started whispering more loudly in her head. This was a mistake. What if he called David? What if he called the police?
Instead, he just laughed. “Wow—you lost your job at Franklin Interiors.” His gaze sharpened. “Fired or quit?”
“A little of both, I guess.” When she’d confronted David for taking credit for her work, he’d slandered her with their clients. He and she had basically raced to get the words out after a client told her what he’d said. She was pretty sure her “I quit” beat his “you’re fired” by a few seconds.
“And now you’re bluffing your way into an interview for the renovation of a million-dollar mansion? You look like you’re barely out of college.” He stared at her for a long moment, and she just stared back, unsure if she should flee in embarrassment or stand and fight for the seemingly hopeless chance of getting this job. She pictured herself back in rural Kansas and straightened. She had to fight.
“I’m twenty-eight. I worked at Franklin for four years. I created the proposal that got your attention and led to this appointment. This house is magnificent, and I really ne—want this job.”
He snorted. “Magnificent? This pile of rocks is a pain right in my ass.”
Her panic was briefly forgotten. He had to be joking. This house was… She looked around and wondered once again at the connection she felt to the dusty, neglected structure. This house…was where she needed to be. She had to get this job. He hadn’t thrown her out yet or called the cops, so that was something. He looked around the room as if trying to see what she saw.
“Everyone in town forced me to keep this place standing, but…”
Something clicked in her brain.
“Wait—is this the historic landmark they were talking about saving?”
“Who was talking?”
“The lady who owns the coffee shop was telling my cousin and me about it. She said some idiot wants to destroy the resort and a bunch of houses so he can build some awful casino. Everyone in town hates the idea, and hates the guy trying to…” Her voice faded off as she watched a variety of emotions cross his face, from amusement to anger to…regret? Her cheeks flamed. “And that guy would be you, right? You own the resort, too?”
He gave her a mock bow. “Blake Randall, the villain of Gallant Lake, at your service. But don’t believe Cathy when she says everyone hates the idea. The casino will provide a lot of jobs for people around here if I can ever get approval from Albany.” He frowned. “Cathy and her friends in the Gallant Lake Preservation Society managed to have Halcyon declared a landmark, so I have to put it to use, which is why I asked you…well, not you, apparently…to give me a proposal. Another firm suggested converting this into an office building, and leasing out whatever space we don’t use.”
“Using this house for offices would be criminal.” She might have been having the worst summer ever, but she knew her stuff when it came to vintage homes like this. It was her specialty, and her knowledge gave her a spark of courage. “This was a family home once, full of love and laughter. It could be that kind of home again.”
He looked at her as if she’d suddenly started speaking a foreign language. There was a spark of interest in his expression, but then he drew back and shook his head.
“Look, it took some guts to worm your way into an appointment under false pretenses, and I admire your ambition. But—”
“You liked my proposal just fine when you thought it came from Franklin Interiors. Have you suddenly stopped liking it?”
He shook his head. “Your proposal was the best one I received for residential use, but I’m not convinced a twelve-bedroom castle can ever really be a home.” He looked around the dusty living room. “Even if I was, don’t you think this project is a little over your head?”
“Why? Because I’m a woman?”
“No. Because you’re young, you’re alone and you can’t possibly have the experience or the resources for a job like this.”
His arms went wide, gesturing around the room, and she stepped back, rattled by the sudden movement. He wasn’t going to hire her. There was no sense in begging. This had been her last hope, and she wasn’t going to get the job. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. She’d have to go home to Kansas, where all her nightmares began.
She should get out of here now, while she still had some shred of dignity. She raised her chin, determined not to show him what a blow he was dealing her.
“It’s clear your mind is made up. Excuse me.” She moved toward the door, praying he’d just let her pass without coming any closer.
His brow arched high.
“That’s it? You’re not going to fight for the job after going through that elaborate ruse to get yourself here?”
This was nothing more than a game to him. He thought she was some nice young girl pretending to be a real designer. Wasn’t that what David had called her? As much as she wanted to prove them both wrong, she had to leave. Now. There was a panic attack barreling down on her like a freight train, and she didn’t want any witnesses. Especially one who already thought she was a poser.
She started to walk past him and out the door, but her feet refused to cooperate with her bravado, and she stumbled. Damn it! Out of the corner of her eye she saw him reaching for her. No!
Her arms flew out. He grabbed at her. Shit! She tried to push him away and break her fall at the same time, but she ended up on the stone floor, looking up at him as he gripped her shoulders.
“Careful! Are you o—” Their eyes met. “Miss Lowery? Amanda? Can you hear me?”
His hands were on her. His hands were on her! She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her body trembled, making her head rattle against the marble floor. Her vision faded. The pain in her chest was so overwhelming she wondered if she was dying. She must have said as much, because a deep voice answered from much too close.
“You’re not dying. You just need to breathe. Hold my hand and squeeze. Try to breathe.”
“Can’t…hurts… Panic attack…” Strong arms gathered her up.
No! But she didn’t have the strength to struggle. Every ounce of energy was spent trying to pull oxygen into her lungs.
“Tell me how to help you.” She could hear fear in his voice, and it raised her panic level even higher. She heard a keening wail of pain and realized it was her. Her lungs were on fire, and she could barely form words.
“Don’t…touch me…”
A gruff burst of air blew across her cheek. “That’s not an option.”
She was moving, flying. Being carried. He was shifting her around and fishing for something in his pocket. Her breathing came in short, shallow gasps. She wasn’t getting enough oxygen to hold on to consciousness.
From far away, she heard a disembodied voice and snippets of conversation.
“Julie?…yes,
