Книга - A Lot Like Christmas

A Lot Like Christmas
Dawn Atkins


A lump of coal landed in Sylvie Stark's stocking.Bad enough she's been passed over for promotion, now she learns her new boss is none other than her old love, Chase McCann. No matter. She refuses to let him distract her from her job. Easier said than done. The more office time they share, the harder it is to fight the undeniable attraction, and soon her long-ago wishes are coming true.But their clashes over the fate of the business threaten the festive spirit between them, and one of them could end up on the naughty list. Or maybe this Christmas she will get everything she wants. After all, it is the most wonderful time of the year.






Chase ran the back of his hand along her cheek


Sylvie could hardly breathe. Everything in her waited to hear what he would say, what he would do.

He gave in and pressed his mouth to hers, holding motionless, as if waiting for the spark to flare. And oh, did it flare. Just like all those years before, pure desire poured through her.

They were reliving a memory, fixing it. For once in her life, she was going for it. Arousal sparked along her nerves, like strings of twinkle lights. She felt light-headed and pulled back just long enough to take in a gulp of air. With their hands on each other’s faces, their upper bodies close, the embrace was tender and hungry and wild all at once and she never wanted to stop.


Dear Reader,

I have to confess: I’m not a good shopper. I walk into a mall and get overwhelmed. That dates back to childhood when my mother would take me shopping for a special dress and I’d find something in the first store, but she would say, “Shall we keep looking for something better?” Better? There might be something better? So off we’d go, to store after store after store. All that choice wore me out.

So why would a non-shopper write a story about a woman who practically grew up in a mall and loved it like home, its employees like family? Because malls fascinate me. A mall is a world unto itself under an air-conditioned sky. I used to have a fantasy of spending the night in the mall and exploring all the stores. You’ll see that happen in the book. Boy, did I have fun with those pages!

This story is also about family—about how family is what you make of it. With her mother largely absent from her life, Sylvie created a family out of the mall and Chase’s relatives. The book takes place around Christmas, and even I love the crazy, festive fun of a mall at Christmas. Starlight Desert Mall does Christmas right, I think.

So we’ve got malls, family, Christmas and falling in love. Can you see why this story was a delight to write? This is my first book for Harlequin Superromance, so I hope you’ll find it a worthy fit.

Let me know what you think at dawn@dawnatkins.com or visit www.dawnatkins.com.

Best,

Dawn Atkins




A Lot Like Christmas

Dawn Atkins










ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Award-winning author Dawn Atkins has written more than twenty novels for Harlequin Books. Known for her funny, poignant romance stories, she’s won a Golden Quill Award and has been a several-times RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award finalist. Dawn lives in Arizona with her husband and son.


In memory of my mother, the Starr of our family




Acknowledgments


Thanks to Thomas Randall, manager of Paradise Valley Mall, who graciously squeezed my questions into his jam-packed schedule. Any errors are my own.

I’m also indebted to Paco Underhill, whose books Why We Buy: the Science of Shopping and Call of the Mall gave me enough intriguing shopping facts to last a lifetime.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN




CHAPTER ONE


THIS MALL SUCKS!

The spray-painted scrawl across the whimsical pueblo-style exterior of Starlight Desert Mall hit Sylvie Stark like a poison dart. Starlight Desert was her second home, the store owners and employees practically family.

Now the area looked like the aftermath of a frat party. Trash bags from the Dumpster had been torn open, their contents strewn about, and festoons of toilet paper dangled from the thorny mesquite trees and soiled the silver sage hedges.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. In an hour, the mall’s owner, Marshall McCann, would arrive to make Sylvie the new general manager—her dream almost since she started working here at age fourteen.

Currently second-in-command, Sylvie was the obvious choice to replace Mary Beth Curlew, the former GM, who’d left abruptly two weeks ago to care for her ailing mother in Michigan.

Mary Beth did tend to take credit for Sylvie’s work, but she’d surely recommended Sylvie to Fletcher, Marshall’s younger son, the McCann Development liaison to the mall.

Still, Sylvie felt uneasy. Marshall was the decision-maker and he hadn’t been to the mall since before his wife, Starr, passed away from cancer three years ago. The mall had been Starr’s baby.

Sylvie had a complicated relationship with the McCanns. Her mother, Desiree, had been best friends with Starr and when Sylvie moved in with her grandparents due to Desiree’s travel schedule when she was seven, Starr had treated her like family.

Now Sylvie feared Marshall still thought of her as the teenage assistant who served muffins at mall meetings or the little girl sitting quietly at the noisy McCann holiday dinners.

That was why she’d included her work history and accomplishments in the update she’d prepared—to assure Marshall that the mall was in capable hands.

Now this vandalism threatened her moment. It felt as though she were about to host a foreign dignitary with a pile of dirty laundry on the porch. Worse, it might make Marshall believe the slight down-tick in profits meant more than it did.

Just as Sylvie grabbed her cell phone to call the head of security, Randolph emerged from the mall, shoulder to shoulder with Betty, the maintenance manager, loaded with paint gear.

“We’re on it,” Randolph told Sylvie when they got close.

“Graffiti-buster primer,” Betty said grimly, hefting one of the three paint cans. The other two were gold and turquoise, the two colors the ugly scrawl had been sprayed over.

Most malls were blah beige boxes. Starlight Desert was a feast for the eyes—a colorful take on an ancient Hohokam village, with rounded corners, wooden posts and decorative ladders, its walls painted gold, turquoise, salmon and purple, all cozily tucked into the parklike area of shade trees and desert landscaping also owned by McCann Development.

“Marshall is due soon, so just a quick coat for now,” Sylvie said.

Betty nodded and set to work. Two of her crew had spread out to gather the trash, determined as soldiers. Sylvie’s heart lifted at the sight. Everyone who worked here was as devoted to the mall’s well-being as she was.

“Who would do such a thing? Is this a post-Halloween prank?” she asked Randolph.

“It was either those Goth kids I gave hell for banging into your mom’s kiosk or those delinquents from that art group.”

“The art kids love it here.” Sylvie had convinced Mary Beth to lease a hard-to-rent space to Free Arts, which taught art to kids from drug rehab programs or foster homes. They had to earn the privilege of coming. “At least it’s not gang tags.”

“Just you wait,” Randolph said. “That’s coming.”

“Hold on. You’re sounding like Councilman Collins.” A modest increase in home foreclosures and petty crime in the area had Reggie Collins politicking in the press about the need for urban renewal funds and more police patrols.

Everyone loved Starlight Desert, the homey heart of Phoenix’s oldest suburb. If there were problems, Sylvie was determined Starlight Desert would be part of the solution.

“This wouldn’t have happened if I had more guards,” Randolph said. “Leo’s nephew needs a job, you know. We could hire him at least.”

“Let’s just be more watchful for now.” Randolph took his job very seriously, which Sylvie appreciated, though she had to rein him in from time to time. If he had his way, he’d ground every teenager who walked in the place. With ten-year-old twin daughters, the man was terrified of puberty.

“You’ll mention it to Marshall? About the new locks and about replacing the golf carts?” Randolph pushed.

“Let’s get our revenues up first.” She had a plan for that to show Marshall, too. “If you’ve got this handled, I’ll go set up for my meeting.” She patted her laptop, which held the presentation she’d run through at home until she’d nearly memorized it.

“You’ll do great,” Randolph said. “You’re sure dressed like a boss.” He nodded at her outfit with a wistful smile. Recently divorced, Randolph had a bit of a crush on Sylvie they both wisely ignored. “Is that from Margo’s?”

“Yes.” She’d spent too much on the white silk shirt and navy suit, but Sylvie supported mall shops whenever she could. She felt sweat trickle down her rib cage. It was nerves, not heat. Summer had released its death grip on Phoenix and the early November air was pleasant, the sun gentle.

Randolph held the mall door for her and Sylvie stepped inside. Home. The feeling never failed to cheer her.

She paused to breathe in the aroma of flowers and fruit from Heaven Scents, the lotion shop, and pick up light jazz on the loudspeaker. In a couple of weeks the smells would be cinnamon, clove, peppermint and pine and the music would be Christmas songs.

The prospect made Sylvie’s heart swell with joy. The holidays here were so festive, so full of promise and surprise, of people wanting to show their love in tangible ways. To her, Starlight Desert was a lot like Christmas.

Maybe it was weird to love a mall, but Sylvie and Starlight Desert had history. Her happiest memories with Desiree and her grandparents were here. She even had the same birthday as the mall—a sign if she’d ever heard it.

“Want a ride to the stairs?” Randolph asked.

“Just to the bakery to pick up my order, please.” She climbed into Randolph’s security cart, happy not to scurry the length of the mall in her new pumps and the itchy lace-topped stockings Margo had talked her into instead of her usual sensible panty hose.

