“He’s got that zing, that it,” Granme would have said. “You stay away from men like that, Josie. Not a one of them is worth the heartbreak they’ll bring.”

Despite her advice, men seemed to break Josie’s heart on a regular basis. While the city and its atmosphere of casual sex and impermanence might be partially to blame, she’d only ever found herself in the role of lover, but never partner. Never had she been referred to as someone’s girlfriend or enjoyed the title of fiancée. It hadn’t helped that four out of the five men she’d had temporary relationships with had been guests at the hotel. But since so much of her life revolved around the hotel, it was understandable that the majority of the men she crossed paths with would be guests, people just passing through. And leaving her behind without a backward glance when it was time to check out.

The visitor looked at something in his other hand. Josie realized it was one of the flyers Philippe Murrell, her assistant manager, had talked her into making up a couple days ago to distribute at the airport. She hadn’t expected anything to come of the endeavor. Yet here was someone obviously brought to her doorstep as a result of Philippe’s idea.

She rose to her five-foot, three-inch height and pretended busyness, praying for the man to come in.

When he finally did, she had to suppress a breath of relief, even though it would take a lot more than this one handsome man to save her hotel.

DREW MORRISON HADN’T REALIZED how far he’d fallen until he stood outside the run-down Hotel Josephine convinced he had the wrong address.

“The Closer.” That’s how he’d once been almost reverently referred to. He was an independent contractor who’d brokered multimillion-dollar deals on behalf of clients who were running out of options to obtain what they were after. From the employee-run window manufacturer putting a dent into a neighboring corporation’s profits, to the stubborn casino owner who wouldn’t give under pressure from his competitor, Drew eased his way into people’s lives, became their friend, their confidant, and ultimately convinced them that selling would not only alleviate their worries and make them independently wealthy, but that it was also the brave, almost honorable thing to do.

Nowhere was it mentioned that it was the only thing to do.

Now he was reduced to penny-ante jobs like this one. Jobs similar to the type he’d taken on ten years ago when he’d been a wet-behind-the-years business grad, compliments of three years in the military serving overseas and the G.I. bill.

He ignored the sweat running down the back of his starched shirt under his Hugo Boss jacket. He guessed that’s what happened when your loyal wife took you to the cleaners and screwed your divorce attorney without your knowing, walking away with everything you’d spent years building-and, in the process, costing you two important deals because your mind wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

Drew stepped into the lobby of Hotel Josephine and took off his hat. One thing he’d never been was a complainer. He accepted full responsibility for the position he was in. After all, he hadn’t seen behind Carol’s greedy, money-grabbing ways. Had deluded himself into thinking she’d loved him, when, he’d figured out much too late, her affection had been a job to her, a means to an end.

And Carol had been very good at her job.

“Bonjour,” the young woman behind the check-in desk greeted him, apparently busy doing something.

“Good morning.” He put his suitcase on the floor, then placed his hat on the counter. “Are there any rooms available?”

From what he could make out of the quietness of the place, it was more than likely every room was available.

He watched a slender, honey-skinned hand reach for the guest book and skim through it, although the lined page she turned to was obviously empty.

“Room 2C should be cleaned by now.”

She looked up at him.

And Drew Morrison felt like he’d just taken a hard one to the chest.

He couldn’t be sure what it was about the woman. For sure, she was attractive. Beyond merely attractive, if truth be told. She had a lush body that her simple, understated slip dress merely served to emphasize. Her dark hair hung in soft ringlets to her sleek shoulders. But none of that made her any different from countless other women he ran into on the street.

It was her eyes, he realized. The color of rich whiskey when you reached the bottom of a crystal tumbler. Eyes of a Caribbean witch who looked too old to be in this young woman. Eyes that could see straight to the core of a man, talk him into giving up his heart, before she left him to rot like garbage at the curb.

For a minute Drew forgot why he was there. Dangerous, that. He cleared his throat and tugged at his tie. “I’m in town for a convention at the Marriott.”

Her expression remained the same. “How long do you want the room?”

He looked around, then remembered the flyer he’d serendipitously picked up at the airport. Copied onto light purple paper, it looked like the original had been haphazardly drawn up with Magic Marker. And added a little extra credibility to the story he would weave.

“This coupon still good?”

She accepted the piece of paper from him. It was for a one-week stay at a rate lower than anything he would find anywhere else. And a hell of a lot lower than it would be when the hotelier who’d contracted Drew got his hands on the place.

“Yes.” She picked up a pen from its stand. “So you’ll be staying a week, then?”

He nodded and pulled his wallet from inside his suit jacket, wondering if it was always so hot down here in October. Oh, he’d been to the Crescent City before. Mostly to wine and dine marks and get them laid so they’d be more relaxed and open to his suggestions. “Sign here and you’ll have the time to do this every weekend if you want”-that kind of shtick. But he’d never noticed how heavy the air was until today. Until he stood before the bewitching receptionist in front of him.

“Yes,” he answered her question. “I figured since I’m down here for the Innovation in Auto Parts convention, I might as well make a vacation of it.”

He cringed the minute the words were out. The key to selling someone on an identity was to keep it simple. The less said the better. Yet he found himself laying it on a little too thick here.

Those eyes focused on him again. “Why aren’t you staying at the convention hotel?”

Reason Number One why you never offered up more than necessary: unwanted questions.

Drew switched his attention to his wallet and smiled. “I wanted something a little more…private.”

He figured she was used to people saying that, because she didn’t question him further.

“The full amount is due up front,” she said, taking his information then turning around for a key that hung on a hook near the mail slots.

Drew’s gaze lingered on the way the silky material of her dress clung to her long back and rounded bottom. She moved in a way that could inspire a poet. Slow and fluid, there was something almost ballet-like in her movements. Something alluring and sexy and very provocative.

“How about half now, half on checkout?” he asked.

Her movements slowed even more as she turned back to face him. “If you want the deal on the flyer, it’s all due up front.”

He pretended to consider her words, then offered up a grin with the money. “A woman who means business.”

She smiled back, although it didn’t reach her watchful eyes as she accepted the money.

Drew put his wallet away then extended his hand across the counter. “Thank you…I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Josie.” She briefly took his hand and then turned around to put the money into some sort of lockbox. He noticed her feet were bare and that she wore a chain of tiny shells around her left ankle. “Josie Villefranche.”