When Jazira had promised a celebration, Charlie hadn't realized that would involve a shopping trip before they went to a club Jazira absolutely refused to tell her the name of.

"Don't argue," Jazira had said. "You can't go through life with just one passable dress."

Now Charlie was standing in front of a full-length mirror in a cute little boutique, frowning at the dress Jazira had chosen first. It wasn't the off-shoulder sleeves that bothered her. Or the skirt that barely came to the middle of her thigh. It wasn't the way the silky material clung to the curves of her waist and hips.

It was the fact that it was deep, shimmering, emerald green. 

Admittedly... it did look great on her, bringing out the deep auburn shade of her hair and making her skin appear creamy. But still. It was the same goddamn color as Remi's eyes. Charlie turned, already searching the displays for something else.

She didn't need anything else trying to get her to think about him. Her mind and her body had that more than covered.

Jazira lounged on one of the colorful couches, eyes bright with approval. She got that stubborn look Charlie loved and dreaded all at the same time and shook her head, long dark hair flowing over her shoulder. "Don't even. You absolutely slay in that. Your boytoy won't be able to do anything but get on his knees and beg."

That made her huff a laugh as she turned back to the mirror. But Charlie sobered quickly enough as she turned that statement over in her mind. "You shouldn't call him that," she muttered, more to herself than Jazira.

Remi wasn't a toy. He wasn't something to play with. Not unless she wanted to end up bleeding. He was something to use, maybe. To work with. Something to be infintely wary of.

But definitely not a toy.

"What else would I call him?" Jazira drawled, crossing her long legs, the skirt of her yellow sundress whispering against the couch cushion. She raised an eyebrow. "It's not like it's anything serious. You're just sleeping with him."

If only that were the case. 

Charlie wandered over to one of the racks, examining a silvery dress with spaghetti straps. It was impossible to know what to say. She'd promised that she wouldn't lie to her best friend anymore, but it was hard when Jazira insisted on asking questions.

Jazira sat up a little straighter, tilting her head. "That's all it is, right?"

Biting her lip, Charlie took the silver dress off its hanger. With a sigh, she looked at Jazira and said, "I think so... maybe." Shaking her head, she stalked back behind the curtain that hid an alcove passing as a dressing room.

"You think so maybe?" Jazira repeated, disbelief coloring her tone. "What does that even mean?"

Charlie grimaced, shimmying out of the green dress. Putting it back on its hanger, she frowned at it as she stepped into the silver dress. "It means that..." She groaned quietly, shaking her head. "That it's something."

"I would like vague non-answers for five hundred, Alex."

Smoothing the skirt, Charlie stepped out of the dressing room, avoiding Jaz's gaze as she went to the mirror. All the silver did was bring out the purplish shadows under her eyes. Jazira wrinkled her nose, shaking her head.

"Are you going to speak actual words?" Jazira pressed.

What had happened to not needing to tell her? 

Charlie shook off the irritable thought and turned to face Jaz, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's just... complicated, you know?"

"Life is complicated." Jazira's expression softened and she got up from the couch, sifting through the dresses on a different rack. Extracting a twilight blue number, she turned back to Charlie. Handing it over, she said, "What about him is so complicated?"

What wasn't?

Charlie changed again, the soft, gauzy material pleasant against her skin. Stepping back out, she blinked at herself in the mirror. It didn't make her look washed out at least.

The worst part about all of this was she desperately wanted to talk to Jazira. She wanted to spill her guts, and have Jazira hug her and tell her she wasn't a terrible person. Lying hurt when it was to someone you truly loved. Charlie ached to talk to Jazira about what she'd done.

But she couldn't. Disastrous as her life was, she couldn't bring herself to drag Jazira down into the insanity she had signed up for. 

So Charlie shrugged, sifting through what she knew about Remi, and what she could say that wouldn't encourage Jazira to haul her ass to Miles, her therapist husband. 