They rolled past the pet store and Sylvie craned her neck for a good-luck look at the puppies in the window. They were Cavalier King Charles spaniels and cute as buttons. She’d given them all reindeer names in honor of her favorite season.

Randolph hit the brakes, and Sylvie was rocked forward and back. “Want to pick one out? Jed would give you a good price. He needs the room for the rescued dogs.”

“I can’t have a pet,” she said, watching her favorite, Dasher, tumble over the one she’d named Rudolph for his very pink nose. “I’m here twelve hours a day. He’d be alone too much.”

“That’s the point, Sylvie. You deserve more of a life. A dog, a husband, kids.” His kind eyes looked her over.

“I’ve got plenty of time for all that.” She was only twenty-nine. She waved her hand at the distant prospect of a family. Frankly, since Steve left for Seattle three months ago, she’d been glad to reclaim her free time. Their breakup had been amicable and she’d visited him in Seattle. The sex had been nice, but relationships needed too much nurturing. That was tough enough when you lived in the same city but nearly impossible long-distance. The truth was she didn’t have space in her life for anything serious just yet.

“Don’t wait too long. That’s all I’m saying. Marriage is a wonderful thing. I wish I’d appreciated the good times when I had them.”

“Did the girls’ visit go better this time?”

“Yeah, thanks to you. We played that board game all weekend.”

The twins had been bored during their previous visit to Randolph’s new bachelor apartment, so Sylvie had given them the game as something they could all do together. “It was Toy Town’s top seller, so I thought it might work.”

“You always take care of us.”

“Just doing my job, Randolph,” she said. “We’re all in the Starlight Desert family. You can let me off here.” She bounded away before he could get mushier. Or, worse, romantic.

Breathing in the sweet and yeasty smells of Sunni’s Bakery, she bopped into the kitchen for her order of the award-winning cranberry-nut scones she knew Marshall liked, then dashed up the stairs to the mall offices.

Once she had her PowerPoint presentation set up, Sylvie left the refreshments for Cyndi, the GM’s assistant and receptionist, to arrange, and dashed out to check on the cleanup effort.

When she got there, she could barely see where the new paint had been added and the crew was prying off the last of the toilet paper from the sage bushes.

Spotting a few streamers at the top of a mesquite tree, Sylvie braced a ladder against the trunk and climbed up to retrieve them.

The damned paper was just out of reach. She stretched higher, but fell partly into the scratchy branches. Yikes. Her heart racing, she lifted a leg to balance herself.

Thank God there was no one below her to get flashed.

“Can I help?”

The voice came from beneath her. Sylvie cringed, then twisted to see who might have glimpsed her panties.

Chase McCann, Marshall’s older son and Sylvie’s first crush, grinned up at her from the bottom of the ladder. What the hell? The man did investment deals all over the U.S. and Europe and was rarely in town.

“Chase? What are you doing here?”

“Helping you, looks like.” Humor danced in his dark eyes, so he’d definitely seen. Damn.

He braced the ladder, forcing her to climb down into his arms, while he looked her over, not the least apologetic that he’d perused her underwear.

“You hurt yourself?” he asked, checking her out in that amused older brother way he’d always had with her.

Except that one night.

That one fizzled-out fire of a night.

Her twenty-first birthday and she’d intended to lose her virginity to him until he figured out what she was doing and backed away as if she were contagious or radioactive or both.

“Not at all. I’m perfectly fine.” The backs of her hands stung from scrapes and she’d snagged her jacket, but no way would she admit that.

“You’ve got…leaves.” Chase reached over and tugged mesquite twigs from her curls.

“Thanks.” She stepped back, needing distance from the man and to retrieve the tatters of her dignity.

“You’re all dressed up.” He shaped his hands in a body curve, not sexual at all, but his golden-mocha eyes held her tight. He had a way of really looking, as if he knew her well and was damned glad about it. Chase was a charmer, for sure.

He looked good in trendy jeans and a black microfiber shirt that molded itself to his chest. He clearly squeezed gym time into his jet-setting party schedule. Mary Beth kept Sylvie updated on his exploits through Fletcher.

“I’ve got a meeting.” She looked at her watch. Uh-oh. She had to get upstairs.

“I’ll get that.” He nodded up at the fluttering toilet paper she’d been unable to grab. “You can head in. Dad’s already there.”

“He is? Damn. Thanks.” She spun on her heels and ran. She was halfway down the mall before she realized Chase had never answered her question: Why was he here?



FROM THE TOP OF THE LADDER, Chase watched Sylvie take off, blond curls bouncing, backside firm in that tight skirt. Hardly any jiggle to it. Mmm, mmm, mmm.

Distracted, he nearly took a tumble himself. Focus, bro.

He grabbed the fluttering toilet paper and lowered himself to the ground.

The stockings had been a surprise. He’d have pegged Sylvie as a bare-legs girl—practical, simple and easy.

She did need help, Fletcher was right about that. Why the hell was she out here doing yard work in a suit?

She seemed worried and looked exhausted, probably from juggling two demanding jobs.

According to Fletcher, she was eager to join her boyfriend in Seattle, so Chase taking over the GM job would be a relief to her. Funny, but Sylvie didn’t strike him as someone who would arrange her life around a guy, but people changed, he guessed.

She was still a wound-up coil of energy, for sure, with a spark in her green eyes and a plan cooking every second. She still had that steady serenity about her that he’d loved. She made him want to slow down and just pay attention.

Even flustered, falling into a tree, flashing the world her underthings, she’d remained her solid self. Ah, Sylvie. He had to smile. She always made him smile.

He needed it, too. Chase’s focus in Phoenix was getting his new project off the ground, but his father and brother were in a tug-of-war over the fate of the mall, and Fletcher had asked Chase to bring his dealmaker eye to the situation.

If his family needed him, Chase was there, regardless of the personal land mines he’d have to dodge.

Bailing Sylvie out was a nice bonus.

Chase handed the ladder off to a worker and tossed the paper in the trash on his way into the mall.

He stepped inside and was hit with sick dread, reminded instantly of the months he’d run the mall once his mother became too weak to make the drive. He’d been barely there, a ghost, going through the motions, his attention on his failing mother. The mall was her joy.

It was named after her because she was the light of their father’s life—all their lives, really. Starr had smoothed Marshall’s rough edges and oiled the friction between the two brothers, building a decent family out of the four of them. After she died, they’d fallen apart, bumped heads, scraped words, grieving in their separate ways.

If emotions ruled, they couldn’t sell this place fast enough to suit Chase. But he did business based on facts, not feelings. So Chase would gather the data, drill down to the bottom line, then lay out the case for either keeping the mall or selling it based on what he found.

Which likely wouldn’t resolve the issue. Fletcher was as stubborn as their father, whom they called the General. Marshall would never sell away his wife’s dream while Fletcher was convinced that selling was the only way to go.

Chase took the stairs to the mall offices, where his father stood in the doorway to the meeting, munching on a pastry, a china cup puny in his big hand.

“You’re holding up the show, son,” he boomed, his voice as big as his presence. Marshall McCann took up a lot of space. He motioned Chase inside.

Sylvie looked startled to see him. “You’re sitting in? Oh. Okay.” She bit her lower lip, a move Chase felt below the belt. Sylvie had the most kissable mouth he’d ever tasted, before or since that ill-advised night.

“Grab him a chair, would you, hon?” his father said to Sylvie. “And some of this good coffee, too.”

“That’s not her job,” Chase said, shooting Sylvie an apologetic look. “I can get my own coffee.” He helped himself to a scone while he was at it and pulled up a chair.

Sylvie stood there looking stunned. What the hell?

“You all right?” he asked her, munching on the pastry. God, it was delicious. Tangy and moist. Sunni Ganesh knew how to roll dough, for sure.

“The team’s on the field, let’s put the play in motion,” his father said, rolling his hands like a referee.

Good grief. The man had gone from gruff to sexist to clownish in a few short words.

“The team?” Sylvie’s smile went stiff as plaster.

“That’s right,” his father said. “Team Starlight Desert Mall. Sylvie, meet your new head coach. And, Chase, Sylvie’s your able assistant coach. Let’s kick off.”

“Head coach?” Sylvie repeated. “Does that mean…?” She turned to Chase. “You’re the new general manager?”

“That’s the plan,” his father answered for him, beaming.

“Oh.” Sylvie looked like she’d been punched in the gut. “I didn’t realize…” So much for easing her burden the way he’d expected. Judging from her stricken face and the storm clouds in her green eyes, Chase had just gone from hero to villain in ten seconds flat.




CHAPTER TWO


MARSHALL HAD GIVEN CHASE her job. Rocked by the news, Sylvie bumped the table, jarring the computer mouse so the first slide of her presentation flashed on the screen.

