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“Uh, yes,” he said slowly. “But what are you doing here?”
She was very aware of the guard looking her up and down through narrowed eyes. Yes, what are you doing here, you and your borrowed clothes and your dangly earrings?
“Maybe we could talk about that in your office,” Noel said and swept past him on shaky legs.
“Hold my calls, Janelle,” he said and followed her in.
Okay, she’d reached the inner sanctum and she had his full attention. Yay for her.
She glanced around. So this was where Ben Fordham plotted and schemed. A desk sat on the far wall, relatively uncluttered with only a laptop and a cell phone, a pad of paper and pencil. No pictures of a girlfriend. A couple of leather chairs sat in front of a wall lined with bookshelves, which were mostly empty except for a few books on finance, and some baseball trophies. Oh, and here were two framed photographs. One showed a house with a smiling family posed on the front porch, with writing over it. Thanks for your help, Ben. Love our new digs! Another was a picture of a Santa holding a hammer. Probably him, trying to disguise himself as a nice guy.
“Noel,” he said as if trying her name on for size. “Didn’t we meet Friday night?”
Yes, we did, you skunk. You know we did! “I think we might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” Noel proffered the wine.
He took it. “That’s, uh, nice of you. And about the other night, like I said, it’s just business.”
“Not to me. I love that house.”
“It’ll be even more lovable after I’ve fixed it up.”
“Please don’t buy it,” she begged.
Now his expression was regretful. He shrugged. What can I do? “I’m sorry, but I already made your landlady an offer.”
Noel sat down hard on the nearest chair. “Oh, no.” Then she burst into tears. Her house, her sweet little house, had been snatched away from her. All her plans for it, all her dreams...
“Shit,” he muttered. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”
“There are all kinds of houses in Whispering Pines. Why did you have to want mine?” she sobbed.
“Yours? Funny, I thought it belonged to Mrs. Bing.”
Was that supposed to be funny? She glared at him.
“Lady, look—”
“Noel,” she corrected him and took an angry swipe at her eyes. Good thing she was wearing waterproof mascara. She’d spent a lot of time on her makeup that morning. Big difference that had made.
“Noel. I’m not out to ruin your life.”
“I’d say turning people out of their homes at Christmas is a good way to ruin their lives.” What a heartless Scrooge.
He knelt in front of her. “I’m really sorry. I am. And nobody’s turning you out of your house at Christmas. I’m not going to close on this until the end of January, so you’ll have plenty of time to find a new house.”
“Not a house, a home. That’s my home and I love it.”
He frowned. “Then you should’ve bought it.”
“I was working on that!”
He sighed and sat back on his heels. “I don’t understand what you want me to do.”
“I want you to go away!”
He half smiled at that. “This is my office. I belong here.”
“You know what I mean. You don’t belong in my house.”
“I’m not going to be in your house other than to fix it up. Listen, if you can come up with the money you can buy it after I’ve remodeled.”
“As if I could afford it then. Anyway, it won’t be the same. You’ll come in and destroy the character.”
The frown was back. “I assume you found me on the internet. So you’ve seen my website. Do the houses I’ve flipped look like I destroyed their character?”
Well, no.
“I promise I’m not going to wreck the place,” he continued.
“You’re going to pull up floors, take out counters and change the living room floor plan and...and who knows what else.”
He studied her. “Okay, what would you do to improve the house?”
“I’d leave the built-in china closet, that’s for sure. I bet you were going to take that out.”
“I hadn’t decided.”
“It gives the house character. And you’re probably going to modernize the fireplace. All those house people do it. I’ve watched Flip or Flop.”
The frown was growing.
“Oh, never mind.” She was doing this all wrong. She hadn’t even taken off her jacket.
He laid a hand over hers and sent a jolt zipping along her nerve endings clear to her chest. “I promise I’ll retain the character of the house.”
Was it suddenly hot in here? She freed her hand and opened the jacket. His eyes slid to her cleavage. Oh, Jo, you’re so smart.
“I’m in this business because I love houses and I love fixing them up,” he said, returning his gaze to her face. He looked so sincere.
And maybe he was, but darn it all, why did he have to be sincere about her house?
“I’ve got an idea.”
“What?” she asked.
“Why don’t I stop by one night this week? You can share your vision for the place.”
And show off Close Encounter Outfit Number Two. Perhaps she could convince him to sell to her on some kind of payment plan. Maybe he’d let her rent with an option to buy. Unlike Mrs. Bing, he could probably afford to carry her.
Financially. Not off to bed. Get your mind out of the sheets! “Okay,” she said.
Don’t leave it at that, scolded Marvella. What are you thinking?
That Ben Fordham has great eyes. Those brown eyes reminded her of chocolate. She loved chocolate.
Never mind his eyes! Promise him food. You can poison him.
Poisoning was not acceptable. But food... “I can make dinner,” she suggested. Maybe he had a girlfriend. Maybe he’d think Noel was desperate for a man. Her cheeks began to heat up. “Unless you have, um, unless...”
“Dinner sounds good. How about Friday night?”
Friday night was a date night. He obviously didn’t have a girlfriend.
