Flirting with Disaster (6 page)

His gaze narrowed. “Meaning slapping a few coats of paint on the walls?”

She gave him a scathing look. “Meaning tearing out plaster and replacing it with drywall, reinstalling crown molding and matching up baseboards, installing track lighting, switching out electrical boxes and, yes, painting the whole damn thing when I was done.”

He didn't even try to hide his skepticism. Maybe she'd supervised a professional crew but done the work herself? Not a chance. “Really?”

“Have you ever been in Images?”

Josh stared at her blankly.

“Of course not. It's an art and antiques gallery. What was I thinking?” she said sarcastically. “At any rate, it's mine. The building was a disaster when I bought it. I did all the renovations. Did a damn good job of them, too. Ask Cord, if you don't believe me.”

He regarded her with disbelief. “You did the work yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn't you hire somebody?” Josh asked.

“Because that's what everybody expected me to do. I don't like doing what people expect. I never have. I wanted to prove I could build my business from the ground up, almost literally.”

“How bad was this building?”

“Let's just say that a lot of people laughed themselves silly when I said I'd bought it. My father almost had a stroke when he saw it, and he's not prone to overreacting.”

“How old was it?” he asked.

“It had been around since the mid-1800s. The outside was in good shape, but the inside had deteriorated.”

A building that old would definitely have been a challenge, Josh thought. A lot of people would have leveled it and started over. He was impressed that Maggie hadn't done that. “Did you have Cord take a look at it?” Josh asked curiously.

“He was the first one I called before I signed the papers. He said the building had good bones.”

Josh still wasn't entirely convinced that she hadn't exaggerated the transformation. “Mind if I come by to take a look?”

“Did you ask everyone else who volunteered to work on this house to prove their credentials?” she demanded.

Josh waved off the question. “It's not about that. I'm curious. I'd really like to see it. My expertise is in historic renovation, just like Cord. What can I say? I love old buildings.” If he'd had to explain it, he'd have to say it had some deep-rooted connection to the lack of permanency in his own life, but he didn't know Maggie well enough to get into all that with her.

She studied him for a long time before nodding. “We can go by there now.”

Josh glanced down at himself. “Like this? I'm a mess. So are you, if you don't mind me saying so.”

“It's hot as blazes out here. Anyone who's been outside today is a mess. Besides, the gallery closes at six. We'll have the place to ourselves.”

Once again, she'd caught him off guard. He'd figured her for a woman who'd want people to take off their dusty shoes on the front steps. Then, again, she could hardly ask such a thing of customers. Maybe running a retail business had forced her to lower her high standards.

“Then let's go have ourselves a tour,” he suggested, eager to get a look at the place. “You tell me where and I'll meet you there.”

Maggie gave him the address, which turned out to be not that far from his motel, though he suspected it was light-years away in terms of class.

“Does a half hour work for you or do you have things to finish up here?” she asked.

“A half-hour suits me fine if you're sure you don't mind me coming like this. Otherwise I can swing by my place and shower and be there in forty-five minutes.”

She grinned at him. “As long as you don't sit on the antique furniture and keep your hands off the paintings, you'll be fine. And before you get all offended, I say the same thing to anyone who comes into the gallery. The ice-cream cones from the shop next door stay outside.”

“I know how to mind my manners in a fancy place, Miss Maggie.”

Maggie didn't look as if she believed him, but she merely nodded and headed for her car. Josh's gaze followed her as she settled behind the wheel of a snazzy little Saab convertible—which cost just about half of his annual salary. It suited her, though.

Maggie Forsythe might want him to believe she was as down-to-earth as anyone else, but he recognized privilege in every delectable, pampered inch of her. That meant they were about as suited as corn bread and champagne.

That didn't seem to stop him from wanting her, though. He wondered just how long it would be before he made the mother of all mistakes and did something about it.

 

Maggie liked showing off Images, but she hadn't been this jittery since the gallery's opening night, when the invitation-only crowd had dressed in black tie and included all her parents' high-society friends.

She'd driven crosstown as fast as she'd dared—she'd already received warnings from several easily charmed Charleston policemen. The extra speed had given her just enough time to wash her face, brush out her hair and add a touch of lipstick and gloss before she heard Josh coming in the front door.

He'd pulled on a navy blue T-shirt and tucked it into his jeans, but the additional clothing hadn't done a thing to take the edge off his sex appeal. Too bad. She'd been hoping her reaction, which had centered on his bare chest, would vanish once that chest was suitably attired.

She studied his face as he stood in the middle of the main room and surveyed it from top to bottom. She couldn't tell for sure if he was looking at the art and sculptures, the antiques or the renovations, but she was on edge as she tried to gauge his reaction to any of it. Why she wanted this man's approval was beyond her. She doubted he knew anything at all about art, possibly even less about antiques. He did, however, know renovations, so maybe that was why she was so edgy. Then again Cord had said she'd done an excellent job.

“Well?” she prodded when she couldn't stand it a moment longer.

“Do you have any
before
pictures?”

“A whole scrapbook full,” she said, leading him over to the leather-bound volume she kept on a desk near the front door. Josh flipped the pages, glanced up several times as if to make comparisons, then slowly whistled.

“Is that approval?” she asked tentatively.

“Well, the place is definitely not what I expected,” he said at last.

Maggie couldn't interpret the comment or his expression. “Meaning?”

“I'm not exactly an expert on galleries,” he said, turning slowly to take in the rest of the room, “but the ones I've been in were a little cold, a little too, I don't know, impressed with themselves.”

“Yes,” Maggie said cautiously. That was exactly what she'd been trying to avoid.

“I feel at home here,” Josh said. “I felt it the minute I came in the door. This place makes me want to buy something so my home will feel the same way. Those other places just make you want to possess something because someone else has judged it to be great art.”