It was a photograph of all the store owners grouped in front of the mall wearing sunglasses. Underneath, the caption read, The Future’s So Bright, We Have To Wear Shades.

Meanwhile, Sylvie’s future had just gone black.

Her loyalty, devotion, hard work and brilliance meant nothing. Marshall trusted family over her and that hurt. Bad.

“Sylvie? Are you okay?” Chase asked.

“Sorry. Yes. Let’s, um, get started, shall we?” She would go through her presentation and figure out a solution as she went along. She managed a smile at her audience, Chase and Marshall, who would determine her fate, her heart just aching.

“In tough economic times, shoppers must be selective about where they shop and how much they spend.” She somehow kept her voice steady, her tone upbeat. As she spoke, she clicked through slides of the stores, one at a time, each with its owner in smiles and sunglasses. She’d been so proud of this presentation.

Now she just felt sick.

“Weary of huge malls, with their generic stores and indifferent salespeople, today’s shoppers want a place where cheerful, caring employees guide them to the goods they want at the prices they need. Just like the famous Cheers pub, they want to go where everybody knows their name.” She paused.

“And where is that?” She tried for the grin she’d planned, but her face muscles lagged. “Starlight Desert Mall, of course, where our forty shops are one-of-a-kind, where every salesperson is eager to assist, where prices are fair and customers are treated like royalty.”

Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, so she took a sip of water. “And how do we know this? We asked our customers!” She clicked through several charts from a recent survey and summarized the positive findings.

Next came the tough part—the revenue dip.

She flashed to the graph with its visible down-tick. “Though the general economic downturn has resulted in a slight drop for us, we’ve replaced four of the six lost tenants and in a blip of time we’ll hit our financial stride again.”

She paused. “However, to be certain we were on firm ground, last week I met with a top mall renovation consultant and she declared us solidly positioned to survive the downturn. Here are some excerpts of her report.”

Sylvie flashed quotes about the mall’s stability, its unique niche, its staying power.

She glanced at Marshall, who was nodding along, clearly impressed. Chase’s face was neutral. Should that worry her? Maybe he just didn’t care. This was hardly his area of interest. He’d been a piss-poor manager those months he’d been in charge after Starr got sick, hardly there and unresponsive when he was. The rest of the team had soldiered on, leading themselves.

And now he would be her boss. She made a fist of her nonmouse hand to contain her frustration.

“Starlight Desert is what’s known in the industry as a ‘destination mall,’ she continued. “People don’t just go to the mall. They go to Starlight Desert. They know they’ll get a special shopping experience within these colorful walls. That’s why, in these difficult times, while generic malls lose revenue or close their doors, Starlight Desert will not only survive, we will thrive.” She paused for a breath.

“Excellent presentation,” Marshall said, pushing himself heavily to his feet. “Thank you, Sylvie.”

“Oh, I’m not finished yet.” She smiled at him.

“That’s fine. I’ll let you and Chase carry on from here.”

“You’re leaving?” She was stunned.

“I think that’s best.” He looked briefly around the room. “Starr surely did love this place.” He cleared his throat, his smile wistful.

But he couldn’t leave. Not when she’d worked so hard. “Please stay, Marshall. I’m nearly finished.” She held her breath, her heart banging her ribs, waiting for his answer.

“Five minutes,” he said sternly, lowering himself again, his bushy eyebrows dipping into a frown. Marshall did not like to be disagreed with. Eccentric, obstinate and cranky, he gave Fletcher, his second-in-command, hell, according to Mary Beth.

“Thank you.” Sylvie’s pulse raced. Make it good. Make it count. “The Black Friday promotion I’ve planned, ‘A Starlight Desert Christmas,’ will dramatically boost our revenues, but I’ll save that portion for another time—” she clicked quickly through those slides “—and move straight to what’s most crucial now—mall leadership.”

She stopped at the slide that showed her career path, from gift wrapper, to mall maintenance crew, to cashier at the card shop, then hobby shop manager, GM secretary, marketing assistant, and finally operations manager for the past two years, where she handled the budget, maintenance, capital outlay and more.

Marshall seemed restless, and Sylvie heard her voice tighten with tension as she explained how she’d cut expenses, negotiated discounts with vendors, met tenant needs in a timely fashion, been active with the Retail Association and coordinated community events—a heart-healthy foods cook-off, a karate kick-a-thon for cancer, a community theater production and a skateboard competition.

These tasks were Mary Beth’s responsibility, but Sylvie had taken the lead, assisted by Olive, their part-time marketing assistant. Sylvie, like Starr before her, believed Starlight Desert should be as good a neighbor to the community as it was a family to the employees and shop owners.

She clicked to the final slide of her and Sunni outside the bakery, Sunni with a basket of scones on one hip, sunglasses on the tops of both their heads, holding up red umbrellas on which Sylvie had stenciled The Starlight Desert Family: Together we weather any storm.

Her cuticles still sported black spray paint from stenciling an umbrella for each tenant. She’d planned to hand them out on her walk-around announcing her new job.

Then she delivered her bottom line: “I hope you can see that with my skills, experience and commitment, I’m uniquely suited to lead the Starlight Desert family through the economic storm into its bright and sunny future.”

She stopped, her pulse throbbing in her ears, waiting for Marshall’s reaction. He looked bewildered and so did Chase.

Eventually Marshall spoke. “We’re kind of caught off guard here, Sylvie. We hoped you’d stay on as operations manager as long as you remained in Phoenix.”

“As long as I remained? What does that mean?”

“Mary Beth let Fletcher know you were headed for Seattle. There’s someone special there?” He smiled faintly.

Mary Beth told Fletcher about Steve? “Not anymore, no. I mean, we dated, but… Never mind.” No way was she discussing her love life with the McCanns. “The point is I’m not leaving.”

“Well, then, that’s good news for us. You’d be tough to replace, in point of fact.” Marshall seemed to hesitate. He glanced at Chase, then cleared his throat again. “Which is why we’d like to, uh, offer you a bit of a salary increase.”

“That’s nice and all, Marshall, and I know we’d have to hire someone for my old job, but I’d happily train that person.” She smiled, forcing more confidence into her voice than she felt. “With the holiday season approaching, we need strong, knowledgeable leadership. And that would be…me.”

“No can do, Sylvie. I’m sorry. We feel this is best.”

“I have to respectfully disagree. I—”

“Let me tell you a personal story that might help you,” Marshall said. “When I was a young man, I worked as a clerk in a drugstore. I loved the job and before long they offered me a position as shift manager. I jumped at it—it was more money, more responsibility, more prestige. The only problem was—” he paused for effect “—I hated it. I was a terrific cashier, but a miserable manager. I should have stayed with what I loved, with what I was good at. Do you see my point?”

“I’d be great as GM,” she said woodenly, feeling the ground slide beneath her. She was lost. “With all respect to Mary Beth, I’ve already taken on many of her tasks.”

“And we appreciate that. You’re tremendous at what you do, so we want you to keep doing it. And at a higher salary, now, I insist.” He wagged a finger at her. “I’ll let you and Chase decide on the proper amount.”

“It’s not about the money, Marshall,” she said, her mind a riot of arguments and despair. Marshall didn’t believe she was up to the job and that broke her heart. She hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“I’m sure you’ll come to see this arrangement is best for all concerned.” He stood, signaling the end of the discussion.

Not for her. For her it was the worst. Her throat burned and she’d dug half-moons into her palms with her nails.

“Can we count on you to stay with us? I’m sure MegaMalls would snap you up in a Mall-of-America minute.”

“I’m happy here, Marshall. And I’ll do what’s best for the mall.” Her insides seemed to sag like her spirits.

“We wouldn’t expect anything less. Hell, you’ve been practically part of our family.” Marshall leaned forward for another scone. “These things are sinful. Great coffee, too.”

God, he did think of her as the snack girl.

“I’ll leave you two to work out the playbook.” He lumbered out the door without looking back.

If only Starr were alive. Starr would have known what was going on, how hard Sylvie worked, how qualified she was. Starr would have fixed this.

Water wobbled in Sylvie’s eyes, but she would not let one tear drop in front of Chase, who stood and joined her, his expression uneasy and full of pity.

“Look, I’ll be counting on you a lot, Sylvie,” he said, as if that made it better. “If you want we can comanage the place. How’s that? The title’s not a big deal to me.”

Anger flared. “Well, it is to me. It’s a huge deal to me. And as far as comanaging goes, 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 do a complete analysis, Fletcher. As I told you.”

“Wait until you talk to the broker. Now is the time to sell. I’m talking a bidding war here. You’ll see.”

“He could be blowing smoke to get our business.”

“We split the proceeds three ways, remember,” Fletcher pressed. “Don’t tell me that after Nevada you don’t need the cash.”

