Lorna tried again, this time reaching out and touching Billie’s arm. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. But I think I might be able to help you find a new location for the gallery, and you’re always welcome to stay here.”

Not meaning to be harsh, Billie yanked away from Lorna’s touch. Travis had been the last to touch her and however much of a sad case it made her, she didn’t want anyone else to erase the memory of him. Besides, she couldn’t consider the future of the gallery now, not when her heart felt as if someone had poured boiling water over it.

“Thanks,” she managed, “but I can’t think about that at the moment.” And then she turned and fled, Baxter hurrying behind her.

When she’d left the gallery that morning, she’d had a smile on her face and a spring in her step. She’d never felt happier, freer, in her whole life. Now she’d hit rock bottom. Even the magic of New Orleans could do nothing to drag her out of this hole. As she walked back into her once happy place, although it appeared as before, all she felt was emptiness. She didn’t know whether to burst into tears or a tantrum.

Rolley was chatting amicably to a couple of young women, so obviously tourists judging by the Mardi Gras beads that hung around their necks, and something suddenly clicked in her head.

How had Travis known she’d be at Lorna’s place?

Even though he was in the middle of a possible sale, Billie marched right over to Rolley. “We’ve been evicted!” she shouted, gesturing around her, not caring that she was being unprofessional. If Travis had his way, there soon wouldn’t even be a gallery. “All this is over.”

A look of shock flashed across his face and the two women looked to each other, their eyes wide.

“What?” Rolley asked.

“Somehow Travis found me at Lorna’s today. What the fuck do you know about that?”

He blinked at her fury, no doubt taken aback by her swearing. Yes, she’d been hanging around a biker a lot lately and his language had rubbed off on her, but sometimes only curse words got the job done. This felt like one of those times.

Rolley’s eyes darted from side to side like some kind of skittish cat looking for an escape, announcing his guilt loud and clear.

“Rolley?” she demanded.

“I only told him the truth,” he spat. “The biker wanted to know where you were and I told him. I thought he’d be pleased his mom and his girlfriend were getting along so well.”

Billie glared at him, speechless. He knew the bad blood between Travis and Lorna would make Travis anything but happy with such a scenario. But it cut deep that Travis had believed Rolley without question. Although it was the truth, she wished he’d had a little bit of faith and trust in her. Then, none of this might be happening.

“Well, you were wrong,” she whispered, the fight whooshing out of her as reality sunk in and despair overwhelmed her. “And now this is finished.” As she gestured around them, tears welled in her eyes. She squeezed them shut a moment, willing the waterworks away, because they weren’t only for the imminent closure of her gallery and she was scared that if she started bawling about Travis, she’d never be able to stop.

“No.” Rolley shook his head, but Billie turned to look at the confused customers.

“Sorry, ladies, we’re closing early today. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Rolley saw them out, locked the gate and came back to her. “I’ve been thinking, there must be something we can—”

“You too. Go!” she ordered, pointing right back at the gate. She needed to be alone. “I’m going inside to call the other artists, tell them the bad news. Get all your stuff and be gone before I come back out.”

He opened his mouth as if to protest, but she hit him with her best don’t-mess-with-me look and he backed down like a meek little possum. Despite his good looks, his charm, his fun-loving personality and their shared passion for the arts, this was why she’d never felt anything for Rolley. He lacked the backbone she wanted in a lover.

What a mess! She needed a man who would stand up to her, but not one who’d walk all over her. Maybe that really was a fantasy.

Still seething, Billie went back inside, whistling for Baxter to follow her. For a second she considered going next door to The Priory and trying to talk sense into Travis, but something held her back.

Was it self-preservation? What little was left of her pride?

No, she wasn’t going to run after him. She wasn’t going to spend her life chasing someone who couldn’t get over himself enough to trust her.

Deciding to begin the arduous task of calling her artists and relaying the bad news, she grabbed her cell off the counter and slumped onto the sofa, immediately wincing in pain.

She bit her bottom lip to distract herself from the slicing feeling of the fresh tattoo coming into contact with the furniture. In the shock of the last hour, she’d forgotten about her trip to a downtown tattoo parlor only hours ago. How stupid and pathetic could she get? Imagine having a guy’s name etched into your butt when you’d barely known him two weeks. But that’s what she’d done.

Travis’s name was engraved in a bold pink font with a tiny Harley-Davidson motorbike identical to the one he rode, identical to the picture she’d sketched, just beneath it.

It had felt so right—as if he was the yin to her yang, the black to her white, the hot to her cold—that she’d gotten carried away by the fairy tale. Maybe because he didn’t look or act like your typical Prince Charming, she’d more easily believed what they had was the real deal. Whatever; she was now a fool with a broken heart and a permanent reminder of her crazy affair on her behind. If only she’d gone to see Lorna first, before getting the tattoo, then maybe Travis wouldn’t have found her there.

But thank God she hadn’t gotten it in a more prominent place. No one would ever see it where it was, except for future lovers.

Something halfway between a laugh and a snort escaped her mouth as she eased herself back off the sofa. Future lovers? As if Saxon and then Travis hadn’t taught her enough about the male of the species. Whatever package they came in, they were all the same, and she didn’t want anything to do with any of them ever again.

—

Despite Billie’s brave pep talk to herself, the next few days were hard. She ignored the music coming from The Priory every night, trying not to wonder if Travis was there and what he might be getting up to. There was too much work to do to wallow in her heartache and besides, the pain in her butt was so bad it helped distract her from the absolute emptiness that plagued the rest of her body. She assisted the artists in packing up their pieces and hugged and cried with many of them as she said her goodbyes. They all wanted to know if she’d be staying in the Quarter, if they could catch up for drinks sometime, but Billie told them no. She resigned from her ghost tour gig because although she had no idea where she and Baxter would go next, she couldn’t stay here. Travis had ruined this city for her.

Whenever she thought of New Orleans now, it wouldn’t be the beautiful architecture, the almost magical atmosphere of the place, the street musicians, the spooky history or the fabulous food that came to mind. It would be the expression on his face as he loomed above her and then thrust inside.

She swallowed, her eyes moistening again at the thought as her insides twisted in their efforts to match the pain on her butt that constantly reminded her of her stupidity.

“Baxter?” She called to the dog and then sniffed as she waited for him to come to her. He’d been lamenting by the gate, watching the people walking by on Bourbon Street, on constant vigil for one particular person. Whining at every passerby as if he were in some kind of prison. It was almost as if he blamed Billie for Travis’s absence. No matter how much she tried to butter him up with treats to show her affection, he barely gave her the time of day.