him as off balance as he made her.
Only as soon as she entered the office she could see they were not even playing in the same league when it came to the “off balance” department.
The Second Chances office as she had always known it was no more.
In its place was a construction zone. Sawhorses had been set up and a carpenter was measuring lengths of very expensive looking crown molding on them. One painter was putting down drop cloths, another was leaning on Tish the receptionist’s desk, making her blush. An official looking man with a clipboard was peering into filing cabinets making notes. A series of blueprint drawings were out on the floor.
Molly had ordered herself to start differently today. To be a complete professional, no matter what.
Bursting into tears didn’t seem to qualify!
How could he do this? He had promised to give her a chance to show him where funding was needed! How could he be tearing down the office without consulting the people who worked there? Without asking them what they needed and wanted? Why had she thought, from a momentary glimpse of something in his eyes, that he had a soft side? That she could trust him? Wasn’t that the mistake she insisted on making over and over again?
Worst of all, Prom Dreams was the first of her many projects being axed for lack of funding, and Houston Whitford was in a redecorating frenzy? There were four complete strangers hard at work in the outer office, all of whom would be getting paid, and probably astronomical amounts! Molly could hear the sounds of more workers, a circular saw screaming in a back room.
Calm and control, Molly ordered herself. She curled her hands in her skirt to remind herself why she had taken such care choosing it. To appear a total professional.
Storming his office screaming could not possibly accomplish that. Not possibly.
Instead, she slid under an open ladder—defying the bad luck that could bring—and went through the door of her own office. Molly needed to gather her wits and hopefully to delay that temper—the unfortunate but well-deserved legacy she shared with other redheads—from progressing to a boil.
But try as she might, she could not stop the thoughts. Office renovation? Instead of Prom Dreams?
Houston Whitford had insinuated there was no money, not that he was reallocating the funds they had. She needed to gather herself, to figure out how to deal with this, how to put a stop to it before he’d spent all the money. Saving Prom Dreams was going to be the least of her problems if he kept this up. Everything would be gone!
A woman backed out of the closet, and Molly gave a startled squeak.
“Oh, so sorry to startle you. I’m the design consultant. I specialize in office space and you need storage solutions. I think we can go up, take advantage of the height of this room. And what do you think of ochre for a paint color? Iron not yellow?”
He’d told her there was no money for Prom Dreams, but there was apparently all kinds of money for things he considered a priority.
Foolish, stupid things, like construction and consultants, that could suck up a ton of money in the blink of an eye. How could complete strangers have any idea what was best for Second Chances?
Molly was suddenly so angry with herself for always believing the best of people, for always being the reasonable one, for always giving the benefit of the doubt.
Pushover, an imaginary Chuck toasted her with his Margarita.
She had to make a stand for the things she believed in. Be strong, and not so easy for people to take advantage of.
“The only colors I want to discuss are the colors of prom dresses,” she told the surprised consultant.
Molly’s heart was beating like a meek and mild schoolteacher about to do battle with a world-wise gunslinger. But it didn’t matter to her that she was unarmed. She had her spirit! She had her backbone! She turned on her heel, and strode toward the O.K. Corral at high noon.
This had already gone too far. She didn’t want another penny spent! He had called her favorite program frivolous? How dare he!
She stopped at the threshold of Miss Viv’s office, where Houston Whitford had set up shop.
He looked unreasonably gorgeous this morning. Better than a man had any right to look. “Ready to go?” he asked mildly, as if he wasn’t tearing her whole world apart. “I need half an hour or so, and then I’m all yours.”
Don’t even be sidetracked by what a man like that being all yours could mean, she warned the part of herself that was all too ready to veer toward the romantic!
Molly took a deep breath and said firmly, not the least sidetracked, “This high-handed hijacking of Second Chances money is unacceptable to me.”
He cocked his head at her as if he found her interesting, maybe even faintly amusing.
“Mr. Whitford, there is no nice way to say this. Miss Viv left you in charge for a reason I cannot even fathom, but she could not have been expecting this! This is a terrible waste of the resources Miss Viv has spent her life marshalling! Construction and consultants? Are you trying to break her heart? Her spirit?”
She was quite pleased with herself, assertive, a realist, speaking a language he could understand! Well, maybe the last two lines had veered just a touch toward the romantic.
Still, Molly was making it clear to herself and to him that she wasn’t trusting anymore.
Not that he seemed to be taking her seriously!
“From what I’ve seen of Miss Viv,” he said, with a touch of infuriating wryness, “it would take a little more than a new paint job, a wall or two coming down, to break her spirit.”
“Are you deliberately missing my point? This is not what Second Chances is about. We are not about slick exteriors! We are about helping people, and being of genuine service to our community.”
“Pretty hard to do if you go belly-up,” he pointed out mildly.
“Isn’t a renovation of this magnitude going to rush us toward that end?”
He actually smiled. “Not with me in charge, it isn’t.”
She stared at him, unnerved by the colossal arrogance of the man, his confidence in himself, by his absolute calm in the face of her confusion, as if ripping apart people’s lives was all hohum to him!
“There’s someone in my office wanting to know if I like ochre,” Molly continued dangerously. “Not the yellow ochre, the iron one. I’d rather have new prom dresses.”
“I thought I made it clear the prom dress issue was closed. As for design money for the offices, I’ve allocated that from a separate budget.”
“I don’t care what kind of shell game you play with the money! It’s all coming from the same pot, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer her. He was not even trying to disguise the fact, now, that he found her attempts at assertiveness amusing. She tried, desperately, to make him see reason.
“Girls