The jab hit home and Chase flinched. “I don’t need the mall proceeds to survive.” Though the failure of Home at Last in Las Vegas had hit him hard in more ways than financial.

“I realize that,” Fletcher said, softening his tone. “How’s it going for you here? You’re out in the far west valley?”

“Yeah. There are the usual hassles, but Chet’s managing the day-to-day operation. I’m getting investors.” The pieces had come together quickly, considering all the McCann Development connections.

“You trust him? After what he pulled?”

“He didn’t pull anything. We were both swindled.” Chet had accepted the builder’s word on permits and clearances and Chase had let it slide. The builder skipped town with half their capital and they lost the rest when inspectors forced them to raze what had already been built. They’d trusted good intentions, when they’d needed hard proof. Chase had learned his lesson—never let his heart override his business sense. This time they were crossing all t’s, dotting all i’s.

“The lawsuit’s been called off?”

“Yes.” Only Chase’s negotiations skills and firm commitment to repay them had kept the furious investors from filing suit. He and Chet would have won—there were no guarantees in this business—but it would have been a waste of time and money for everyone involved.

“Good, because the last thing we need is legal bills.” Fletcher looked suddenly bone-weary.

“What’s up with you?” Chase leaned forward. “The truth now.”

“Nothing.” Fletcher blew out a breath. “I’m leveraged is all. We’ll be okay.” He searched Chase’s face as if deciding whether or not to confide in him. “See, I bought into an assemblage in Chandler right before the bubble burst—without getting the General involved. I’ve been scrambling to make up for it, but so far no luck.”

“I know a limited partnership looking for property near high-tech plants.”

“Not the guys who want to sue you, I hope.”

“Hey, play nice. No. Different group. I pitched Home At Last to them, but it’s too slow-growth. I might talk your property up…that is, if it’s not too bone-headed.”

Fletch smirked at the return jab. “You’ve got enough on your plate already. I’ll work it out.” He sounded more discouraged than Chase had ever heard him.

“Let me help. This is what family does.”

Fletcher tapped his pen against his blotter. “Okay. Yeah, I’d appreciate you putting in a word. The General takes it better if I have a solution when I break a problem to him.”

“Hell, you’re partners. Equals. Don’t let him second-guess you.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t deal with him every day.” Unlike Chase, Fletcher had stayed on to fight the losing battle for their father’s approval.

“If you hate it, leave. You don’t have to stay with the company to prove you love the guy. Even if that’s what he expects.”

They locked gazes again, the old resentment hanging like stale smoke between them. Chase took off. Fletcher stayed. Fletcher believed Chase got more slack with the General because he was first born.

The bitter truth was that no one got slack from Marshall McCann.

Fletch broke the gaze-lock first. “I don’t hate it. I run most of the operation.”

“He could bring someone else on board, if you wanted to do something on your own.”

“He’d never trust anyone outside the family. We have enough trouble with him second-guessing our contractors. I’m not going anywhere. I have no secret unfulfilled dreams.” Like you.

Chase chalked the sarcasm up to his brother’s financial worries. “I’ll help where I can. I’m here now.”

“Yeah, you are.” Fletcher managed a faint smile. “You being around has cheered him up, at least.”

“Not so I’ve noticed.”

“That’s the General. He can’t let on he’s pleased to the one who pleased him. You know that.”

They both shrugged, regarding each other with the familiar sense of being comrades-in-arms against their difficult father.

“If it helps, tell him the Chandler buy was my idea,” Chase said with a half smile. “He’d be pleased to have another example of my poor judgment. He hasn’t let up about Nevada once. He somehow thinks that screwup will finally scare me back home.”

“Will it?”

“No way. As soon as this is over, there’s a limited partnership investment deal in Portland they want me in on.”

“Yeah?”

“Meanwhile, I’ve got Sylvie to handle. She’s hurt and angry and I need her cooperation to do this right.” Far from being relieved to have Chase’s help, she seemed to doubt his competence based on those bad months three years ago.

“You’ll work it out, I’m sure. Frankly it wouldn’t hurt her to move on. Mary Beth says she lives and breathes the mall. She needs a personal life.” Fletch shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable that he’d said all that about Sylvie. He’d obviously been doing some thinking about her.

“Like you should talk. All you do is work, Fletcher. You’re just like Dad before Mom humanized him.”

Fletcher shrugged off his words, so Chase poked at him some more. “The Seattle guy’s out of the picture with Sylvie now. Maybe you should ask her out.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Fletcher’s brows shot up. He looked like someone had splashed his face with cold water.

“You do still have a thing for her.”

“Are you nuts? That was years ago…almost a decade.” But Fletcher was getting redder by the second.

“Did you even ask her out back then?”

“Once, yeah. She wasn’t into it.” He looked down at his desk.

“Things change. Feelings change.”

“Not Sylvie’s. Not about that.”

“If that’s true, get out there and find someone else. Fall in love, get married, get yourself a picket fence.”

Fletcher regarded him steadily. “You first, big brother.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Right back at you. And I date plenty. Not by your standards, but who could keep up that pace?”

“My reputation far exceeds my deeds, trust me.”

“Whatever. Anyway, I’ve got work to do here.”

“So do I. I’m heading out to Home at Last.”

“Watch the photo radar with my car. It’s easy to speed with that much horsepower. They’ll mail the ticket to me.”

“If they do, I’ll pay for it.”

“Oh, you bet you will.” Chase was glad to see the edge back in his brother’s attitude. He hated to think that money troubles and the General had him so beaten down.

“I’m impressed you bought a convertible, dawg. Pretty impractical for Arizona. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

“Say hello to Sylvie for me,” Fletcher said, ignoring the tease.

“Yeah?” Chase lifted a brow.

“We’re friends, Chase. I can send greetings to a friend. I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

“Stop by the mall and say hi yourself. You’ll be impressed…with what she’s done with the mall, I mean.” He gave an exaggerated wink.

“Same old Chase.” Fletcher shook his head. “I’ll see you at supper. Nadia’s cooking your favorites as a welcome home.”

“My favorites? I didn’t know I had any.” Chase shrugged. “Tonight’s no good. Or tomorrow. I’ll ask her to push it forward.”

“You’re a busy guy.”

He was, but once he got in the car, Chase found his thoughts gravitating to Sylvie.

She was as sexy as ever, trim and curvy, with all that energy. Her hair had deepened from a light corn syrup to a dark honey, and her voice held more authority, but her eyes threw the same green sparks.

Her mouth was still built for sin, with a plump bottom lip and a dip in the top one that created a heart-shaped pillow he wanted to rest his mouth on for hours. Maybe days.

She smelled good, too. What was it? Fruit and spice? Cherry? Something edible anyway.

She had more self-confidence these days. She knew what she wanted. Like the mall job, for one.

How about in bed? Oh, yeah. He’d bet she knew exactly what she wanted in bed. Unlike that long-ago night.

Forget that night. It was old news and wrong even then.

Wrong because of the tequila, wrong because it was Sylvie’s first time, wrong because Chase never stuck around, wrong because Fletcher wanted her, too.

Growing up, she’d been like a little sister—big-eyed and eager, warm and sweet, quietly busy and always thinking.

If only he’d left that alone.

But it had been her twenty-first birthday and she’d been so sad when her mother didn’t show. He’d had to cheer her up. And if it hadn’t been for those damned peach margaritas she kept ordering he would have kept his hands to himself. He knew better. Hell, he was six years older.

Somehow, before he knew it those lips of hers were in kissing range and he was a goner. He just wanted to wrap her in his arms and make love to her all night.

He’d hurt her feelings when he stopped. But better she know he was a jerk up-front than find out later when he left, which he always did. Chase moved on.

Sylvie stuck around.

Hell, she was still at the mall.

As soon as he settled this crisis and got Home at Last off the ground, he’d be out of here. He could hardly wait.

Being home made him feel suffocated.

Tomorrow, he’d do his best to show Sylvie he wasn’t such a bad guy to work with. He’d keep the possible sale of the mall to himself until he had preliminary data and a sense of the real estate market. No point breaking her heart again if selling was out as an option.

Hell, maybe they’d enjoy working together.

He pictured her on that ladder, flailing around, flashing those lacy stockings at him. He’d have preferred bare legs…nothing between his hand and her soft skin….

A horn honked and he realized he’d slid lanes.

Down, boy.

He’d better keep himself in check around her. He doubted there was any danger from her side of the sexual fence. At the moment, Sylvie saw him as the enemy. And depending on what he decided in the next few weeks, she just might be right.




CHAPTER THREE


WHEN SYLVIE STEPPED into the mall at seven-thirty the next morning, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” filled the air with its cheerful advice. The words hit home.

That was exactly the attitude she would take today. Like she’d told Marshall, she would do what was best for the mall. And what was best for the mall was Sylvie in charge. All she had to do was prove that to Chase and she’d be home free.

