Page 44 of Hot Momosa

One errand down, two to go.

I left my family’s high-rise office building in the Central Business District and wandered up Chartres Street. Normally, I would have used the time to mentally run through my to-do list at the hotel, but I couldn’t focus on anything except Dahlia and Gunnar and making sure they were safe. With Christmas right around the corner, the French Quarter was decked out with holiday decorations.

I loved everything about the holidays—spending time with my family, eating until I burst, and the days and days of traditions. Not to mention, the tourists that flocked to the Quarter. They were good for business and provided endless entertainment.

Case in point. A round man in a Hawaiian shirt, socks, and sandals stood outside my hotel with a video camera. The fashion-challenged gentleman spoke to a blonde that was so far out of his league, I felt sorry for the guy.

They turned and stared as I approached, but it wasn’t until he raised his camera that I realized they weren’t tourists.

Freaking paparazzi.

Rather than facing them head-on, I ducked into the alley alongside the building and jogged to the service entrance. Flashes of light damned near blinded me and made it next to impossible for me to enter the security code into the keypad.

A swarm of reporters emerged from the darkness. “Leo, are you and Dahlia Calhoun dating? What does Harrison Meriwether have to say about you kissing his fiancé? Is it true your family is part of the Cosa Nostra? Are you Dahlia’s son’s father?”

I ignored them and re-entered the code.

Just as the lock clicked open, one of them shouted, “What were you doing at Dahlia’s Saturday night, Mr. Marchionni?”

I glanced up without thinking, and the cameras clicked away.

As if scenting blood in the water, the blonde I’d seen waiting near the front entrance stepped forward and shoved a mini-microphone in my face. “Leo, why did Dahlia run from her home with her son in her arms? Was she meeting you?”

I knew better than to answer, but I couldn’t stand there and allow them to paint Dahlia with a giant blood-red A. Besides, there was a good chance they could help. “There was a break-in. Did any of you happen to see someone crawling through her window Saturday night?”

“Someone broke into Dahlia Calhoun’s home?” The blonde pressed her hand to her chest as if shocked, but her narrowed eyes told me it was an act. “Was anyone hurt? What was taken? Any suspects?”

“Ms. Calhoun and her son are shaken up but fine. I’d appreciate it if anyone who was staking out Dahlia’s house Saturday night would go through their photos and video footage for anything suspicious.” I flashed them a wide grin. “I’m willing to pay double the going rate if you have anything useful.”

The crowd of paparazzi stared as if I’d stunned them.

Taking advantage of their momentary confusion, I ducked inside the service entrance and made my way toward my office. I had things to do before I could go home to Dahlia and Gunnar.

Check email. Sign anything that needs my John Hancock and get the hell out of here. Ten minutes tops.

An hour later, I’d almost finished my to-do list. Between the holidays, bowl game, and the Gumbo Pot Drop, we were booked solid until the second week in January. The P&L statement showed more profit than loss—always a good thing.

I was in the process of signing checks when my phone rang. One quick glance at the screen reminded me I had a fishing trip to finalize. “Gabe. I was just about to call you.”

“Is that a good thing?” He chuckled, but he didn’t sound amused.

“We need to nail down our play date before your wife kicks my ass.” I sealed the last of the checks in an envelope and dropped the stack in my outbox. “How’s Thursday at the ass-crack of dawn?”

“You sure you can get away? Dante tells me you’re shacking up with Dahlia and her kid.”

Nothing, and I mean nothing, was a secret in my family. “Stuart’s keeping an eye on them until we catch her stalker.”

“You sound good…” Gabe didn’t have a poker face—or a poker voice for that matter. I could hear the concern and unasked questions.

“I am. Dahlia and I are working things out.” Not a total lie.

“When I said to talk to her, I didn’t mean move her in.”

I understood where he was coming from, but that didn’t mean I agreed. “Don’t give me a hard time about this. You know how I feel about her.”

“I do and I’m not.” He sighed. “Are you sure you’re ready to raise someone else’s kid? He is someone else’s right?”

I ignored his question. “Considering you and Maggie have custody of Joe’s three children… Hello Kettle, I’m Pot.”

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