Читать книгу Three Christmas Wishes - Sheila Roberts - Страница 11
ОглавлениеRiley called Noel shortly after the invaders had left. “How’d it go?”
“He wasn’t fooled. And he wants to buy the house and flip it. He’s talking about taking down walls and ripping out counters and all kinds of things. He’ll ruin its character.”
“Too bad the rats didn’t work.”
“Please don’t say that word,” Noel begged, looking over at the useless rodents in their cage.
“Sorry. I’ll come over and collect them for you.”
“No need. The house thief already did that.”
“He saw the cage?”
“What can I say? I screwed up. It’s just that they had me so icked out I couldn’t concentrate.”
“We’ll think of something,” Riley said. “And I’ll come and get them tomorrow, okay?”
“In the morning?” If she had to look at them all day...
“Yes, and don’t worry. I’m sure this will all work out.”
Perhaps, but meanwhile, she had to be proactive. She said goodbye to Riley then pulled out her laptop and did an internet search for Ben Fordham. She found him under Fordham Enterprises. We Turn Nightmares into Dream Homes, he promised on his website. And there was a picture of the dream-maker himself. He looked like an HGTV star in his jeans and T-shirt and tool belt, with his muscles and dark hair and trust-me smile. He was on the front porch of a pretty Victorian, sitting on the railing, one leg dangling casually. Underneath that was a before-and-after example of his work, two shots of the same house. In one it resembled something out of a Halloween movie, with peeling paint and a front lawn overrun by unruly shrubs; in the other, it had turned into a sweet, two-story charmer with a freshly mowed lawn and flowers blooming along its front walk. Very impressive.
But her house wasn’t a nightmare. And she had her own plans for turning it into a dream home.
She poked around the site, checking out more examples of what he did. Various pages offered visitors a chance to sell a property (You need out, we’ll step in) or buy property (We did the work, you reap the benefits), and his contact information gave not only his email address but the physical address and phone number of his business, as well. She knew that building. It was downtown, around the corner from the Wiltons’ hardware store. It had once been a little on the derelict side, but now housed both his business and a real estate office, plus an escrow company and an interior decorator. Very handy. No doubt he worked hand in glove with the Realtor, and she supposed the home-decorating woman helped him stage his stolen homes.
Stolen was about what they were, she was sure. He probably never paid full market value, probably preyed on poor widows who were desperate for money. Like Mrs. Bing.
Except Mrs. Bing drove a new car and lived in a rambler in a nice neighborhood. Noel didn’t believe she needed the money as badly as she claimed. Of course, in all fairness to Mrs. Bing, you never really knew about a person’s personal finances.
Still, darn it all, she’d been providing the woman with a monthly income in the form of rent for two years now. Why couldn’t Mrs. Bing have given her a chance? Greed. It came down to that.
Well, she wasn’t going to let her house go without a fight.
That’s the spirit, whispered Marvella, who sometimes hung around even when Noel wasn’t working on a story.
She returned to the Fordham Enterprises home page and studied her nemesis. What a phony, insincere smile! She studied that naked ring finger on his left hand. The man was single, which might make him susceptible to female persuasion. A hot outfit, a plate of cookies...
Except, unlike Riley, she was a lousy baker. Okay, then, wine. Most people liked wine and that was more sophisticated, anyway. She knew nothing about it, but there was a new shop in town that sold wine. They could help her choose something classy.
That took care of the bribe. The hot outfit was another matter. The clothes in her closet fell into the lukewarm category.
But Jo the stylist had a whole closet full of clothes that didn’t happen to fit at the moment. And she and Noel were the same size. Noel collected her cell phone and made the fashion equivalent of a 911 call.
“I need wardrobe assistance,” she said, hardly giving Jo time to answer.
“The rats didn’t work?”
“No. And he’s over at Mrs. Bing’s right now, making her an offer she probably can’t refuse.”