Don’t worry, be happy.

Standing there, the feeling of home like a hot bath of Heaven Scent lavender salts, Sylvie surveyed her domain. Starlight Desert was small for an enclosed mall, just three hundred thousand square feet, floored in homey Saltillo, not glaring marble, the ceilings impressive, but not echo-cold.

In the center island, the banana trees, palms and bright flowers gleamed due to the careful care Betty’s crew gave them. As a teenager working maintenance, Sylvie used to pretend she was in a jungle when she watered and dusted them.

As she headed down the mall, a prickle of awareness made her look up to find Chase watching her from the second-floor landing to the office. She forced a smile and a wave, annoyed that her body automatically went all tight and warm and interested, despite the misery the man was causing her.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she smiled again, determined to stay cool and breezy, even though being near him made her tingle. “I wanted to apologize for any harshness I showed yesterday,” she said.

“I understand. You were shocked and hurt.”

“I was surprised,” she corrected, uncomfortable with her reactions being laid out so boldly. It made her sound weak and not very managerial. “Caught off guard. Especially since the decision was based on a misunderstanding about my plans.”

And the fact that Marshall thought her only capable of pouring coffee and making PowerPoint presentations.

“I can’t do my job without your help, Sylvie. So, how about a fresh start?”

“I’m sure we both want what’s best for the mall.”

“Of course.” Something flitted behind his eyes, a difference of opinion, a doubt that raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

He held out his hand. “It’s good to see you, Sylvie. It really is.” The confession seemed pulled from him against his will.

“It’s good to see you…too,” she said, taking his hand. His fingers were warm and strong, making her feel safe and desired and turning her knees to noodles….

Was she holding on too long? Not quite sure, she released her grip.

“I won’t leave you hanging like before,” he said.

“That was thoughtless of me to say, Chase. Starr was so sick. You had her on your mind and—”

“Let’s not,” he said.

“Okay, but I just… I would give anything if she hadn’t… I just miss her.” They’d lost so much when they lost Starr. Her gentle ways, her big-as-life smile, her kind words that hugged them close.

“Hey, hey, fresh start now,” Chase said, but she caught the flash of sadness before he blinked it away. “This could be fun, you know,” he said, giving her his charming grin. He had perfect teeth, white and straight except for a tiny crossover in front she’d always loved. A single flaw in all that perfection was really quite sexy.

Sylvie forced herself to focus. “Fun? I suppose so. If you enjoy twelve-hour days, troubleshooting that never ends and checklists on top of checklists, especially with the Black Friday promotion coming up.”

“Lead the way,” he said, motioning her ahead of him down the hall. She took him into Mary Beth’s office, then stopped cold. She’d forgotten the personal items she’d brought here when she’d assumed the job was hers—photographs, a gold pen set thank-you award from the Retailers Association, her leather planner and her Christmas cactus plant.

Hot with embarrassment, she gathered the plant and pen set. “Let me get these things out of your way.”

“Hang on.” Chase picked up the tri-fold photo frame and studied the pictures. “Graduation?” he said, looking at the one of her in cap and gown with her grandparents. They’d been killed in a car accident a few months later.

“Yep.” She reached for the frame, but Chase was now studying the middle picture—her and Desiree on Sylvie’s birthday four years ago, just after Desiree returned to Phoenix for good.

“Your mom, right?” He lifted his gaze to Sylvie’s face. “Same eyes and nose. Not the mouth so much. Your lips are…” He looked at them, licking his own, as if he wanted a taste of hers.

“Mine are…?” she prompted, getting that tingle again, her knees giving way just a little.

“Uh…different.” He blinked and it was over, like a light had been snapped off. “And this one’s the big party.”

“Starr took that shot.” Starr had set up Sylvie’s twenty-first birthday party at a restaurant, always doing what she could to fill in for Sylvie’s missing family.

“That was some night,” Chase said, shaking his head.

She cringed. Chase had caught her crying outside the ladies’ room after her mother called to say she’d missed her flight. “I don’t know why I was so upset. Desiree is Desiree. She came the next day with the handmade shawl she’d ordered for me, which was what made her miss her plane.” She shrugged.

“You wanted your mom there on your birthday. Of course you’d be upset.” Chase’s dark eyes held her, told her to let herself off the hook, something she rarely did.

“Anyway, that was a long time ago.”

“The dancing was fun,” he mused, dragging her back there. Let’s keep the party going, he’d said to ease her distress. At the club he took her to, she’d drunk more peach margaritas. They’d been dancing close, teasing each other, when their eyes met and locked and Chase had kissed her.

Desire had struck like the flare of a match, so bright it hurt. She’d felt unstoppable drive and aching need and triumph. Chase wanted her as a lover, not a kid sister. Hooray.

She’d wanted it, all of it, naked bodies sliding together, sex and more sex. Her first time for the whole glorious act of love, though she wouldn’t tell him that embarrassing detail.

Later, at her apartment, she’d been only halfway out of her dress when he somehow figured it out. Like there was a big red V on her forehead.

He’d stopped, then lifted her sleeves back onto her shoulders, zipped her up and patted her. Patted her.

She’d felt exactly like what she was, a nervous virgin.

The memory made her shudder.

“The drinking not so much.” She closed the frame with a sharp snap, then added it to the pile of belongings she hoped she’d soon be setting up in here for good.

Chase looked thoughtful, when she turned back, as if he was still thinking about that night. “Did you see the reports I sent you?” she asked, sticking to business.

“Did I…what? Oh, yes, I did.”

“You’re after net operating income?”

“Exactly.”

Unlike in residential real estate, where value was based on comparable sales, commercial property value was based on cash flow. Every dollar of increased revenue meant ten dollars in increased value due to the capitalization rate.

“There might be one final report on Mary Beth’s system,” she said. “She has all the material I sent you, as well.”

“That’s great, except I can’t make sense of her computer files. Any clues?”

“She had a quirky setup. I planned to organize it better. Back when I thought I had the job.”

“For now, save me some time and show me what you know.”

“Sure.” She dropped into the chair that should have been hers, moving the seat lower, since her legs were much shorter than Chase’s, which were long and muscular and…

He leaned over her, not quite touching, but making her aware of him. He smelled of a spicy cologne and laundry soap. Very nice.

“Here’s where she keeps the sales reports and the operations budgets I send her.” She clicked her way to the folders he needed, then found the file she wanted to add.

Abruptly, Chase crouched beside her, eye level, his hand on her chair arm, way too close, making her skin prickle. She explained when the monthly sales data came in from the stores and what Mary Beth did with the various spreadsheets. “Wait, here’s a directory. Let me print it for you.” She turned to the printer and caught Chase with his eyes half-closed, a faint smile on his lips.

“Chase?”

His eyes flew open. “Hmm? Oh. I was just… What do you wear that smells like a cherry pie? You’re making my stomach growl.”

“Probably my lotion. It’s from Heaven Scent. You want me to wear something less appetizing?”

“No, no.” He leaned in to inhale. “I’ll just have to get used to being hungry whenever I’m around you.”

The word hungry came out low and he suddenly wasn’t discussing pie anymore. Gone was the asexual, big-brother amusement in his gaze. She felt them both sink into the physical moment, their nearness, the longing they’d once shared back full force.

The air seemed to tremble between them, like heat off a summer sidewalk. Caramel sparks flashed in Chase’s coffee eyes.

The moment stretched out, brimming with inappropriate possibilities. All good sense fled in the face of this electric pulse. There was something about Chase.

Maybe the way he looked at her, really looked.

Whatever it was, she felt the same wild yearning. A first crush hits hard and locks on, but to feel the same eight years later? She’d had boyfriends. She’d had good sex.

Some people just ignited each other, right? This kind of thing didn’t happen every day, did it? It was startling and remarkable and she could see Chase was struggling, too.

He snapped to abruptly. “Anyway, you smell good, kid!” He rubbed the top of her head, then backed away and stood, wearing the goofiest look she’d ever seen.

Kid? He’d called her kid? And ruffling her hair was somehow worse than patting her back, the way he had so long ago. What a jerk.

She grabbed the printout, stapled the pages and headed over to where he’d gone—the old gray steel file cabinet. He pulled open the top drawer. “God, I typed these labels when I was in high school. I used to file for Mom after school.”

“Yeah. I remember seeing you. Starr used to let me play with the adding machine.”

“You hung around here a lot when you were little.” He turned to her, his arm on the top of the cabinet, fingers skimming the file tabs of the open drawer.

“Sure. I always loved the mall. We even have the same birthday. April 15, 1980. I was born at eight thirty-five and the mall opened at nine.”

“You know the exact date and time?”

“Desiree figured it out.”

“You call your mom Desiree?”

“She asked me to. After she’d been gone a while. Because of all her craft shows, she left me with my grandparents when I was seven. She used to bring me here while she hung out with Starr.”