"He's got more money than God," she started. "He's not from out of town like I thought the first night I met him. He's... cagey as all hell. I don't know, Jaz. Honestly he's just... interesting?"

"And he's good in bed," Jazira supplied, raising a knowing eyebrow.

Charlie pursed her lips, playing with the scoop-neck design of the blue dress. Shaking her head, she couldn't stop the small smirk tugging at her lips. "He's amazing in bed," she admitted.

A blush crept across her cheeks as Jazira gave her an expectant look. Charlie flopped down onto the couch next to her.

Poking at Charlie's thigh, Jazira said, "You can't say that, then just leave me hanging, Char." Her petal-pink lips curled in a naughty smile. "Amazing how?"

Charlie cleared her throat, not exactly embarrassed so much as she didn't know where to start. She had spent at least some of the morning and most of the afternoon trying not to think about it. Trying not to think about how his body felt pressed against every inch of hers. Trying not to think about the taste of his mouth or the fact that he'd reveled in her viciousness.

There had been something untamed between them last night—something different. Something had been let out of its cage, and Charlie wasn't sure she wanted to find out what.

Finally, she just dove in. 

"Stamina, for one." He'd kept her up for most of last night. "Creative. Um..." She snorted. "Hiding many, many muscles beneath the ridiculously fancy suits he wears."

Jazira motioned impatiently for her to keep talking. Charlie's mouth went a little dry, heat curling through her lower belly as she considered everything he had made her feel. The delirious pleasure. The fact that he made her feel so good it was like she'd never had sex before she'd met him.

She shook her head to clear it, glancing at Jazira, who was smirking. Lowering her voice even more, she said, "It's not always about him."

Hilarious as that was, considering the selfish nature he projected in every other aspect of his life. Not that Charlie was going to question that too much.

Jazira's eyebrows shot toward her hairline. Her mouth quirked into a delighted grin. "Really?" she said with relish. "What does he like to do?"

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Charlie let her smirk widen. "More like what doesn't he like to do. I've never even had to ask." She let her head rest against the back of the couch with a sigh. "If he's half as talented with his tongue outside the bedroom, no wonder he's so successful."

Charlie looked at her reflection in the mirror again. The dark blue of the dress brought out the lighter shade of her eyes. But there was still something dissatisfying about it. 

"What does he do anyway?" Jazira asked casually.

The question caught Charlie by surprise, and she opened then closed her mouth twice before she could force her brain into working order. "Um... something in finance, I think?" She shifted nervously, the lie singeing her heart. "He doesn't really talk about it."

"He doesn't really talk about it, or you just don't really talk?" Jazira's gaze had also strayed to the mirror.

They certainly talked. Just not about anything she could share with Jazira. Her stomach rolling with guilt, she stood back up and went once more into the dressing room. Defeated, she glared balefully at the emerald dress. 

"I don't know, Jaz," she finally called, forcing her voice to something light and airy. "The closest I get to finance is balancing my checkbook. And he doesn't really care to talk about what he does."

Charlie changed back into her t-shirt and shorts, grabbing the green dress. It would make Jazira happy at the very least. 

Besides, it wasn't like he ever needed to see it. She knew he'd preen like a peacock if he did, and didn't feel like adding to his already terminally inflated ego.

"He's just so... sketchy," Jazira said with a sigh, her eyes lighting up when she caught sight of the dress. Then she grew serious again. "What with the borderline stalker behavior, then whatever else it is he's doing with you. Or you're doing with him." She waved a hand. "Whatever. The point is he's sketchy."

"All rich people are sketchy." She was awarded with a grimly amused look by Jazira, but knew she hadn't really allayed any of her friend's fears. Charlie reached for her purse, but Jazira smacked her hand. 

"Uh-uh. My treat. This is celebrating you, Charlie. Your surviving pre-med and getting accepted and going to be an amazing doctor." Jazira snatched the dress away before Charlie had the chance to formulate a protest.