“That sucks. Hey, if you need a place to stay while you’re looking for a new house, you can stay with me.”
“That’s really nice of you,” Noel said, “but I intend to stay here. I’m going to talk him out of buying my house.”
“Sounds like it’s too late for that.”
Deep down, Noel had the awful suspicion that her friend was right. “I’ve got to try. Maybe I can convince him to take back his offer.”
“Ah, so when you say wardrobe assistance, you’re thinking wardrobe malfunction.”
“Nothing that extreme,” Noel said. A vision of sexy Ben Fordham tugging at her top and setting a boob free à la Janet Jackson set her face (and other body parts) on fire. Oh, no. We’re on a mission. We’re not going to think about costume malfunctions and sexy men with brown eyes and a black heart. And she certainly wasn’t going to think about those big, strong-looking hands. He probably had big...everything.
Whew! Had Mrs. Bing turned up the thermostat? She walked over to check it. Nope, still set on sixty-eight. So the only thermostat getting turned up was hers. “I just want something sexy. I know you’ve got a lot of great stuff in your closet and we’re the same size.”
“We were, once upon a time, before I morphed into a whale,” Jo said. “Yeah, come on over tomorrow morning. I can fix you up.”
Fix you up, fixer-upper. Yes, she was the human equivalent of a fixer-upper. Her work wardrobe consisted of pajama bottoms and old sweaters, and even when she dressed up no one ever stopped her and asked where she got that cute...anything. No wonder Jo had suggested going to the mall.
“You just need some polishing,” she told herself. Hopefully, Jo could get her good and polished. A hot look combined with a bribe...that might be enough to melt Ben Fordham’s cold, cold heart.
Riley came over to pick up the rats the next morning, and when she learned about Noel’s scheduled makeover, invited herself along. “I don’t have anything else going on,” she said, and her lower lip wobbled.
“It’s okay. You will,” Noel assured her. “We’re going to have a great Christmas and a fabulous New Year’s no matter what.” Even if they were manless and homeless. Don’t think about that!
So, not thinking, Noel drove to Jo’s place, Riley and the rats following behind.
Jo took in Noel’s ancient coat, sweatpants and Uggs when she and Riley walked through the door and frowned. “Does your mommy know you’re out looking like this?” she said, and hauled Noel inside and upstairs to her bedroom, where her bed was covered with all manner of sartorial delights—camisoles, Victoria’s Secret bras and panties, jeans, leggings, blouses, jewelry, tops, sweaters, dresses.
“Better than Nordstrom, huh?” Riley cracked.
“I only need one outfit,” Noel said.
“No, you need a wardrobe. Take off those disgusting clothes.”
Noel obliged, and Jo began grabbing sweaters and blouses and holding them up to her. “No, no, not that... No, not sexy enough... Hmm, might be too small. Oh, yes!” she finally said after holding up a black, bell-sleeved winter top with a sweetheart neckline accented with crocheting around the neck. The crocheting also served as straps. Noel put it on and saw that it left her shoulders exposed and also allowed a peek at her cleavage. “That should do for starters.” Jo handed Noel some tight jeans. “Now, try these on.”
“Maybe we’re not the same size, after all,” Noel said, struggling into them.
“We are. You’re just used to pajamas,” she said, eyeing Noel’s discarded sweatpants with revulsion. “Honestly, I didn’t know they even made those anymore.”
They probably didn’t. Noel had found hers at a thrift store a couple of years ago. “I don’t wear them when we’re out doing things,” she protested.
“You shouldn’t wear them at all. And the way you dress when we’re all out doing things is barely a step above.”
She’d heard that from Jo on more than one occasion.
“It’s okay,” Riley consoled her. “She says stuff like that to me, too.”
“I only speak the truth,” Jo said, frowning at her sister’s jeans and tennis shoes.
As the oldest, Jo had tried to guide them. Maybe they were unguidable.
