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