She watched in amusement as Jazira went to the counter and purchased the dress. Smiling broadly, she handed the bag over to Charlie, then took her other hand and dragged her from the boutique. 

They walked down the sidewalk, enjoying the nice weather. Tourists wandered past, gawking at voodoo shops and historical buildings sitting side-by-side with chic little shops and restaurants. The humidity wasn't atrocious, making the sunshine pleasant instead of miserable. 

"So are you still going with emergency surgery?" Jazira asked.

Charlie sighed internally, glad to be talking about something other than Remi and her dubious life choices. She nodded, squinting against the bright sun. "Yeah, I think so. Traven seems to think I might have a knack for it."

"If anyone would it's you." Jazira slowed, peering into the window of a shoe store. 

Charlie grabbed her elbow and tugged her along. "We have shoes. You have more shoes than any single person should own."

"There's no such thing," Jaz said, voice lofty. "You actually can't have too many shoes."

With a snort, Charlie pulled her away from the store. 

"That's a lot of drug overdoses though," Jazira said, returning to their original conversation. "Crazy, strung-out junkies. Nothing pretty about that."

"Yeah, I know," Charlie said sourly. She knew what an overdose looked like—her mom had done it twice when she was in high school. Some days, Charlie could still smell the vinegary stench of the heroin.

Jazira gave her a sympathetic look, then continued, "Then of course holidays are always a riot. You'll have to get in on the pool."

That provoked a laugh, pulling her out of the dark spiral of thoughts the mention of overdoses had pulled her toward. The emergency room staff had a betting pool every major holiday revolving around the number of patients with weird or outlandish injuries they received.

"Why don't you get in on it?" Charlie asked.

Jazira shrugged. "I don't think emergency medicine is really my thing. I'm actually leaning more toward pediatric medicine."

That didn't surprise Charlie in the least. Jazira loved kids, and Charlie knew she'd been impatiently waiting to finish her residency before she and Miles started a family of their own.

"Pediatric surgery?" Charlie asked. 

Jazira just shrugged. "Maybe. There's a lot of specialties I could go with. Just anything but cancer." Her beautiful face grew pensive, tawny brown skin glowing in the afternoon light. "I just don't think I could handle that. I can barely even watch St. Jude's commercials."

That was more than understandable. Charlie nodded, knowing there really wasn't anything more to say on that particular subject. "Whatever you go with kids will be lucky to have you," she finally said, voice soft. She meant that more than anything. 

Jazira had a heart bigger than was probably good for her—a trait Charlie envied endlessly. Maybe if she'd had Jazira's capacity to care, she wouldn't be in the messy situation she was in. Maybe if she'd been able to love like Jazira could, she wouldn't have walked in on Grayson with another woman.

An elbow jabbed softly into her arm, making her start. Jazira raised a perfect eyebrow. "That face says you're thinking not-fun things. Not-fun things are not allowed today."

Charlie smiled out of reflex. Slyly, she said, "Maybe I'm thinking about how you're taking me to—"

"Nope!" Jazira interrupted cheerfully. "Not 'til tonight."

A dramatic groan came from Charlie. Then she giggled and nodded. "All right, fine. Be all mysterious if you must." Her stomach growled right on cue. "But I'm starving. Can we pretty please get something to eat?"

"You read my mind," Jazira said, nodding with enthusiasm. "Or my stomach."

Charlie laughed again. Unthinkingly, she said, "There's a really good deli near my place."

"Your new place?" Jazira said a beat too late, surprise seeping into her voice.

Instantly, Charlie cringed inwardly. It had probably been unavoidable, but inviting Jazira to the house on St. Ann didn't exactly fall in with her plan of keeping one of her lives separate from the other.

And God forbid Remi come strutting through the door while Jazira was there.

But there was no taking it back now. "Yeah." She forced another smile. "You have to see it sometime, right?"