Noel zipped up the pants and Jo studied her carefully. “Oh, yes,” she said, nodding. “Now you’re starting to look like something this goon might want for Christmas.” She snatched up a pair of gold, chandelier earrings. “Put these on.”
Noel hesitated. “Isn’t that a little, um...”
“No, it’s not. Put them on,” Jo commanded. Noel obliged and she smiled approvingly. “Oh, yeah. Sizzle, sizzle.”
“Sizzle, sizzle is right,” Riley agreed. Jo turned Noel around so she could check herself out in the full-length mirror.
“Oh, my,” Noel said with a smile.
“Just what every man wants on his tool belt,” Jo murmured. “Now, your feet.”
“I can wear those black boots we bought.”
Jo nodded. “That’ll do.” She pointed at the Uggs. “No, wait. Put those back on. They might work. Anyway, you don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard.”
Noel obliged, and Jo nodded again. “Actually, that’s kind of buff and sexy. I think they’ll be fine, for the first encounter, anyway. You can wear the boots another time. Now,” she said, turning back to the pile of clothes on the bed, “what about the outfit for your second encounter?”
Noel wasn’t sure there’d be a second encounter. She wasn’t even sure she could pull off a first encounter. Jo handed her a simple white shirt.
“This,” she said. “And leggings.” She picked up a pair of patterned black leggings. “And the boots.”
“How about this necklace?” Riley suggested, holding up a chunky stone number.
“Definitely. Third encounter wear the heels and this dress.” She handed Noel a black dress with a scoop neck. “Redheads look great in black.”
More jewelry, a Victoria’s Secret bra, a black cashmere sweater, a white blouse—a wardrobe basic according to Jo—a little faux fur-trimmed jacket and Noel was in business. “Thanks,” she said as they loaded her new wardrobe into the back of her car. “I really appreciate this.”
“They’re just hanging in my closet all sad and lonely,” Jo said. “They may as well be out there doing some good. And I hope they do,” she added and hugged Noel. “Wear the coat when you go see him, but make sure you shed it the second you’re in his office. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“And don’t forget to wear makeup. And perfume.”
Perfume. Oh, yeah. That. She had a bit of Viva La Juicy left.
So, she was going to look good, smell good, and bring something good as a bribe. Hopefully, by putting her best foot forward, she could impress him enough to convince him to reconsider buying her house.
She frowned, remembering his comment about price points. Bah, humbug!
Sunday afternoon she made her way to beautiful downtown Whispering Pines in search of the perfect wine for a house thief. Thanksgiving weekend kicked off the holiday shopping season, and it appeared that every business in town (including ones that often closed on Sundays) was open. She passed her favorite bakery, Hey, Cupcake, as quickly as possible, averting her gaze from the display of holiday treats. She’d indulged in eggnog at Jo’s, and Riley, who was in a manic baking phase, had brought her M&M cookies when she came to collect the rats. If she didn’t turn off the eating machine, she’d eat herself right out of Jo’s wardrobe before she even had a chance to use it.
She did stop by Wilton’s Hardware Store to pick up a few replacement bulbs for her Christmas lights. Mr. Wilton, Jo’s father-in-law, was behind the counter and gave her a friendly hello as she approached. He had circles under his eyes and she noticed he took in a deep breath while ringing up her sale, as if he was trying to draw in extra energy. She knew the signs of overwork. She’d done that to herself a few times, staying up late at night working on illustrations for her Marvella books, trying to meet her deadline. She wondered how old he was. Her dad’s age? Older? He had some gray hairs and wrinkles. Did he want to retire?
“Men never want to retire,” Dad often said. Poor Dad.
“Hey, Darrel, what are you doing still hanging around?” called an older man as he entered the store. “Thought you’d be in Hawaii.”
“With a grandkid about to arrive? Are you kidding?” Mr. Wilton called back. “Anyway, who’s got time?” he added with a shrug and a wink for Noel.
