Susan Crosby - Almost a Christmas Bride

“She didn’t tell you it’s a live-in position?”

Shock stabbed her, almost paralyzing her. “She did not. And I have a place to live, thank you very much.” He knew that, of course, since he owned the building and, therefore, her apartment on the second floor.

“Actually, you don’t. Or won’t. I need a place for Dylan to live. He could afford the apartment you’re in.”

Shana stood so fast her world tilted. “ You’re evicting me? I have a seventeen-month-old daughter. Where are Emma and I supposed to live?”

“With me.”

She couldn’t believe this was happening. Just when her life had settled down. She had a routine. She’d earned people’s trust again. Yes, she’d had to accept some help along the way, but as little as possible, and only for her daughter’s sake.

Shana had caused enough controversy by running away years ago. She’d atoned. Now she wanted to be accepted and respected. Moving in with Kincaid, no matter how innocently, wasn’t the way to accomplish that.

She headed to the door. “You wasted your time. And mine.”

He beat her there, putting a hand on it to stop her.

Her heart pounded as his chest grazed her shoulder. She was hurt, angry and … something else she didn’t want to identify. “Don’t be childish, Kincaid.”

“I’m asking you to hear me out.”

Shana fought tears—of frustration, of exasperation, of despair. She couldn’t seem weak in front of him.

“Please, Shana.”

“Fine,” she muttered after a minute. “But only because of Julia. I don’t want to tell her I refused the job without having listened to what it actually is.”

Kincaid stepped away, giving her space, keeping an eye on her in case she made a run for it, after all. He watched her raise her chin and return to the chair, where she plunked herself, crossed her arms and gave him a steady, cool, green-eyed stare. That expression wasn’t unusual for her, but the way she’d tamed her long blond hair into a tidy ponytail was. She looked more professional than he’d ever seen her, especially wearing a skirt and jacket, and even high heels. He’d rarely seen her not wearing boots, jeans and a T-shirt that skimmed her slender frame.

He would’ve pulled up a chair next to her, but figured she wanted the distance of the table between them.

“Here’s what I need,” he said. “My businesses are booming. I don’t have time for the personal attention I used to be able to give my clients.”

“I thought that was why you hired Dylan.”

“I hired Dylan because he needed a place in the world, but he’s an eighteen-year-old apprentice. I spend a lot of time teaching and mentoring him. Eventually that’s going to pay off. He’s learning construction and contracting from the bottom up, but he’s got a long way to go—years. In the meantime, details are not getting handled. That’s where you come in.”

“What details?”

“Sarah McCoy left for college in September. She’d been my housekeeper for two years—personally and professionally. I haven’t found anyone reliable to replace her.”

“I can handle that without moving in, Kincaid.”

He could tell by the way her body moved that she was bouncing her foot under the table, her habit when she was annoyed. “I don’t have time to take care of myself, either. I’m eating out all the time. The house gets cluttered. I don’t like clutter. Laundry piles up.”

“Those are basic household chores,” she said. “It’s not enough to keep me busy all day—and evening. One day a week, maybe. If this is some kind of charity you’re offering me—”

“I need help,” he said, interrupting her before she launched into a speech about how she didn’t need anyone’s help, when, in fact, she did. He’d learned it from a reliable source, her sister, Dixie, who happened to be a good friend of his. It didn’t matter that Dixie was on the other side of the world honeymooning and working. She’d gotten a call from Aggie McCoy after Thanksgiving telling Dixie how stressed-out Shana was, how even counting every penny still left her in the hole every month and how she’d fallen into Aggie’s comforting arms and cried.

Dixie, in turn, had called him, asking if he could help Shana in some way. She would never take money from him, but could he give her work to do?

“Busywork?” Kincaid had asked Dixie.

“It can’t seem like it. And if you even hint that you’re doing this out of charity, she’ll be out of there in a flash, and we just got her home, you know? She could run like a rabbit to who knows where, just like before. Plus there’s the baby to think of. You’d have to handle it carefully. And you have to swear you’ll never let her know I asked you for help.”

“Here’s the deal, Shana,” he said now, looking at her cool expression. “Renovation is my primary work, but I also own thirty-two properties in the area. Not just in Chance City, but in surrounding communities. Tenants come and go, so places need cleaning and repairs have to be coordinated. I also need office help, especially with spreadsheets for expenses and taxes. I’ve got a box with a year’s worth of receipts that need to be entered. Is that something you can do?”

“I’m good at math.”

Which didn’t really answer his question. “Your salary for the work you do for my business will feed through the agency. Beyond that, I’ll give you room, board and a stipend for maintaining my home and, consequently, my life.” He closed his hands into fists, fighting frustration. Dixie had warned him she would balk. “Frankly, I never wanted to be this busy. I’ve turned down more work than I’ve accepted through the years. But with Dylan involved now, it’s different.”

“How?”

“He needs the experience, the variety of work, so that he’ll learn enough to be valuable, and eventually independent. I don’t have the time to spend on frivolous things like cooking and cleaning.” He met her gaze, noted how closed she still looked. “But I haven’t told you the best part—at least for you, I think. I know you want to make a name for yourself in interior design. You’d be part of the package I offer to clients—design help. Not just for the remodeling itself, but for suggestions on how to decorate. You’d be the idea person, and I’d put your ideas into action. We’d make a strong team.”

She finally looked interested. The deep furrow between her eyebrows smoothed out, at least.

“Design work for homes and businesses?” she asked.

He nodded, then he hoped to seal the deal when he said, “That part of the business is strictly yours. You keep what you earn.” As the saying went, it was an offer she couldn’t refuse, and he knew it. “You could probably accrue enough money in a year or two to afford a place of your own, not to mention gathering a client list, something you don’t have yet since you’re new to the design trade.”

“Why are you doing this?”

A big reason why he’d agreed to Dixie’s plea was because of his own past. He rarely thought about it anymore, and gave her only the barest details now. “When I was sixteen, I had to emancipate myself so that I could get away from a very bad situation. I didn’t have a child to provide for like you do, but it was a long, hard road to success regardless. I mostly did it myself, but a few individuals helped me stay afloat, maybe even alive, those first years. I’m paying it back through Dylan, and now you, I hope.” He leaned toward her. “You have pride. I get that, Shana. But don’t let it stand in the way of the opportunity.”

Pride had driven him for a long time, too.

“Emma’s seventeen months old,” she said hesitantly. “It’s a busy, noisy age. Children create clutter.”