Jazira studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Silently, Charlie prayed that she might suggest they go somewhere else for lunch. Those hopes were dashed when Jazira smiled tentatively, nodding.

"That would be great." 

They took a taxi back, first stopping by the deli before they pulled up to the house on St. Ann's. Her heart in her throat, Charlie wasn't comforted by the lack of an expensive, European car parked on the side of the street as they walked to the door. She unlocked the door, peering inside before she opened it completely.

Everything was silent and empty, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Jazira was right on her heels, peering around in interest. Finally, she let out a low whistle.

"Fancy," she said, looking at Charlie curiously. But she didn't ask any questions as Charlie gave her the five-cent tour. 

They eventually gave in to their growling stomachs and ate, then crashed on the couch. Charlie turned on a midday soap opera that immediately made her eyes droop.

"We've got a few hours," Jazira said sleepily, tapping at her phone. "I'll set an alarm."

Charlie was asleep in seconds.

                                                                        §§§

Night had well and truly fallen by the time they got out the door, dressed to the nines, hair and makeup nothing less than perfect. The air was cool, the promise of fall nipping at Charlie's bare legs. Miles was leaning against his car, ruggedly handsome as always, and wolf-whistled when he saw them.

Jazira smirked, her red dress hugging every curve, her silver stilettos deadly looking. When they reached the sidewalk, Miles wrapped an arm around Jazira's waist and pulled her into a long kiss.

Charlie glanced down the street, half-expecting to find that Remi had appeared out of no where. She couldn't help but imagine how his eyes would rove over her, burning like fire. How his hands would touch her waist first, then trail down to the bare skin of her legs. How his lips would just barely touch the side of her throat...

With a hard shake of her head, she turned back to her companions, giving Miles a quick hello and a friendly hug before they got into the car.

She watched nervously out the window as Miles drove, only paying enough attention to their conversation to answer any questions that came her way. The last time she'd let someone take her to a surprise club, she'd ended up entangled with a man twice as dangerous as anything she'd ever seen before.

Around thirty minutes later, Jazira clapped her hands, turning around to look at Charlie. Her kohl-lined eyes glittered with excitement as she said, "We're here."

The knot of apprehension around her heart loosened when she didn't recognize the name of the club. All day she'd expected a wicked twist of fate, and for Jazira to take her to The Rabbit Hole, Remi's Wonderlandian club and illicit boxing ring.

Miles parked and Charlie trailed after them, glancing up at the name. 

"Dans le Sang?" she asked skeptically. 

"Because apparently the place gets in your blood," Jazira said with a giggle as they stepped into the line winding around the side of the building. She gave an elegant shrug, nearly velcroed to Miles' side. "Who cares about a cheesy name? I've heard that it's a blast."

Charlie rolled her eyes, shifting from foot to foot on the sidewalk as the line advanced at a snail's pace. She half-listened as Miles told them about a particularly challenging client, her gaze still skating over the crowd of people.

She didn't know what she expected to see.

Finally, they reached the guys working the door—two very large men, one black, one white—and paid the cover fee. Charlie met the eyes of the white guy, tilting her chin haughtily as his gaze swept down her body. Before she could snap anything at him, Jazira hooked their arms together and dragged her through the door into a wave of body heat and pounding music. 

The crush of bodies was thickest on the far side of the room, near the DJ, and one glance toward the bar immediately had Charlie feeling claustrophobic. But Jazira was already pulling them both toward the dance floor.

Miles gave Charlie a knowing grin. She barely managed to return it before Jazira had them swept up in the music.

She faltered for a bare moment, then let out a laugh and let Jazira spin her around. The music thudded in her ears, drowning out her heart. For the first time in weeks, she simply stopped thinking and allowed herself to get lost in something that wouldn't cost her soul.

Jazira, who had been a ballet dancer for years, somehow managed to wind between both Miles and Charlie in equal turn. She was always right there with a dazzling smile or a laugh, graceful body twisting with every thump of the bass.