“Looks like you’re busy,” she said. The place was full of people, buying everything from chain saws to mechanical reindeer.
“Always,” he said. “And it looks like you’re going to be busy hanging Christmas lights, young lady.” He gave back her credit card.
Young lady, code for I don’t remember your name. Hardly surprising, considering how many people came into the store. She’d been there with Jo a couple of times, but other than that she only came to buy seeds and fertilizer for her flowers from the nursery section. And Christmas lights, of course.
“I like dressing my home for the holidays,” she said, and hoped this wouldn’t be her last Christmas there.
“Be careful hanging them,” he cautioned as he handed over her purchase. “Better yet, send your boyfriend up on that ladder.”
She smiled and nodded as if she did, indeed, have a boyfriend to send up a ladder.
“Us guys are expendable.”
Not as far as Noel was concerned. She thanked him and left with her purchases. Next stop, Cheese and Wine.
She entered the shop and was almost overwhelmed by the huge selection of wines for sale. One corner had a refrigerated case displaying a variety of cheeses, and boxes of crackers surrounded artfully displayed gift baskets on a table in the center of the shop.
Several customers were browsing. One woman was gobbling little cheese bits from a tray of samples. A large man in an overcoat, carrying his purchase in a tall bag, brushed past Noel. She walked over to a shelf and tried to pretend she knew what she was doing.
“May I help you?”
Noel gave a start and turned to see a pencil-thin middle-aged woman, all dressed in black, her dark hair pulled into an elegant upswept style. She looked like a transplant from Paris. Noel took in the cashmere sweater and wool slacks, the simple gold jewelry and black heels. Another Jo Wilton. And here she was in yoga pants, her favorite ratty sweater and an old coat. She hadn’t wanted to waste any of her borrowed finery on a quick run downtown. Now she wished she had.
“I need a bottle of wine,” she said, stating the obvious.
“Did you want a red or a white?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t really drink it.”
This brought a look of disdain from the woman, but she quickly covered it with a smile. “We have some very affordable ones over here,” she said, moving Noel to the wine equivalent of a low-rent district. The way Noel was dressed, the woman probably thought she couldn’t afford much of anything. The woman probably thought right.
“Can I get something decent for twenty dollars?” Noel asked. She preferred to spend ten, but that might look cheap. A cheap bribe wouldn’t be good.
“I think so,” said the woman.
“Never be afraid to seek advice when you need it,” Mom always said.
“This is a gift. For a man. Would you recommend red or white?”
“You can’t go wrong with a nice red. We have some lovely ones from Walla Walla as well as the Yakima Valley.”
“Would you pick one for me?” Noel asked.
“Of course.” The woman plucked a bottle from the shelf. “Here’s a cab from Chateau Ste. Michelle, one of the oldest wineries in Washington. It has plenty of complexity and structure.”
And it was in her price range. “I’ll take it.”
The woman rang up the wine and put it in a cheery red bag with the shop’s gold logo. Perfect. Armed with wine and Jo’s new clothes, Noel would be a force to reckon with.
She hoped.
Monday morning she showered, washed and straightened her hair, put on makeup, and donned her man-killer clothes. Then, with the wine in tow and sprayed with enough perfume that he’d be able to smell her coming for miles, she drove downtown to the office of Fordham Enterprises. A big red truck sat in front of the building, just the kind of vehicle a construction guy would drive. So Ben Fordham was in the building.
She took a deep breath, grabbed her red bag and went into the enemy camp. The first-floor offices were occupied by the Realtor and the escrow company. The second floor held two offices. The name on one door read Elegant Interiors. The other was Fordham Enterprises.
She entered Ben Fordham’s domain and found that he had a guard on duty, a secretary. When Noel envisioned calling on Mr. House Thief, she hadn’t taken into consideration that she’d have to go through a secretary to get to him. She should’ve, though. Now, what to do? The woman was smiling politely but her eyes said, You look like 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 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.
