knows quite a bit about me. “That’s mybusiness.”
“I know who you are. I know your good-for-nothing father, and I know your whore grandmother. All of you are nothing but a bunch of cheats andthieves.”
We are cheats in the casinos. I can’t deny that, but I’m not going to stand here and be insulted. “Tristan will be home soon. You may wait here if you’d like to see him, but you and I are donetalking.”
I turn to leave, and I’m only about three steps toward the library doorway when I’m grabbed from behind and pushed face-first against the wall, pinned from behind. “No one walks away fromme.”
I buck wildly to loosen his hold on me, but he’s surprisingly stout for a man of his age. “What do you think you are doing? Take your hands off ofme.”
“Listen to me, whore. You are going to leave this house and never see my sonagain.”
“Take your hands off of me.” I twist and use my hip to try to knock him off balance, but instead, his grip on the back of my neck tightens until the pain is excruciating. “Stop. You’re hurtingme.”
He chuckles against my ear. “I would expect one of my son’s women to have a higher tolerance forpain.”
He knows what Tristanis?
He grasps my arm and twists to the point that it feels like the bone might snap at any second. “Listen to me carefully, Miss Grant. Your relationship with my son ends now. You’ll never see himagain.”