Charlie turned, letting her head fall back, then was jerked back to reality by a hand on her waist. She turned, teeth already clenched in a snarl, but Miles was there. The guy who'd touched her raised both hands in surrender and backed away before disappearing into the crowd.

"That's what I'm here for," Miles said with a wink before Jazira slid into the spot beside him. He turned and put his hands on her hips, lips near her ear.

Charlie shook her head, but didn't protest. She could take care of a handsy asshole, but it was so much easier this way. With a sigh, knocked firmly out of her carefree moment, she turned and headed toward the bar. Jazira had said drinking was on the menu for tonight.

She caught the bartender's eye. "Whiskey sour."

Before he could ask, she produced Remi's card, nerves trilling through her like they had every time she'd used it. The bartender took the card, then looked up, squinting at her.

"I'll be right back," he shouted over the music. 

"I'm not opening a tab," Charlie protested, but he was already gone. With a sigh, she leaned against a sliver of the bar, dabbing the back of her hand against her forehead in an effort to wipe away some sweat without ruining her makeup. 

Miles and Jazira were still dancing, almost completely wrapped around each other, and Charlie couldn't help the twinge of jealousy that plucked at her heart.

She started when a vice-like hand wrapped around her elbow. With a hiss, she tried to yank away, but then a voice in her ear growled, "Don't make a scene please. You're already in enough trouble as it is."

The words startled her so much she let what appeared to be the manager—judging by the fancy suit—drag her away from the bar toward the back of the club. He hauled her through a door marked "Private", slamming it behind her.

A shiver of fear went down her spine as she stared at the man.

He made the bouncers outside look like children, with shoulders nearly as wide as the door and a beard a bear would be jealous of. Slowly, she looked down at her arm to see red marks where his fingers had grabbed her.

Before she could say anything, he held up Remi's credit card between two thick fingers. "There's a problem," he said, "with this card."

Charlie edged back toward the door, but it opened behind her and she turned to find one of the bouncers, the white guy with the traveling eyes, standing behind her. 

He grabbed her arm, forcing her down into one of the seats before the manager's desk. Charlie twisted, raking her nails across the back of his hand with a snarl. "Don't touch me, asshole!"

"Your night's going to be a lot worse than that if you don't tell us where you got this," the manager said, tapping the edge of the card against the desk in front of her.

Charlie's heart dove into her stomach, flipping several times. Brushing a strand of hair out of her face, she said, "It was given to me."

Both men snorted, and she closed her eyes in sudden, dreadful understanding. "Call him," she said with a sigh.

The manager frowned at her. "Call who?"

Charlie shot to her feet. "You know who. Call him and he'll tell you exactly what I did." Fingers brushed against her arm and she whirled away from the bouncer, hissing, "You fucking touch me again and you'll be the one having a bad night."

Silence suddenly descended over the room, and Charlie let her gaze flick to the manager. The bouncer moved quick as a cat despite his size, and Charlie found her arms wrenched behind her back, fingers biting with bruising force into her biceps.

She couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled out of her, frightened by how insane it sounded. The manager met the bouncer's gaze over her head, then picked up a cellphone. 

Charlie smirked, craning her head back to look up at the bouncer. "He's going to knock your teeth down your throat," she all but purred.

His hold on her loosened in what was either confusion or surprise and she ripped herself away, putting her back squarely against the wall. The bouncer took a single step toward her, but then the manager snapped his fingers and the other man froze.

"Mr. Robicheaux," the manager said, sending another shiver of dread down Charlie's spine. "Sir, we have a little situation at Sang."

Above the thump of the music, she couldn't hear anything from the other end of the line. 

The manager's eyes met hers, glinting dangerously. "I think you might want to come down here, sir."

So much for him never seeing the dress.

Fun Fact: I share Jazira's opinion about shoes, and similarly have a very hard time watching St. Jude's commercials. If you ever have the ability to help fund hospitals such as St. Jude's, please do.