“They were childhood friends, right?”

“Yeah. Desiree and I had our best times here, visiting all the stores, making little purchases, snacking at the food shops.”

“I remember you in the candy store one day. I was a freshman, so you must have been what…?”

“Eight. I remember.” Vividly, but she wouldn’t tell him that. Not after he’d called her kid.

“You were spending your allowance, I think.”

“Not allowance. Income. I earned that money emptying shoe boxes at Tracer’s Department Store.”

“Yeah? Anyway, I remember you had a fishtail sticking out of your mouth and your lips and teeth were bright blue.”

“Gummi sharks, right. You laughed at me.”

“Of course. You were this feminine little thing in a lacy dress brutalizing that poor fish.” Chase grinned. “You asked me to hand you down a lollipop that was as big as your head.”

“It was the best value. More candy per penny.”

“That’s pretty shrewd for an eight-year-old.”

“I had fifteen whole dollars and I wanted them to last.”

“So strict. Didn’t I try to buy it for you?”

“I couldn’t let you. Starr kept giving me things she claimed were discards and Grandma didn’t want me spoiled.”

“Knowing my mom, she meant you to have whatever she offered. She loved to give away stuff. That was part of owning the mall to her—sharing what she could.”

Sylvie’s throat tightened as she thought about Starr and those lovely days. “In a way, we grew up here, you and I.”

“This was always Mom’s place.” The words came out flat and he shoved the drawer closed with a sharp clang, like a jail door slammed between them. “Anyway, I hated filing. Mom would tell me even dream jobs have boring parts. I never bought that. I still don’t.”

“Yeah? Your work is exciting every day?”

“Always something new. That’s how I like it.”

“I can imagine,” she said, hoping he found mall work as dull as dirt. “And your project here—Home at Last—that’s exciting, too?”

“Very much so. The architect, builder and lenders are donating their services or cutting their rates to make this work. If all goes well Nadia’s son will be one of our first clients.”

“Nadia? Your housekeeper?”

“Yep. Her son Sergei and his wife and two little girls have been living with Nadia since they lost their home in the crash.”

“Wow. So it’s great that you can help them.”

“If it works out, yeah.” There was a light in his eye while he talked about this. He clearly would rather be there than here. That was a good sign for Sylvie, too. “So how about breakfast? Can I treat you to one of Sunni’s cranberry scones?”

“We should go over the Black Friday promotion, which I had to skip yesterday.” But Chase had a boyish, eager look that Sylvie couldn’t ignore. “I guess we could start with rounds.”

“Rounds? What, like in a hospital?”

“Exactly. The manager is kind of like a doctor. You keep your finger on the pulse of all the stores, triage the problems, offer cures. You’ll want to visit every tenant at least twice a week, maybe more, depending on what else is going on.”

“Twice a week for a checkup? That’s a lot.”

“Early diagnosis is crucial. If we keep the tenants happy and successful, they stay on. As the manager, you’re their friend, priest, therapist. Sometimes even parent. The owners will want to confide in you.”

“And complain?” he asked.

“That’s mostly my department. The AC’s not cool enough, the roll-up gate is sticking. All the building issues are mine. Utilities, maintenance, security. Capital requests, too, since I do all the budgets.”

“My job is handholding?”

“Sure, but you do need to be educated.” She picked up Mall Management, A-Z from Mary Beth’s bookshelf and held it out to him. “Bedside reading.”

“Maybe later.”

She set it on the desk. “I’m serious, Chase. You should know sales strategies, how to analyze market niches, assess advertising profiles, everything, really. The stores always need ideas for increasing their conversion rate.”

“The conversion rate?”

“Converting shopper to buyer. Mall lingo. No store makes money if all it gets is lookie-loos, so we have to turn shoppers into buyers to survive.”

“Makes sense.”

“There’s a lot to this, Chase. I want you to know what you’re in for.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I do.” Something about the way he said that gave her a pinch of concern.

“So, breakfast and rounds?” She grabbed the two boxes of red umbrellas with their cheery promise and felt a pang.

“What are those for?”

“A morale boost.” Sylvie opened an umbrella. “With Mary Beth leaving so abruptly, I wanted to reassure everyone. There’s one for each tenant. You can hand them out when I introduce you. I doubt everyone’s read my email about you being the new GM, so expect some startled looks.”

And each one would break her heart all over again. She’d expected today’s rounds to be a triumphant tour, a chance to reassure everyone that life at the mall would only get better with her in charge.

Don’t worry, be happy, she reminded herself, leading the way to the mall floor.

Their first stop was Jumpin’ Juice. “Hey, Theo,” she called to the owner.

He turned from one of his blenders, “Just who I needed to see,” he said, lifting the counter pass-through and joining them.

“I’d like you to meet Chase McCann, our new GM.”

“Yes, you mentioned that in your email,” he said coolly. Theo had wanted to circulate a petition of protest, but Sylvie had talked him out of it.

“Nice to meet you, Theo,” Chase said.

Theo looked him dead-on. “Just so you know, Sylvie is the glue that holds this mall together.”

“That’s what I hear,” Chase said.

“Do you have a minute to try some new combos?” Theo asked her. “You were right about the star fruit, by the way. Pear is cheaper and tastes just as good.”

“That will cut your costs. Would you bring Chase a Berry Blend protein shake? It’s my favorite,” she said to Chase. She led him to a tiny table, where they sat altogether too close, though she’d sat here many times with Theo and not thought twice about the intimacy.

She felt all too aware of Chase’s broad shoulders, muscular chest, the strong planes of his face and those dark eyes of his, which locked on to hers as if he never wanted to let go.

Was he this way with every woman? He confused her. One minute he looked like he wanted to eat her alive and the next he was giving her a noogie.

“When you laid out my duties you didn’t mention taste testing.” Chase tilted his head, teasing her.

“I do whatever they need me to do,” she said.

Theo returned with three juice mix samples, along with Chase’s shake, which he grudgingly slid across the table. Sylvie sipped each flavor, one at a time, savoring it against the roof of her mouth.

She pushed two of the cups toward Theo. “These two are great.” She tapped the third. “This one, the flavors clash too much.”

“You have the best taste buds,” Theo said with a sigh, along with that wistful look they both pretended didn’t exist. “Thanks, Sylvie.”

“This is for you,” Chase said, holding out an umbrella.

Theo took it, carrying it at arm’s length as if it smelled bad as he headed back to his booth.

“You have the best taste buds?” Chase whispered to her.

“He likes to get opinions, okay?”

“He’s hot for you, Sylvie.”

“We’re friends.”

“Not if he had his way, trust me.”

Theo was sweet, a good listener and an interesting man. If they didn’t work together, she might even consider going out with him. He’d be easy to spend time with. She kept her dating habits orderly. No more than two nights a week and nothing intense. She wasn’t ready for intense. She wasn’t sure she ever would be.

That awful crush she’d had on Chase was her first lesson in how crazy she might get. Her mother was the second. Desiree was impulsive and romantic, treating her heart like a throw pillow, tossing it to a guy way too early. Then, when he failed to catch it or threw it back, she sank into depression. Sylvie did not have the resilience for that much misery.

She needed a stable life with no roller coasters.

“You’ve probably got every unattached man here and half the married ones drooling over you,” Chase mused. “That’s ridiculous.”

He tilted his head. “You still don’t know how hot you are, do you? It’s probably better that way. You might be tempted to use your powers against us and we’d be putty in your hands.”

“That line work for you with the women?”

“Gotta call it real, dawg.” His rapper imitation made her smile. “That’s how I roll.”

“Even if that were true, I don’t date people from work.”

“Plus there’s your boyfriend in Seattle.”

“Not that again.”

“Sensitive subject?” He leaned in.

“I didn’t appreciate Mary Beth mentioning him to Fletcher. I went to Seattle for a visit. Not to move there. Finish your drink so we can get going.”

“Not sure I dare, with the evil eye Theo gave me.” He sniffed the shake. “Doesn’t arsenic smell like almonds?”

She had to laugh. “He knew I wanted to be GM, so he’s upset for me. He wouldn’t poison you—not without my say-so anyway.”

Chase laughed, then removed the straw and took a gulp. Sylvie watched, mesmerized by the swell of his neck muscles as he swallowed. He slammed the empty cup to the table. “There. If I’m going to die, at least I’ll go out with something tasty on my tongue.”

Tongue. The word alone gave her an inner twinge. Ridiculous. Sylvie grabbed her box and they set off.

“How was Mary Beth as a manager?” Chase asked as they walked.

“She worked hard. She cared. She was a bit disorganized, as you saw from her computer, and maybe too social. I filled in where I was needed. We made a decent team, I think.”

“You’d be good on any team, Sylvie.”

