Janice Maynard - Blame It On Christmas

J.B. held out a red cellophane bag. “These are for you, Mazie. I remember Jonathan saying how much you liked them.”

She stared at the familiar logo. Then she frowned, sensing a trap. “You brought me pralines?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His arm was still extended, gift in hand.

It might as well have been a snake. “You realize the shop is half a block from here. I can buy my own pralines, J.B.”

His smile slipped. The blue irises went from calm to stormy. “A thank you might be nice. You weren’t spanked enough as a kid, were you? Spoiled only daughter...”

She caught her breath. The barb hit without warning. “You know that’s not true.”

Contrition skittered across his face, followed by regret. “Ah, damn, Mazie. I’m sorry. You always bring out the worst in me.” He grimaced and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “The candy was a peace offering. Nothing sinister, I swear.”

She grabbed the bag of pralines and set it on the counter behind her. She and J.B. were standing at the far back of the store in front of a case of men’s signet rings. Hopefully, all of the current customers were shopping for themselves.

“Thank you for the candy.” She straightened her shoulders. “Is that all?”

J.B. stared at her, incredulous. “Of course that’s not all. Do you really think I wander around Charleston dropping off candy to random women?”

Mazie lifted one shoulder. “Who knows what you do?”

Watching J.B. rein in his temper was actually kind of fun. It helped restore her equilibrium. She enjoyed getting the upper hand.

After a few tense moments of silence, he sighed. “I’d like to show you one of my properties over on Queen Street. You could double your square footage immediately, and the storage areas are clean and dry. Plus, there’s a generously sized apartment upstairs if you ever decide to move out of Casa Tarleton.”

The prospect of having her own apartment was tempting, but she and Jonathan hadn’t been able to leave their father on his own. Stupid, really. He’d been a less-than-present parent, both emotionally and otherwise. Still, they felt responsible for him.

Over J.B.’s shoulder, Gina telegraphed her concern like a flamingo playing charades.

Mazie decided to play J.B.’s game. At least for a little while. What she really wanted was to make him think she was seriously considering his offer. And then shut him down. “Okay,” she said. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to take a look.”

J.B.’s reaction to her quiet statement was equal parts pole-axed and suspicious. “When?”

“Now is good.”

“What about the shop?”

“They don’t need me.” It was true. Mazie was the owner and CEO. In addition to Gina, there were two full-time employees and three part-time ones, as well.

J.B. nodded brusquely. “Then let’s get out of here. I’m parked in a loading zone.”

“You go ahead. Text me the address. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. All I need to do is grab a coat and get my purse.”

He frowned. “I can wait.”

“I’d rather have my own car, J.B.”

His eyes narrowed. He folded his arms across his chest. “Why?”

“Because I do, that’s why. Are you afraid I won’t come? I said I would, and I will. Don’t make a big deal out of this.”

He ground his jaw. She could almost see the hot angry words trembling on his lips. But he said nothing.

“What?” she whispered, still very much aware that they had an audience.

J.B. shook his head, his expression bleak. “Nothing, Mazie. Nothing at all.” He reached in a pocket and extracted his cell phone, tapping out a text impatiently. “I sent you the address. I’ll see you shortly.”

J.B. should have been elated.

The first hurdle was behind him. He had finally convinced Mazie Tarleton to look at another location for her jewelry business. That was huge . And it was certainly more than his real estate agent had been able to accomplish in the last twelve weeks. Even so, his skin felt itchy. Being around Mazie was like juggling a grenade. Not only was she an unknown quantity, he was in danger of being sabotaged by his own uneasy attraction.

He was determined to keep his distance.

Nothing with Mazie was ever easy, so he paced the sidewalk in front of the empty property on Queen Street, praying she would show up, but fearing she wouldn’t.

When her cherry-red Mazda Miata turned the corner at the end of the street and headed in his direction, he felt a giant boulder roll from his shoulders. Thank the Lord. He was pretty sure Mazie wouldn’t have come today unless she was ready to take him up on his offer.

She parallel parked with impressive ease and climbed out, locking her snazzy vehicle with one click of her key fob. He saw her, more often than not, in casual clothes. But today, Mazie was wearing a black pencil skirt with an ivory silk blouse that made her look every inch the wealthy heiress she was.

Her legs were long, maybe her best feature. She walked with confidence. In deference to the breezy afternoon, she wore a thigh-length black trench coat. To J.B. she seemed like a woman who could conquer the world.

As he watched, she tucked her car keys into her coat pocket and joined him. Shielding her eyes with one hand, she stared upward. He followed suit. Far above them, etched in sandstone, were the numerals 1-8-2-2, the year this building had been erected.

He answered her unspoken question. “The most recent tenant was an insurance firm. The building has been sitting empty for three months. If you think it will serve your purposes, I’ll bring in an industrial cleaning crew, and we can get you moved with little to no interruption of your daily business.”

“I’d like to see inside.”

“Of course.”

He’d made sure there was nothing to throw up any red flags. No musty odors. No peeling paint. In truth, the building was a gem. He might have kept it for himself if he hadn’t so badly needed a carrot to entice Mazie.

For years he had tried to make up for his youthful mistakes. Becoming a respected member of the Charleston business community was important to him. The fact that he had to deal with Mazie and a very inconvenient attraction that wouldn’t die was a complication he didn’t need. He’d learned the hard way that sexual attraction could blind a man to the truth.

“Look at the tin ceiling,” he said. “This place used to be a bank. We’re standing where the customers would have come to speak to tellers.”

Mazie put her hands on her hips. Slowly she turned around, taking in every angle, occasionally pausing to use her smartphone to snap a picture. “It’s lovely,” she said.

The comment was grudging. He knew that much. But at least she was honest.

“Thanks. I was lucky to get it. Had to scare off a guy who wanted to use it for an indoor miniature golf range.”

“Surely you’re joking.”

“Not really. I’d like to think he’d never have been able to get the permits, but who knows?”

“You mentioned storage?”

“Ah, yes. There’s a finished basement below us, small but nice. And more of the same above. The best part for you, though? There’s a safe. We’ll have to bring in an expert to get it working again. But you should be able to secure your high ticket items overnight, and thus eliminate any concerns about theft when you’re not open.”

When he showed her the ten-foot-square safe—stepping aside for her to enter—she lifted an eyebrow. “Kind of overkill, don’t you think? My jewelry is small. I don’t need nearly this much room.”

He followed her in. “Not the way you do it now. But you’ve been removing every item and putting it all back each morning. If you use the shelves in this safe, you can carry entire trays in here at night and save yourself a ton of hassle.”