Three Christmas Wishes. Sheila Roberts

competition, so I already don’t like you.

      The secretary was only visible from the waist up, but Noel could tell that she’d also been to the Jo Wilton School of Fashion. She was wearing a very professional white blouse similar to the one Jo had lent Noel, and she’d gotten the memo about leaving it unbuttoned low enough to advertise. She wore a fancy gold necklace to fill in the gap and keep the professional vibe going. Her hair was an expensive shade of blond, complete with highlights and she, too, was wearing perfume. It wafted over to where Noel stood hesitating and smacked her in the face.

      Was she a girlfriend or simply a girlfriend wannabe? More to the point, how was Noel going to get this wine to Ben the Bad Boy? If only Marvella would materialize and haul this fake blonde off her chair and out of the office.

      “May I help you?” the secretary asked, her tone of voice adding, Not.

      “I’m here to see Mr. Fordham.”

      A delicately penciled eyebrow shot up. “Do you have an appointment?”

      Crud. She was sunk. Now what? Get in touch with your inner Jo. What would Jo do? Noel raised her chin. “No, I don’t, but when I saw him last night he said to stop by.”

      She was lying! Mom always said nothing good ever came of lying. But this was just a half lie. She had seen him a couple of nights before, so why quibble over details? And what man, if he knew he was going to get a bottle of wine, wouldn’t tell a woman to stop by?

      The guard-secretary frowned. “Have a seat,” she said. “May I tell him who’s here?”

      The woman whose house he’s trying to take.

      Marvella arrived on the scene. Don’t frown. She’ll think you’re competition and that’ll set off her bitch alarm.

      The red bag was most likely already doing that, but Noel pasted a smile on her face. “Noel,” she said and perched on the edge of a fake leather seat, part of a grouping of fake leather seats around a large coffee table strewn with magazines about home improvement. Would he remember her name? If he did, would he refuse to see her? “With his wine,” she added. That might intrigue him enough to lure him out.

      The guard called the inner sanctum. “There’s a Noel here to see you.”

      “With wine,” Noel prompted her.

      “With wine,” the blonde said and scowled.

      A moment later the door to the inner sanctum opened and out stepped Ben Fordham himself. He wore jeans and boots and a casual plaid shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. He raised both eyebrows inquisitively at the sight of Noel. She probably had about one minute before he informed her that he had an important meeting or an appointment with the devil about interest payments on the soul he was selling.

      Noel jumped up from her seat and quickly moved in Ben’s direction. “I thought I might find you here,” she said, keeping her voice light and friendly. Just one house-lover visiting another.

      “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