“I try.”

He stopped in front of her and touched her arm. “I’m serious. Despite what my father said about loyalty, no one would blame you if you wanted to move on. We’d give you a strong recommendation, of course.”

“What are you trying to say?” A chill shot through her. “Are you telling me to quit?”

“I’m just saying you have options beyond Starlight Desert.”

“I love it here and I intend to stay.”

“Got it,” he said, hands up at her vehemence.

She introduced him to more shop owners and he handed out umbrellas. When they reached the space Marshall had rented to his golf buddy, the jai alai booster, Chase stopped. “Jai alai?” He turned to her.

She shrugged. “This spot’s tough to rent and the president of the booster club is a friend of Marshall’s. They want to bring a professional team to Phoenix, I gather.”

“Sounds bizarre to me. Jai alai’s a big betting game in Florida, right? Those big high stadiums—frontons, I think they’re called.”

“I guess. This is just an office. They hold meetings and making fund-raising calls…. This is Free Arts,” she said, nodding at the space next door. Two heavily tattooed boys in muscle shirts were airbrushing a Virgen de Guadalupe onto the window. She recognized one of them. “Nice work, Rafael.”

He turned, puzzled. “You know me?”

“I saw your b-boy crew perform for Cinco de Mayo. You organized the group, right?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, pleased, but acting cool about it.

“Tell your guys there’s a gig here the day after Thanksgiving. We can’t pay, but there will be tons of people in the mall that day.”

“’Scool.” Rafael strutted a little, then turned back to his work. His friend hissed out, “dawg” to embarrass him for talking to the gringa mujer.

“What’s rent on that space?” Chase asked as they walked on.

“It’s a token amount since that’s a difficult section to keep tenants in. It’s part of our effort to support the community. Starlight Desert is a good neighbor.”

“I noticed a lot of For Sale signs driving here. Lots of boarded-up shops. Is the neighborhood going down?”

“There have been a few problems, but nothing that has affected us. People love Starlight Desert.”

“You love Starlight Desert, Sylvie. Everyone else just shops here. A mall is where you spend money or get a smoothie to escape the summer heat. People aren’t that loyal.”

She felt a stab of outrage. “You haven’t been here long enough to know. Read our surveys and the consultant’s report, talk to our tenants. You’ll see I’m right.”

The man who had stolen her job was trash-talking the place she loved. She would just have to give him the full picture right this minute.




CHAPTER FOUR


CHASE’S HEAD SPUN. The moment he mentioned that the mall was a business not a place of worship, Sylvie went crazy on him. The simple tour of the mall shops to introduce him to the tenants became a lecture on the Wide World of Retail Malls.

He listened as patiently as he could while she explained door-busters, per-foot kiosk rental charges and how Starlight Desert interspersed food venues among the shops to increase the shopper-to-buyer conversion rate due to “improved shopper eye scans,” which evidently was much better than the food-court ghetto at most malls.

In between speeches, he handed out those stupid umbrellas to the store owners, who clearly adored her. Face after face registered disappointment that Sylvie wasn’t the new GM.

Rose of Rose’s Hobby Hut thanked her for locating a cheaper supplier for dollhouse furniture. He gathered Sylvie built dollhouses in her limited spare time. She’d evidently loaned money to the camera store owner and mediated a fight that would have ended the Toy Town owners’ partnership.

Business peaked on Saturday, she informed him. Monday was decently busy due to the weekend’s lookie-loos. Tuesday was the quietest shopping day of the week.

She described the daily changeover: seniors walked the mall in the early mornings, moms with strollers arrived midmorning, followed by serious ladies-who-lunch shoppers. Kids washed through after school, working women breezed in to pick up cosmetics or panty hose after five.

As she talked, he amused himself by taking in her flashing eyes, her kissable lips wrapped around a torrent of words, her energetic gestures, the way she filled out that white blouse, and, of course, her fresh-baked pie scent.

Ya smell good, kid. He couldn’t believe he’d said that, then rubbed her hair like she was ten or a puppy. What a jerk. He was normally pretty easy with the attraction dance.

Sylvie had thrown him. Because of their history? Or maybe just her. She sort of sucked him into her swirling energy, put him in a trance until he acted like a teen with no control over his urges whatsoever.

At least she was no longer pissed at him.

Until he told her about maybe selling the mall, of course. He dreaded that exchange. He’d tell her as soon as he knew enough to confirm the possibility.

After rounds, they headed back to the office where Sylvie buried him in printouts and minutiae about “A Starlight Desert Christmas,” the Black Friday event that evidently was the GM’s responsibility.

Nearby schools would present performances and an art show, stores would give discounts for parents, and there would be raffle prizes and a hidden-coupon scavenger hunt. Chase was impressed with the plan. Even if they decided to sell, banking higher revenues would be smart.

“Sounds good, Sylvie. You’ve put a lot of effort into it.” He started to stand.

“Wait. We still need to discuss the tenant party on Thanksgiving afternoon, when we prep for Black Friday.”

“Okay.” He sat down again.

She explained that the tenant party consisted of food, of course, plus a white elephant exchange. Then the employees shopped in the mall for gifts for a needy family, which they placed under trees decorated to represent each store’s merchandise.

It all sounded nice, but Chase’s brain was jammed already. Sylvie wasn’t helping, hypnotizing him with her cherry-pie smell and the way her breasts shivered whenever she gestured, which she did a lot. The generic khakis and simple white blouse she wore started to seem like something a stripper might wriggle out of.

Sylvie didn’t seem to mess much with her appearance—her nails were plain, she wore next to no makeup and her honey hair was a mass of curls held back by two clips—but with her natural beauty she didn’t need to fuss.

Then he’d seen her bra. He’d been innocently standing over her at the computer when her blouse gaped and there it was. Pink and lacy, cupping the soft rise of her breasts, and he’d wanted to tear it off with his teeth.

To escape the urge, he’d dropped to a crouch, only to get trapped in a close-up of her face in all its appealing detail—her snapping green eyes, edible mouth, that hint of a dimple when she smiled, right next to a beauty mark—pretty punctuation for her face—and her breasts close enough to—

“How do you want to handle it, Chase?”

“Handle…huh?” Had she read his mind? He whipped his attention to her words. She was looking at him impatiently.

“The work. The prep party and Black Friday itself. Officially both are GM duties. I’ve handled the prep party the past two years, though, since it was my idea, but it’s up to you.”

“Why don’t you keep doing that, then?” he said.

“All right. Black Friday is new and a lot of work as you saw. We have Olive, our marketing assistant, but she’s about to have her baby and has cut back her hours. Cyndi will do what she can, but she’s stuck on phones, so—”

“This is your plan, Sylvie. You know it inside out, so you should be in charge of it.”

“I’d love that, of course,” she said with a sigh, “but that was when I expected to be the GM. I’ve got operations to manage. This is your job, Chase. And it’s crucial. Black Friday revenues are make-or-break for our shops. I’ll help as much as I can, but it will take all of us working as hard as we can to pull this off. I’m not kidding.” Her eyes flashed at him. “You said you wouldn’t leave us hanging.”

“I won’t.” But he sure as hell wasn’t ready to throw the kind of energy at this stuff that Sylvie was. She was clearly worried, chewing her lip like mad. She’d already put so much work into this project, he wanted her to see it through.

“What then?”

She clearly doubted him. She had a point. “Okay, I get it. I don’t know a door buster from a loss leader, while you could do this job in your sleep.”

She went pink. “I wouldn’t have put it so bluntly, but basically, yes.” She lifted her chin to emphasize the point.

“So, here’s what I propose. You manage the Black Friday extravaganza and the tenant prep party. You know the plan, so that makes the most sense. I’ll fill in where I can with what I can.”

“But what about—?”

“Your operations job, right. It’s full-time and you already work twelve-hour days. Got it. I want you to hire someone short-term to get us through the holidays. Divide up the duties between the three of us however you think will work best. Just keep me informed.”

“Oh.” Sylvie looked startled. “Really? I can hire someone? We don’t have the budget for that, Chase.”

“Take it out of my salary line. No sweat.”

“Really? Oh. Well, okay….” He could see ideas flying behind her eyes, how this changed her goal, which had no doubt been to let the door hit him on the ass on the way out.

“Let me see if I understand,” she said slowly, her expression deadly serious now. “You’re telling me that you and I will share GM duties and I can hire someone to fill in the gaps as I see them? On a short-term contract, hourly wages. And it’s up to me who does what?”

“Within reason,” he said. “I have veto power and you and I need to stay in close communication.”

She beamed. “Then that’s great. That will work, I think. Thank you for being reasonable.” She was trying to restrain her excitement, he could tell. He liked seeing her eyes light up like that. One bright spot in an exhausting and irritating day.

“There’s one more thing I need from you,” Sylvie said, scooting forward, leaning toward him.

