“In the kitchen?”
“Right beside the refrigerator.”
“Convenient.”
“Only if you enjoy bathing while someone makes toast.”
He laughed.
“And Tessa?”
“She designs clothes. Her shop is called Second Chances.”
“Appropriate.”
“She says every dress deserves a second romance.”
Nicholas smiled.
“That's rather good.”
“She's impossible.”
“Sounds familiar.”
Maggie kicked him lightly beneath the table.
Nicholas looked surprised.
Then laughed.
She blushed.
“Sorry.”
“Don't be.”
Their eyes met.
For a moment, the noisy diner seemed strangely quiet.
Then Donna appeared carrying their lunch.
“Here you go, lovebirds.”
Maggie closed her eyes.
Nicholas grinned.
“Thank you, Donna.”
“Anything for you, handsome.”
She walked away.
Maggie stared at her sandwich.
“I'm never coming here again.”
“That's a shame.”
“Why?”
Nicholas picked up his coffee.
“I was thinking we might come back.”
She looked up.
“When?”
He shrugged.
“After you've convinced me not to demolish the theater.”
Maggie smiled.
“So that's what this is?”
“What?”
“An incentive.”
“Does it help?”
“Maybe.”
Nicholas leaned back.
“Then I'll consider it a promising negotiation.”
By Monday, Maggie had discovered that optimism could be a very expensive emotion.
She arrived at Bell & Whitcomb carrying a stack of updated restoration estimates and found Arthur Whitcomb waiting beside her desk.
He was a neatly dressed man in his early fifties, with thinning blond hair, a collection of expensive watches, and the unfortunate habit of speaking to female employees as though they were unusually bright schoolchildren.
“Margaret.”
She looked up.
“Good morning.”
“Come into my office.”
Something in his voice made her stomach tighten.
She followed him past the drafting tables.
He closed the door.
Then held up a newspaper.
A photograph occupied the business section.
It showed Nicholas Sterling at the foundation reception, standing beside a young woman in a red dress.
Maggie recognized herself immediately.
The caption identified her as an independent restoration advocate.
Arthur tapped the photograph.
“Would you care to explain this?”
She folded her arms.
“It's a photograph.”
“I can see that.”
“Then I'm not sure what requires explanation.”
His face tightened.
“Sterling Properties is a potential client.”
“Yes.”
“And you attended a private reception without informing me.”
“I attended on behalf of the Starlight preservation committee.”
“While employed by this firm.”
“On my own time.”