Excellent, said Marvella. Then you can sleep with him. That’ll sweeten him up.
I’m not pimping myself out for a house, she told both herself and Marvella.
A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Marvella said that a lot in her books, but never in this context.
Noel told her to butt out and stick to helping children in trouble. Then she smiled at Ben. “Thank you. You’re being very considerate.” Even though you did buy my house out from under me.
“I’m not out to make enemies,” he said. “In fact, I’ve never found myself in a situation like this before.”
He was looking at her so earnestly. He sure was...masculine. The sizzle on her face slipped way south. It was time to get out of this very hot office.
Noel stood. “Well, thanks. I guess you know where I live,” she added.
He stood, too. Oh, he was...big. He smiled and all the hot spots got hotter. “I think I can find you.”
She swallowed and nodded. “I’d better go,” she said, backing up. She backed into the door and her face got even hotter. “Um, I’ll see you Friday, then.”
“What time?”
Anytime you want. “Six?”
“I’ll be there.”
She nodded again and then opened the door and hurried out.
Janelle, the secretary/guard, glared at her as she did her jacket back up. “Have a nice day.” Translation: I’d like to poke out your eye with a candy cane.
“Thank you,” Noel said with dignity and left.
Okay, mission accomplished. Sort of.
Sleep with him, urged Marvella. It will help the cause.
She was certainly not going to lower herself to that. But if she could convince him to sell the house to her, if he was willing to be creative and make a deal, maybe they could both end up with a happy New Year.
If not, poison him, Marvella advised.
Right.
Chapter Five (#u6bb90c9d-0f9e-5c55-aa0f-fa78f3b99f22)
Monday meant a school day. Normally Riley was happy to get back to work after a holiday weekend. Not today. A woman shouldn’t have to go to work and see the man-stealer who took her man. A woman shouldn’t have to come into the teacher’s lounge at lunch and find the man-stealer in there feeding her skinny, undernourished body with yogurt, passing up the pumpkin bread Marge Connor had brought in while mere mortals who had no power to resist snagged a piece and ate it to console themselves for their romantic loss.
Riley took her pumpkin bread and her sack lunch and seated herself at the far end of the table, determined to ignore the man-stealer. For her, Emily Dieb no longer existed.
“Hi, Riley,” Marge said from where she stood at the counter, helping herself to a cup of coffee. “How was your Thanksgiving?”
Rotten, thanks to that woman who pretended to be my friend and then stole my fiancé. Riley shot a quick glance in Emily’s direction. Look at her over there, all remorseful and pleading, that sad expression in her eyes, like she really feels bad about what she did.
“It was great,” Riley lied, and then, before Marge could ask for any details on her wonderful weekend with Sean, she changed the subject. “I’m so glad you brought in some of your pumpkin bread.”
“I had some left from the weekend with the kids and I had to get it out of the house.” Marge patted one hefty hip. “There’s been too much on the lips and now it’s forever on the hips.”
“You look fine,” Riley told her. “There’s nothing wrong with looking like a woman.” Instead of a skinny, man-thieving stick.
“Well, that’s kind of you to say,” Marge said. “I really should go on a diet, but I’m not even going to attempt that until after the holidays. Speaking of, how are the wedding plans coming along?”
Riley’s face suddenly burned. “Um, you’ll be getting an email about that soon.”
Marge’s brows knit. “Trouble?”
“No trouble.” Just no wedding. “You know, I’ve got some things I need to do in my room.” With that, she gathered up her turkey sandwich and skedaddled. She was out the door and halfway down the hall when she heard Emily calling her.
“Riley, wait. Please wait.”
She kept walking and now Emily was running. No running in the halls. Riley frowned and kept going.
A couple of little girls passed her. “Ms. Dieb’s running in the hall,” one of them reported.
I’ll send her to the principal’s office. Maybe she’d like to hit on him, add him to her man collection.
“Riley, wait,” Emily said, catching up with her.
Did she really think Riley was going to stand there right in the middle of the hall and chat with her about their reality TV lives? Riley didn’t wait.
Emily fell in step. “Are you ever going to be able to forgive me?”
“At some point, yes. But I’ll never be able to stand being around you. Good luck and happy New Year,” she finished and marched into her classroom and shut the door. Then she sat down at her desk and indulged in yet another good cry. Not that she had more than a few minutes to cry. Recess would soon be over and then she’d have to be on top of her game. The kids would be back in the room, and it would be time to go over math skills.
She looked around at her little kingdom of learning. It held eight tables, each with four chairs grouped around them so students could work together on projects. One side of the room was lined with a shelf of cubbyholes for students to store their coats and backpacks. Then there was the reading corner, with tubs of books and carpet squares for comfy kid seating. The table by the window housed science displays—a small aquarium, a terrarium and now Noel’s rats. Computers sat at the back of the room, and the walls held everything from a whiteboard to a TV, along with posters promoting reading and math skills, plus her holiday decorations. Here in this room, thirty-two children adored her. Here her life was under control. Here was where Emily used to stop by after class and suggest they get a latte at Java Josie’s.
Oh, no. No more thinking about Emily.
Here was where Sean had sent flowers for her birthday.
