A Lot Like Christmas. Dawn Atkins

operations is a full-time job. So is the general manager’s if it’s done properly.”

      “Calm down, Sylvie. I’m on your side here.” He was trying to mollify her as if she were an angry child who’d lost her Popsicle.

      “Really? Then post my job and give me yours.”

      “That’s not possible at the moment.”

      “Then you’re not on my side.” She turned to go, before she said what she was really thinking. This reeked. She’d worked for every scrap of success and Chase had swooped in and stolen the dream job he thought was no big deal.

      If he ran it the same way he had last time, well, she wouldn’t stand for it. No, she wouldn’t.

      “Hold on,” he said, moving to block her from leaving. “Whatever you’re thinking about this, just stop. We can work this out. I promise you.”

      “What do you want with this job anyway? Don’t you have deals to broker somewhere else?” The words came out snottier than she’d intended.

      “Not at the moment, no,” he said, not seeming offended. “As a matter of fact, we’re starting a new project here. It’s different from what I usually do.”

      “Yeah?” she said. “What is it?” She had to be polite.

      “We’ll be building low-cost modular houses for first-time buyers who lost out in the mortgage crash. We’re calling it Home At Last.”

      “Wow. That is different.”

      “It’s nice to be on the ground with a project, actually building something tangible. Not numbers on paper.”

      “I imagine that must take a lot of time. Starting something like that.” How could he manage the mall, too?

      “My partner Chet handles the day-to-day stuff. My job is getting the investors, which means evening meetings, some showings, phone calls. It shouldn’t interfere with what I do here if that’s what concerns you.”

      “Oh,” she said. “If you’re sure then.” Now what? She wanted to hide somewhere to lick her wounds, but the mall came first. “So, exactly how do you figure we can work this out?”

      Chase looked at his watch, then grimaced. “We’ll go over it all tomorrow. I’ve got to meet with my partner.”

      “You’re leaving? On your first day? This isn’t a job you can just pop in and do for a few hours, Chase. We need a lot more than you gave us last time.” She stopped short, sucking in a breath at what she’d done—conjured up Starr’s illness.

      Pain washed across Chase’s face.

      “I’m sorry. That was the wrong thing to say.”

      He managed a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll start fresh in the morning,” he said. “In the meantime, I need you to get me detailed revenue reports for the past two years, all your notes from the consultant’s visit and her full report, along with anything else that will give me a clearer idea of the mall’s status and revenue potential. Can you have that ready by the morning?”

      “Easily,” she said. Did he doubt her? Was he double-checking her work? Don’t say it, she told herself, gritting her teeth. It was too soon to pick a fight with the man.

      But she wouldn’t let him off easy, either. “If you can wait a moment, I can make you a copy of my presentation to go over tonight. Also, you might want to read through the mall policy manual. I have a great book on mall management you should dig into. You know, to get yourself up to speed.”

      “Tomorrow,” he said on a sigh. “We’ll get into that in the morning.” He looked suddenly weary, as if he’d rather be anywhere but there.

      He doesn’t want the job.

      The idea blasted through her, leaving hope in its wake. Maybe Chase would see that this responsibility was too much to juggle with his new business. Maybe he’d bail and Sylvie would be where she belonged, fully in charge of the mall she loved.

      Right. And maybe the mall Santa gave good little girls what they wanted for Christmas.

      PULLING INTO THE PARKING lot of the high-rise that held McCann Development, Chase left the BMW convertible Fletcher had loaned him and strode inside. He buzzed up the elevator, breezed through the glass-and-brass door and burst into his brother’s office, mad as hell.

      Fletcher looked up from the papers on his desk. “It’s customary to knock,” he said. “That’s why we put in doors.”

      “It’s also customary to get your facts right before you send someone to do a job for you.” He dropped into the leather chair opposite his brother’s fancy mahogany desk.

      “What are you talking about?”

      “That was utter crap about Sylvie moving to Seattle. Worse, she wants the GM job, which, by the way, she’s qualified for. Wait until I tell her we’re considering selling the—”

      “Sylvie’s not getting married? Really?”

      “No, she’s not.” Chase eyed his brother. That was an odd detail to focus on. “Why? Are you interested in her? Still?”

      “No. Of course not.” But Fletcher’s face had turned I-lied red. After all these years. Hmm.

      Though who was Chase to talk? He’d felt sparks the moment he saw her again. And gotten that whole hold-still-and-be-here vibe stronger than ever. Not to mention how good she smelled.

      But he was human and they had history.

      A screwy history, but history nonetheless.

      “That’s what Mary Beth told me and she tracks the social stuff pretty damn close. So Sylvie’s not going to Seattle?”

      “She’s staying right here. Now she wants me to hire a new operations manager and make her general manager.”

      “We can’t afford a new hire and you know it. Believe me, once we tell the tenants we’re selling, she’ll be glad you’re taking the heat instead of her.”

      “That is far from certain, Fletch. Sylvie’s report was impressive. A mall consultant says we’ve got a solid niche as a destination mall. We’ve always made good money out there.”

      “We’re developers, Chase. We don’t belong in retail.”

      “Diversity gives us legs—flexibility and range, too.” He wasn’t about to make a knee-jerk decision or act on assumptions. “Dad might not be so crazy to want to hang on to the profit center.”

      “Come on. You and I both know that for the General this is about Mom. He treats the mall like her shrine.” Pain flashed in his brother’s eyes. A pain Chase knew well himself.

      “That’s not the whole story, Fletcher.”

      “Oh, yeah? He was into the photo albums the other day, Mom’s music on the stereo, moping around, drinking whiskey. Mom’s gone and he’s got to get past it. Selling the mall will help.”

      “He won’t see it like that.”

      “He will when you present the numbers.”

      “Numbers can tell different stories.”

      “So tell the right one. I’m counting on you, Chase.”

      Chase stared at his brother, as immovable as their father, who seemed to think once Chase convinced Fletcher to keep the mall, Chase would stay on as manager. The General had never forgiven him for going off on his own.

      But no way would he stay.

      Chase gathered investors, did deals and moved on. He needed challenge, variety, new horizons. A mall manager was a glorified landlord. Frankly it puzzled him why anyone as smart and talented as Sylvie would settle for something so small.

      “I’ll