The Taming of a Wild Child. Kimberly Lang

surprise there, really; the man truly loved to hear himself talk. Finally she couldn’t stall any longer and had to go back out into the living room.

      “No class today?” she asked as she took the other corner of the couch and settled in.

      “The air-conditioning in the building is broken. They had to cancel classes.”

      Lorelei nodded. The older buildings in New Orleans—those built before the invention of air-conditioning and designed for the heat—could sometimes be habitable, if not comfortable, in August, but not the newer buildings, with their low ceilings and windowless rooms.

      “I’m meeting my study group at the library instead. What about you? Not going to the studio?”

      “With Connor away, things are pretty slow at the moment. I’ll go in later and check messages and things, but a vacation for the boss is a vacation for the minions, as well.”

      People might think that Connor had hired her as assistant and office manager for ConMan Studios out of pure nepotism—and that did have a little to do with it—but the truth was she was good at the job, much to everyone’s surprise. She’d finally started to earn a little respect; somehow her working for her brother-in-law impressed people more than just working for her father, even though the positions were very similar.

      And she liked it, too. Who wouldn’t want to be part of a rock star’s entourage? It was exciting, and the high-profile nature of the job meant people knew she was actually earning her keep.

      “I’m kind of glad things will be slow. Being Vivi for the next three weeks is going to be crazy enough.”

      Callie nodded, but she wasn’t really listening. She still had most of her attention on the TV—where, thankfully, Donovan was wrapping up. “Donovan St. James is right. The city is just asking for a major lawsuit.”

      Lorelei didn’t bother to ask about what. “I’ve always wondered how someone becomes a pundit,” she said in what she hoped sounded like idle curiosity. “Is there a degree program for that? A Bachelor’s in Talking Headism?”

      Callie shrugged. “I think you just have to make a name for yourself in politics or journalism to prove that you’re smart enough to have something sensible to say, and then show that you’re articulate enough to say it on TV.”

      “Then how did Donovan St. James get anointed?”

      Callie looked at her like she was crazy. “Because he’s freaking brilliant.”

      “So you say.”

      “No, so says the world. Haven’t you ever read his column?”

      “Not since he destroyed the DuBois and Dillard families.”

      “They brought that on themselves. Corruption tends to bite you in the butt like that when it’s uncovered.”

      Lorelei had sympathy for her friends’ families. It had rocked everyone’s world. “But Donovan seemed to enjoy it. He certainly got a lot of attention out of their misery.”

      “That is what got him attention initially. But in the last three years that attention has grown because of his insightful analysis and dogged chasing of facts. When he comments on politics and issues, people listen. He’s syndicated in newspapers and on websites all over the country. That’s why he’s on TV all the time.”

      “Oh. I didn’t know that.” Hmm, it seemed she should have.

      “Now you do. Should you decide to get more up-to-date on the rest of the world, his columns wouldn’t be a bad place to start. There’s an archive on his website. Good stuff there. I’ve even quoted him in some of my papers.”

      Well, it seemed that Donovan had been out making a name for himself over the years and she’d been ignorant of the whole thing. Callie didn’t need to look so darn surprised. Just because she used to go to school with Donovan, it didn’t mean she was an expert on his life—or that she wanted to be.

      Politics—and the blow-hard talking heads that covered it—gave her a headache. The news depressed her. She heard enough from Callie to keep her feeling at least as well-informed as the average citizen; she didn’t need to go looking for more than that.

      Callie tossed the remote her way and grabbed her backpack. “I’m gone. Some of us might go grab some drinks after we’re done with study group. Want to come?”

      “Thanks, but not tonight.” Her personal prohibition was still in place—the memory of Sunday morning was still too fresh even to consider breaking it.

      “Call me if you change your mind. Bye.”

      “Bye.”

      A second later Callie reappeared. “Today’s paper.” She tossed it on the coffee table. “By the way, Donovan’s column runs in the editorial section—if you’re interested, that is.”

      Once Callie had left, Lorelei unrolled the paper, flipped to the middle and pulled out what her grandmother and mother still called the “Wednesday Pages,” even though it was now a glossy, magazine-style insert about society’s doings. There, on the cover, was a full-color picture of Vivi and Connor on their way out of the cathedral. The caption promised a full write-up and more pictures inside. Lorelei flipped to the pages. There were some great shots of the guests going into the church, and a few from the reception. Most of them focused on the star-studded guest list of Connor’s friends in the music business, but there were a few photos of New Orleans’ business and society leaders. She had made the cut, too, in a photo of the bridesmaids and Mom and Dad with Vivi, right before they went into the church. Donovan was in a picture as well, standing in a group with some city councilmen and the heads of three charitable organizations Vivi worked with.

      The picture of Donovan made her think of Callie’s parting shot, and she flipped to the editorial section to find his opinion of a bill being argued in Congress this week. It seemed well-written and impressive in its commentary, but she’d need a primer about the bill itself before she could form a cogent opinion.

      Lord, even his writing had that condescending, sarcastic tone. Donovan had a hell of a chip on his shoulder.

      She folded the newspaper decisively. Time to shake off this whole Donovan thing and move on. Forget it ever happened. She’d go to the studio, get some work done, maybe meet Callie for dinner, if not drinks. She needed to look over Vivi’s schedule, start preparing herself and firm up her plan of action. She would take center stage tomorrow. Her first big appearance in her new temporary role.

      Butterflies battered her insides. It was stage fright—but not because she would be center stage. This was make or break time. If she screwed this up, she’d only prove to everyone that she really was a flaky screw-up, an airhead with only her trust fund going for her. But if it went well … She sighed. If it went well she’d be on her way—not just “the other LaBlanc girl” anymore. The last six months had been building toward this moment, and the pressure was doing bad things to her.

      It was just one more reason why she needed to forget about what happened with Donovan and focus on what was important. Staying busy was a very good idea; it would give her mind something to think about other than Donovan, and soon enough she’d be past this whole embarrassing situation.

      She picked up her coffee cup and the society section again, intending to set it aside for Vivi, when her own name caught her eye.

      Several of the younger guests continued the celebrations long into the night, keeping the bar open and the staff hopping. Lorelei LaBlanc, sister of the bride and Maid of Honor, swapped her bridesmaid’s dress for a flirty, sparkly number and danced the night away with some of the city’s most eligible bachelors. Interestingly, she and the most eligible bachelor of all, journalist and TV commentator Donovan St. James, seemed to be quite friendly—much to the dismay of the other eligible bachelors and bachelorettes.

      Lorelei nearly dropped her coffee.

      Oh, merde.

      St.