Chances Are by Erica Spindler

slanted him an amused glance from the corners of her eyes; she couldn't help herself. "May I ask for what?"
    "We don't want to keep Mimi waiting, do we?"
    Veronique laughed and shook her head, certain he was bluffing but willing to play along. They walked toward the door. "You know, by now the fact that you're down here is all over the store. And this morning's encounter, well I wouldn't doubt that Sissy's drooling over it right now." He opened the door, and she stepped through it. Laughter bubbled to her lips. "I can see it now—the scandal continues... illegitimate, notorious Veronique Delacroix corrupts Mr. New Orleans, Brandon Rhodes. I'll be tarred and feathered."
    "You say that as if you'd enjoy it. This way." Brandon touched her elbow to steer her toward the elevator that led to the parking garage. What was he up to? She followed his lead and stepped into the elevator. He punched five, then folded his arms across his chest and looked at her.
    Veronique resisted the urge to stare up at the floor numbers as they were illuminated; instead, she held his gaze. "So, are you ready to tell me where we're going?"
    "I already did."
    Veronique's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Mimi at Uptown Finery, right?" Brandon just smiled, and Veronique laughed. "Whatever you say."
    The doors slid open; they stepped out of the climate-controlled elevator and into the muggy garage. It reeked of exhaust and mildew. She followed Brandon's lead, stopping with him next to a shiny black Porsche. The top was off, the windows down. The interior was a natural-colored leather and smelled like it. "Magnificent," she murmured, running her hand lightly along the front quarter panel.
    "You want to drive?" Brandon grinned and held out the keys. Without a moment's hesitation, she plucked them from his fingers and slid behind the wheel. "Ever drive one of these before?" he asked, watching as she checked the wipers and turn signals, as she adjusted the seat and mirrors. She was all business.
    "Not this model. Buckle up." She pushed in the clutch and turned the key. The car roared to life. She took a moment to test the shift pattern, then shifted into reverse and backed out of the parking space. Moments later they were heading down the winding concrete tunnel.
    Brandon tightened his fingers on the armrest as she took the final curve doing thirty. "Why do I have the feeling this is the biggest mistake of my life?"
    Veronique laughed. "It's too late to start worrying now. Besides, I promise you'll live to regret it. Mimi?" When he nodded, she crossed Canal Street and headed uptown. They were silent as she maneuvered through the late-afternoon traffic. She slipped in and out of lanes, ran the yellow lights whenever possible and shouted at pedestrians who crossed against the light. When they'd cleared the worst of it, she tossed him a quick teasing glance. "See? Safe and sound."
    "The trip's not over yet," Brandon returned dryly.
    Veronique just laughed. Although she could have taken St. Charles or Carondelet, she chose Tchoupitoulas Street. It was a winding, sometimes rutted road that ran along the Mississippi River. It was lined with warehouses, some decrepit, some renovated into restaurants and clubs, others into condos. Farther uptown on Tchoupitoulas renovations gave way to rows of dilapidated shotgun houses and businesses that depended on the river for support. More than one resident lolled on his front porch or steps, enjoying the afternoon sun and watching traffic; a group of teenage boys stood in front of a corner restaurant, drinking Coke and clowning around. It was an old street, a street, Veronique thought, with character. Even though it was out of the way, she traveled it whenever possible.
    She flashed Brandon a smile as she took a curve with a speed designed to leave him breathless. "I cut my teeth on high-performance cars and have never lost my taste for them. It's like gambling, it gets in the blood." The wind whipped her hair around her head. She