It Started At Christmas…. Jo McNally

thankful for that rage right now. It was the only thing keeping her on her feet. Instead of fainting dead away, she yanked her arm free and turned to face the man who’d just sent her panic levels into the stratosphere. Her knees threatened to buckle. Breathing felt like a battle between her lungs and the air she needed.

      “Don’t touch me!” she said with a hiss.

      He released her immediately, but he was now blocking her exit. He was older than her—maybe midthirties—and tall. She was wearing heels, and still her head barely reached his shoulders. His features were sharp and his jaw strong. His eyes were the color of espresso, and thick black hair curled down the nape of his neck. He was dressed casually, as if he’d been working outside and just walked in.

      She swallowed hard and tried to control her pounding pulse. She’d read once that the tiniest animal, when cornered, could become ferocious beyond its physical size. She drew herself to her full height, ignoring the barest hint of a smile that flickered across the man’s face when she pointed her finger and started lecturing.

      “You’d better get out of here while you still have the chance, because Blake Randall will be here any minute now to meet me!”

      His right brow arched sharply, but instead of leaving, he leaned back against the door frame and folded his arms on his chest, a wide smile on his face.

      “Is that right? Blake Randall? Well, that’s interesting. Because my appointment is with a gentleman, not a nosy, trespassing woman.”

      Amanda’s mouth fell open. This was Blake Randall. And she was an idiot. She’d just blown any possibility of getting the job that was her last hope. The thought of crawling back to Kansas in defeat made her skin tight and clammy. She stepped back and bumped against the door, stumbling when it swung further open behind her. She hated this feeling of her feet being encased in cement every time she panicked, leaving her clumsy and slow.

      “Jesus, relax.” His voice lost some of its growl. “I’m just sick of people trying to sneak into this place like it’s some shrine instead of being private property. What do you want?”

      Amanda’s lungs were rapidly constricting. In with the good air, out with the bad. She was having a hard time envisioning anything good in this situation. He ran long fingers through his hair, clearly running out of patience. She blew out another breath and her vision cleared. Her voice only trembled a little.

      “You’re Blake Randall?” She did her best not to grimace when he nodded once in reply. “The door was open, Mr. Randall. I assumed you were inside. I’m your ten o’clock appointment.” She knew she should hold her hand out, but her aversion to touch made her avoid handshakes at all costs. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. “I’m Amanda Lowery.”

      He barked out a laugh. “Do you think I don’t know who my appointment is with? It’s with—”

      “David Franklin of Franklin Interiors. Yes, I know. I used to work with David. I was an associate at the firm. I’m the one who responded to your email.” Someone at the office had taken a little too long closing her email account after she’d left. Randall’s email had seemed like a gift—an answer to her prayers—when it showed up in her inbox a month ago.

      “You responded as David Franklin.”

      “I responded as a representative of the firm.” What she’d done was beyond unprofessional. Probably illegal. But she’d been desperate. She hadn’t actually signed David’s name to the emails, but she hadn’t signed hers, either. She’d deceived this man. But what choice did she have after David smeared her reputation and left her unemployable?

      “So you’re here representing Franklin Interiors and their proposal?”

      “Well…um…no. It was my proposal.”

      “So you work for another firm now, and you’re trying to poach me from Franklin?”

      “Not exactly. I’m…um…self-employed.”

      Panic started whispering more loudly in her head. This was a mistake. What if he called David? What if he called the police?

      Instead, he just laughed. “Wow—you lost your job at Franklin Interiors.” His gaze sharpened. “Fired or quit?”

      “A little of both, I guess.” When she’d confronted David for taking credit for her work, he’d slandered her with their clients. He and she had basically raced to get the words out after a client told her what he’d said. She was pretty sure her “I quit” beat his “you’re fired” by a few seconds.

      “And now you’re bluffing your way into an interview for the renovation of a million-dollar mansion? You look like you’re barely out of college.” He stared at her for a long moment, and she just stared back, unsure if she should flee in embarrassment or stand and fight for the seemingly hopeless chance of getting this job. She pictured herself back in rural Kansas and straightened. She had to fight.

      “I’m twenty-eight. I worked at Franklin for four years. I created the proposal that got your attention and led to this appointment. This house is magnificent, and I really ne—want this job.”

      He snorted. “Magnificent? This pile of rocks is a pain right in my ass.”

      Her panic was briefly forgotten. He had to be joking. This house was… She looked around and wondered once again at the connection she felt to the dusty, neglected structure. This house…was where she needed to be. She had to get this job. He hadn’t thrown her out yet or called the cops, so that was something. He looked around the room as if trying to see what she saw.

      “Everyone in town forced me to keep this place standing, but…”

      Something clicked in her brain.

      “Wait—is this the historic landmark they were talking about saving?”

      “Who was talking?”

      “The lady who owns the coffee shop was telling my cousin and me about it. She said some idiot wants to destroy the resort and a bunch of houses so he can build some awful casino. Everyone in town hates the idea, and hates the guy trying to…” Her voice faded off as she watched a variety of emotions cross his face, from amusement to anger to…regret? Her cheeks flamed. “And that guy would be you, right? You own the resort, too?”

      He gave her a mock bow. “Blake Randall, the villain of Gallant Lake, at your service. But don’t believe Cathy when she says everyone hates the idea. The casino will provide a lot of jobs for people around here if I can ever get approval from Albany.” He frowned. “Cathy and her friends in the Gallant Lake Preservation Society managed to have Halcyon declared a landmark, so I have to put it to use, which is why I asked you…well, not you, apparently…to give me a proposal. Another firm suggested converting this into an office building, and leasing out whatever space we don’t use.”

      “Using this house for offices would be criminal.” She might have been having the worst summer ever, but she knew her stuff when it came to vintage homes like this. It was her specialty, and her knowledge gave her a spark of courage. “This was a family home once, full of love and laughter. It could be that kind of home again.”

      He looked at her as if she’d suddenly started speaking a foreign language. There was a spark of interest in his expression, but then he drew back and shook his head.

      “Look, it took some guts to worm your way into an appointment under false pretenses, and I admire your ambition. But—”

      “You liked my proposal just fine when you thought it came from Franklin Interiors. Have you suddenly stopped liking it?”

      He shook his head. “Your proposal was the best one I received for residential use, but I’m not convinced a twelve-bedroom castle can ever really be a home.” He looked around the dusty living room. “Even if I was, don’t you think this project is a little over your head?”

      “Why? Because I’m