How about sex? Right here. Right now. The thought came unbidden and he leaned even closer. “Anything you want, Sylvie.”

“It involves costumes,” she said, her voice low and honeyed, her expression all sex kitten.

“Oh, I’m in.”

“I’m glad to hear that. How about Marshall and Fletcher? You think they’d be in, too?” She licked her lips slowly.

“Eew.” He sat up straight. “Forget it.”

Sylvie laughed her musical laugh. “Relax, I just need you three to dress up like Santa and his elves.”

“Are you nuts? Now, you and me, French maid and butler, would be great. But that…too kinky to even picture.”

She laughed. “I’m serious. It’s the perfect publicity stunt. Holiday shopping news stories are a dime a dozen, so we need a fresh angle to get TV coverage. Starlight Desert is a family-owned, homegrown mall. That’s our hook. How better to illustrate that than to have Marshall McCann be Santa Claus and his two sons Santa’s elves?” She grinned like Christmas morning. “You are nuts,” Chase said faintly.

“You and Fletcher would lead the kids to Marshall’s lap and take their photos. I know TV would eat that up. Chase? Your mouth’s hanging open.”

“You want my father to be Santa Claus? I can’t imagine anyone less jolly. And Fletcher in green tights and pointy slippers with bells?” He burst out laughing.

“He could wear a blazer and a tie if he wants.”

“Business Elf, right. I’d love to see that.”

“Don’t laugh too hard. You’ll be in green tights and bells, yourself, Chase.”

“I don’t see either of them agreeing to that.”

“It would just be for the opening weekend. We’d promote it on Facebook and Twitter.”

“The mall is on Facebook?”

“I created a persona—Bright Star. She’s a personal shopper who posts deals from our shops along with general shopping tips and tidbits.”

“Very smart.”

“So what do you say?” she said, her big eyes drilling him. “You can talk them into it, Chase. It’s important. They’ll have fun, too. And the store owners will love it.”

“I don’t know. I’d have to talk to Fletcher.”

“So call him.” She whipped out her cell phone.

“Jeez, you’re relentless, you know that?” He waved her away and pulled out his own phone. Sylvie had somehow made the most ridiculous idea sound vital to the mall’s survival.

He did like her. He surely did.

“Fletcher, listen. I’ve got a proposition for you,” he said when his brother answered.

“Uh-oh. First, I’m supposed to remind you about the big dinner tomorrow night. Nadia’s afraid you’ll forget.”

“I’ll be there, no worries. Listen, I’ve got Sylvie here with me and we’re talking about Christmas at the mall and—”

“Sylvie’s there? Yeah?”

“She is. And—”

“Put her on, would you?” Fletcher interrupted, his tone abruptly determined, as if he had a job to do.

“Okay….” What the hell? “He wants to speak to you,” he told Sylvie, shrugging as he handed her the phone.

Sylvie looked as puzzled as he felt. “Hi, Fletcher,” she said hesitantly. “I’m fine. How about yourself…? So far, so good. I’d say I’m giving him just as hard a time as he’s giving me.” She shot Chase a look. “Would I want to what…? Oh, I’d be intruding…. If you think so, I’d be happy to… All right. Sounds delicious. Sixish it is.”

Sylvie shut the phone looking bewildered. “Fletcher invited me to your homecoming supper. Nadia’s making pierogies.”

“So that’s my favorite. Hmm.”

“He said it’s been too long since I’ve been at the McCann table.” She frowned. “What’s this about, Chase?”

Uh-oh. Had their talk convinced Fletcher to fire up that torch for Sylvie again? “Your name came up when we were talking about the mall and he mentioned he hadn’t seen you in a while.”

“And…?” She held his gaze. “I can see in your face there’s more to it.”

“And…well, I sort of jerked his chain about being into you.”

“You what?” Her eyes went wide.

“From years back.”

“You knew about that?” Her cheeks colored.

“He let it slip once, yeah. Yesterday, he told me you turned him down, though.”

“It sounds like you two had quite the heart-to-heart. The whole McCann family seems to be entirely too interested in my love life. First you think I’m moving to Seattle to marry Steve and then you goad Fletcher into asking me out.”

“I was just joking around.”

“I’m not amused.”

“I don’t blame you, but my intentions were innocent, I swear. I wanted him to get a life. I told him to move on, find someone else.”

“He’s not going to ask me out, is he?”

“I can’t imagine he would, but I’ll make sure.”

“And how exactly will you do that?” She planted her hands on her hips, irritated as hell at him, he could tell.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll play it by ear. Trust me. He won’t ask you out.”

“Whatever you do, don’t make this worse. I don’t need another embarrassing moment with your brother.”

Chase was dying to ask what had happened back then, but he didn’t dare when she was this riled at him.

“I’ll be subtle.”

“Before tomorrow night at dinner?” she demanded.

“I swear.” He crossed his heart.

He was startled to realize he was glad that Sylvie didn’t want to date Fletcher. Which was completely nuts. It wasn’t like Chase was going to swoop in on her now.

Would she even want that? She’d felt something, he knew. He’d noticed the flicker in her eye, the softening of her body when they were close, a huskiness in her voice when the vibe zinged between them.

But Sylvie had discipline and restraint and had practiced self-denial since she was eight, calculating the best candy value instead of gobbling up whatever looked good. So even if she did want him, she wouldn’t act on it.

“Good, then. I haven’t been to supper at your house in a long time. Four years, I guess.”

“You used to come for holidays. I remember the first one. Thanksgiving, I think, with your grandparents?”

“Yeah. The year I moved in with them.”

“You sat so straight in your chair.” Her eyes had been wide with wonder at all the utensils, china and crystal. “Your grandma showed you what fork to use and how to scoop your soup.”

“And you shot a rubber band at me!”

“I wanted to see what you’d do. You gasped. It was perfect. Why’d you stop coming anyway?”

“When Desiree came back, I thought she and I needed to start some holiday traditions of our own.”

“It’ll be nice to have you back.” He smiled at her. “Maybe having you there will help the rest of us behave better.”

“Good grief. How bad can it be?”

He shrugged. “Hard to say.”

“Great. You forgot to ask Fletcher about being an elf.”

“Let’s save that for dinner and you can ask him and the General yourself.”

“You want me to do it?”

“They could turn me down, but you? One shot of those big green eyes and they won’t be able to climb into their costumes fast enough.”

“Oh, please.”

“What do you mean? It worked on me, didn’t it?” He couldn’t wait to see it happen. Way more fun than shooting rubber bands.



THE NEXT MORNING, Sylvie was pretty darn happy. She was more or less in charge of the mall. Chase had promised to support her and she could hire an assistant to fill in the gaps. She’d bet it wouldn’t be long before Chase stepped out of the picture altogether and she’d have what she wanted after all, just a little later than she’d expected.

Maybe it was better to have to fight for the job. A battle made the reward sweeter. That could only make her a better manager, right? Oh, she was feeling good this morning.

Parking her sturdy Volvo, she climbed out, clicked the key to lock it, then turned for the mall.

And stopped dead, staring with horror. All up and down one of the gold-painted turrets were the words F**K this mall. Over and over and over.

Again. It had happened again. Someone hated Starlight Desert enough to vandalize it twice.

Dread poured through her like ice water, followed by hot waves of anger. She fisted her hands, wanting to punch whoever had done this. She could hardly breathe.

Randolph and Betty rounded the corner with Chase, who was putting away his phone. Sylvie marched to meet them at the damaged columns, decorative pebbles crunching beneath each step.

“Looks like we’ll need that graffiti buster again, Betty,” she said.

“Not until the police see this,” Chase said. “I called them out here so we can make a report. Maybe there are vandals working the area they know about.”

“It’s those delinquents at Free Arts,” Randolph said. “They have too much time on their hands and plenty of art supplies.”

“They’re not allowed aerosol paints,” Sylvie said. “And they love the mall. Whoever did this has a grudge against us.”

“We did what we could with the manpower we have,” Randolph said. “Leo and his crew doubled their rounds and changed up the schedule. We need more guards to catch these creeps.”

Sylvie surveyed the damage more closely. “This looks different than the first message. It’s all capital letters and they used the F word. No toilet paper or dumped trash, either.”

“Different kid on the trigger is all,” Randolph said, “and they ran out of time to toss trash. Maybe they saw Leo coming.”

Chase joined her at the wall, studying the letters. “There are lots of blots and drips here.”

“I had that problem when I stenciled the umbrellas. It takes a while to get the spray right.”

“So maybe they’re new to graffiti?”

Chase bent down to the nearby hedge and pushed back the branches. “Looks like they left something.” It was a spray-paint can and when Sylvie got closer she noticed black thumbprints forming a perfect heart on the yellow label. She gasped. “I think that’s my can.”





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