them when he disappeared, and the rest had been sold to pay off debts. She’d had to tell employees who had been with her father for decades that they should seek employment elsewhere. Even her sister who had been the construction office’s receptionist had found a new job within weeks of his disappearance. The only two who had refused to leave her stood with her now. Cassie tugged again at the dress she’d borrowed from her older sister. “She doesn’t get it. I want to win the quarter of a million prize money so that I can start the business over and hire everyone back.”
Biggie grunted and sipped his beer while Tiny patted her shoulder again. “It will all work out. It always does.”
She wished she had his confidence. Her father’s building company seemed to be just another thing that stood between her and her mother. Growing up, Cassie had heard about how ladies didn’t come home covered in sawdust or with calloused hands. Ladies wore dresses, not plaid shirts and jeans. Her older sister, Andromeda, had filled the bill according to her mother’s requirements. Couldn’t her mother be happy that she had one perfect daughter?
But Lowman Construction meant something to Cassie, even if her mother had turned her back on it. Not only had it been her means of income, it was her lifeblood. She’d put years of her life into it at her father’s side, and she hoped to continue without him. She wanted to bring it back to what it had once been. She had to.
Cassie glanced again at Biggie’s beer. “Where can I get one of those?”
He pointed to a long wood-and-brass bar where several people milled, and she walked toward it. People murmured as she passed them, but she chose to hold her head high and ignore the comments. She paused a moment when she tottered again and the heel on one shoe threatened to bend and snap, but she slowed her gait and joined the line of those waiting for a drink.
She heard a scratchy voice talking ahead of her and recognized the gravelly tones of Bill Swenson, one of her father’s chief rivals. “I don’t understand why some people can’t let go of failure and get on with their lives. Did you see her name on the list? Does she have to waste her time and ours by entering this contest?”
A man next to him sneered. “Bill, you know why she entered. To redeem her father’s name.”
Cassie swallowed again at the bitter taste in her mouth. They could only be talking about her. She thought about leaving the line without getting her beer, but the temptation to eavesdrop was too great.
Bill laughed. “Redeem? She’d have to do a lot more than win some contest to do that. How about paying back the people he stole from? You ask me, she’s cut from the same cloth as her old man.” He spotted her. Giving her a sardonic grin, he winked. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you.”
Tears threatened to choke her, but she wasn’t going to let anyone, especially Bill, see how the words affected her. They didn’t know anything about her. Didn’t know that she had been just as shocked by the allegations of embezzlement against her father. As heads turned to look at her, she stood straighter, refusing to ignore their stares. “You can watch me all you want as I win this thing, Bill. The Belvedere Foundation won’t accept substandard materials and shoddy work. Isn’t that why you lost the Stamper contract?”
Bill bristled and took a step toward her, but someone pulled him back and ordered him a drink. Most of the others who had listened to the conversation turned away from her and joined him. Cassie put a hand on her chest and felt her heart beating with speed. She wouldn’t run now. She had to prove to them all that she was as good as them, if not better. She could rebuild beautiful houses as well as her own life.
WITH A GLASS of whiskey in his hand, John Robison leaned on the bar and looked at the woman whose cheeks had colored at the blustering contractor’s words. He could admire someone who wouldn’t back down from a confrontation with a bully. Took a lot of guts to keep your head high when others were trying to tear you down. The woman made her way up to the front of the bar and ordered a beer. Her dark brown eyes reminded him of the color of bourbon. “You have something to say, too?”
He shook his head and looked her over. She was petite, but he sensed that there was a lot of power in that compact frame. “No, ma’am.”
“Ma’am.” She rolled her eyes. “So polite.”
“The way my mama raised me.”
She eyed him with a gleam of speculation. “I know most of the people here, but I don’t think we’ve met before.” She held out her hand. “Cassie Lowman.”
“John Robison.” He took her hand into his and felt the calluses on them. “You’re a contractor?”
She gave a short nod and accepted the tall glass of beer the bartender handed her. “Rough hands tend to give away my profession. Your smooth hands tell me you’re a designer.”
“Guilty. I usually hold pencils instead of hammers and saws. This will be my first time designing a house, though.”
“First time? And you entered a contest like this without any experience?”
“I have plenty of design experience, and I’ve won contests like this in the past. They just happened to be designs for cars.” Five awards to be exact, but who was counting? He didn’t need to have experience with houses to win this thing. His art training could be translated into many different avenues, but seeing the contest announced in the newspaper had seemed to be a sign of which one to follow.
“Designing a house that has both function and beauty is a completely different animal than a vehicle designed for speed. I’m afraid you’re in over your head here, Mr. Robison.”
“Well, the contest committee disagrees with you, or I wouldn’t have made it this far.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “No offense, Mr. Robison, but I hope that we’re not paired together. I need an experienced designer. That is, if you make it into the top five.”
If? He had every intention to not only make it into the top five teams, but to win the entire contest. And he’d be more than happy to make her eat her words. “With that attitude, Ms. Lowman, the feeling is mutual. I need a contractor who has an open mind rather than one who has already decided what is right.”
She took her beer and turned away, her legs teetering on heels that added a couple of inches to her height, but she had only met him at chest level. If he wasn’t so concerned about this contest, he might follow her and strike up another conversation. See if he could find more to admire about her. But he wasn’t here to make friends. He needed to prove that he had the ideas and skills to win this thing.
A gentleman in a bow tie and suit tapped on a microphone situated on a platform at one end of the ballroom. Finally. Let’s get this party going.
“Ladies and gentlemen, members of the press, my name is Christopher Belvedere, and I’m pleased to announce the kickoff for the Belvedere Foundation’s premier Take Back the Neighborhood contest.”
The din of conversation dropped to a lull as people started to gather closer to the platform. John joined them and looked around at his competitors.
“Since 1923 when the first Thomas Belvedere opened a construction company in Detroit, the family has been devoted to improving the city that built us. We built neighborhoods–homes, schools and the St. Anne hospital. When the third
