“Jack, right?” he asked.

My brother held out his hand, taking Tyler’s. “Yes, sir. Jack Bradbury.”

“Hi, Mr. Marek.” Kristen held out her hand. “I’m Ms. Meyer. I teach —”

“Earth Science.” He cut her off, nodding and taking her hand. “Yes, I know who you are. Welcome.”

I glanced around, wondering how long I should stick around before I left. Jack would undoubtedly stay until the party ended. The amount of suits here, all important people in New Orleans, was a social buffet for my brother, and I was sure he couldn’t wait to start making the rounds.

Kristen had the personality to fit in anywhere. She probably made friends easily. I was different.

Not difficult, just different.

And right now I was sure I’d have more fun at home repotting some plants or sharpening my new steak knife set.

“Well, make yourselves at home,” Tyler told us, gesturing with the rocks glass he held in his hand. “Food and refreshments are over there, so feel free to help yourself and mingle.”

He spared me a quick glance before addressing my brother again. “There are some people I’d like you to meet,” he told Jack, taking him away.

“And, Ms. Bradbury?” He turned back around, leaning in. “The ladies are over there.”

He nodded to the clique of beige and pink congregating around the tables, laughing and talking.

“It’s probably safer,” he said, and I jerked my eyes back up to him just in time to see his smug smirk before turning away.

Safer?

As in, I’ll be less intimidated?

I snorted, following Kristen over to the refreshments. Maybe he was teasing me. Maybe he was challenging me, but I wasn’t bored anymore.

Picking up a champagne flute filled with some kind of orange liquid, I floated around the party with Kristen, taking in the lively atmosphere and the beautiful day. The backyard was paved with more slate tiles, similar to the ones in the kitchen, with sparse sections of lush grass here and there. There were a few trees, as tall as one-story houses, and around the perimeter a cast-iron fence and a vast offering of foliage, including ferns, rosebushes, and neatly trimmed hedges.

There were tables with hors d’oeuvres and refreshments, as well as a full bar, because New Orleanians drink for everything. Even funerals. Lunch would most likely be served at the tables instead of buffet style, because, well, Tyler Marek didn’t do business half-assed.

And this luncheon was business.

The centerpiece of the backyard was a rectangular-shaped pool with deep blue tiles, which made it look like the Mediterranean Sea. Or so I believed. I’d actually never been there.

And then, glancing to the left, I instantly paused, seeing a single tennis court. I narrowed my eyes.

Why hadn’t I noticed that this week when I was here?

It wasn’t like I’d spent any time outside, but I’d taken a look through the doors at least and noticed the pool and the beautiful landscaping.

My feet and legs tingled with the desire to get on the court and break a sweat. I suddenly wanted to hold a racket and chase the ball again. For years I’d try – sporadically – to get back on the court and feel comfortable, but it never worked. Now I wanted to.

A love of tennis may have been “beaten into me,” so to speak, but it was still love.

The guests had separated into factions, it seemed. Christian, along with a few friends I recognized, had plates loaded with food and were disappearing back into the house, probably for a movie or video games. I couldn’t imagine this scene was a lot of fun for them.

The ladies – or wives – had grouped off, and while they appeared to be enjoying themselves, I didn’t want to surrender to whatever mold Tyler challenged me with. Many of the ladies, I was sure, ran charity organizations, wrote successful blogs, and had careers of their own; however, there was still a good-ole-boy mentality in this city that kept women on the sidelines.

I set down my empty glass and picked up another of the same drink. It was nonalcoholic but still a delicious concoction of orange juice, pineapple juice, and Sprite, I believed.

With Kristen following, I headed over to Jack as he chatted with a small group of men, including Tyler, Mason Blackwell, and a few others I didn’t recognize. I couldn’t imagine why Tyler had invited Blackwell – I knew he didn’t like him – but I was sure it had everything to do with business and nothing to do with pleasure.

“The other party has already endorsed Evelyn Tragger,” one of the gentlemen said casually, speaking to Blackwell. “She’s plainspoken and hard-nosed. She has a good reputation north of Baton Rouge, and she’s very popular with certain circles here.”

“And she is not happy with you, Mason,” another guest joked before taking a sip out of his rocks glass.

I stopped behind Blackwell, no one noticing my presence.

“Of course she’s not,” Blackwell asserted. “Most unmarried women are disgruntled.”

The group broke out in laughter, some nodding in agreement, and their ignorant, pasty, self-satisfied smiles suddenly irritated me.

Straightening my back and crossing my arms over my chest, I cocked my head. “And because you’re male that makes you worthy of office?” I retorted.

Everyone turned to face me, suddenly noticing I was there, except Jack. He simply let his head fall back as he sighed, probably bracing himself for my antics, which he knew all too well.

Blackwell looked at me with a half smile and definite amusement in his eyes. The three gentlemen I didn’t recognize regarded me with interest, appearing surprised but not the least bit offended. I had no idea what Tyler was thinking, but I could feel his gaze on me.