Maggie was so overwhelmed by his insight that she only barely resisted the urge to throw her arms around him. “That's exactly what I wanted people to feel when they walked in here,” she said. Maybe she'd have to take back all the thickheaded, macho labels she'd been pinning on him.

He nodded distractedly and hunkered down on one knee beside the baseboards. “These are original?”

“Most of them. I had to replace some.”

“Do you know which ones?”

She grinned. “Do you?”

“Looks like a perfect match to me,” he admitted.

“Cord was able to find me some from the same time period at another site.”

“Atlanta,” Josh said at once, his expression oddly triumphant. “Damn, I knew this looked familiar. We had some old baseboards left over and they disappeared one day. No one would own up to taking them. I never thought to ask Cord.”

Maggie winced. “Sorry. I hope you didn't need them.”

“Cord wouldn't have taken them if we had, but it was a mystery that kept nagging at me.” He stood up and met her gaze. “So, did you and Cord have a thing before he got together with Dinah? He said he's known you practically forever.”

Maggie was thrown by the out-of-the-blue question. She debated how to answer it, then settled for the truth. “I was attracted to Cord for a while, but he never even gave me a second glance. Dinah's the only woman he ever had eyes for.”

“You don't seem weighed down with regret,” Josh noted.

“Not over Cord,” she agreed.

He studied her intently. “Over someone else?”

Her pulse scrambled under that steady, speculative gaze. “Does it matter?”

“I'm not sure yet.”

She liked his honesty. “Let me know when you decide.”

“Until then, you don't want to share any deep dark secrets?”

Maggie chuckled. “There's nothing especially dark or secret about it. Half of Charleston knows the story of my pitiful love life.”

“Then why keep it from me?”

“It would only bore you to tears, unless you decide you're fascinated by me.” She recalled what Dinah had said to her about putting her flirting skills to better use. She tilted her head and looked deep into Josh's eyes. “Are you fascinated, Josh?”

To her chagrin, he laughed. “Miss Maggie, you could fascinate the pants off a saint, and I am only a humble, mortal man. I am most definitely intrigued.”

She rested her hand lightly on his chest and kept her gaze locked with his. “In that case…”

A tiny little muscle in his jaw worked. “Yes?”

“Could I persuade you to let me help on the construction team next week? Don't you think I've proved myself?”

A startled grin spread across his face. “Sugar, just the thought of you with a hammer in your hands makes my heart palpitate.”

She studied him warily. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“As much as I'm going to miss those little fruit garnishes, it's a yes. But I balk at letting you anywhere near a circular saw.”

Maggie was about to tell him that she was quite an expert with a circular saw, but decided to leave that battle for another day. She might as well savor one victory at a time. She had a feeling they were all going to be hard won.

A
fter she closed Images on Sunday afternoon, Maggie decided she had time to pay that impromptu visit to Ellie to try once again to persuade the talented young artist to schedule a showing at the gallery. Until now Ellie had been reluctant to do anything more than bring in an occasional painting. Maggie attributed her hesitance to insecurity. She was determined to put that to rest and build her employee's confidence once and for all.

She knew that Ellie lived in a loft apartment that had been created in an old warehouse along the waterfront. Since it wasn't that far from the shop and the humidity wasn't too oppressive, Maggie walked over, pausing along the way to chat with neighbors and customers who were taking advantage of the break in the weather to get some work done in their gardens.

It was nearly seven when she reached Ellie's, but there was plenty of summer daylight left.

As the creaky old elevator neared the top floor, Maggie could hear an unmistakably angry argument. It was loud enough and heated enough that she decided to go right back down and come another day when her visit wouldn't wind up embarrassing Ellie.

Before she could begin her descent, she heard a crash and the shattering of glass. That was enough to change her mind. Ellie's embarrassment was a small price to pay to be sure that the young woman was safe.

Locking the elevator so it would be available for a quick departure, Maggie stepped off, ran to Ellie's door and pounded on it. “Ellie, it's Maggie. Are you in there? Is everything okay?” When there was no reply, she pounded some more. “Ellie, open this door, dammit, or I'll call the police!”

The door swung open and a towering man stood there, his rugged face contorted with rage. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Though she was trembling inside, Maggie defiantly stood her ground and tried not to let him see even a flicker of emotion on her face. She took a slow survey of his features—the dark eyes, thick golden brown hair, thin slash of lips. She wanted to remember every detail in case she ever had to describe him to the police. He wore jeans and a grubby formfitting T-shirt.

“I stopped by to see Ellie,” she said more calmly. “Is she home?”

“Now's not a good time,” he said, and started to close the door.

Maggie stepped over the threshold before he could stop her. “I'm not leaving till I've spoken to her,” she said, meeting the man's angry gaze with an unblinking stare, even though she felt sick.

He seemed thrown by her determination. “Look, lady, you can't just come barging into someone's home. It's called trespassing.”

“You could always call the police,” she suggested mildly. “In fact, I think that's a very good idea. Why don't we do that?” She extracted her cell phone from her purse and flipped it open.

For a minute she thought he might snatch the phone right out of her hand, but he didn't. Instead, he stormed past her and headed for the elevator.

Maggie waited until the elevator doors closed and it began its creaking descent before she breathed a sigh of relief. “Ellie?” she called softly. “It's okay. He's gone. Where are you?”

“Go away,” Ellie pleaded from behind a closed door. “I know you were trying to help, but you've only made things worse.”

Maggie's stomach churned at the quiet desperation she heard in her employee's voice. “Ellie, please, come out here. Let's talk about this. I want to help.”

Slowly the door to what was apparently a bathroom opened.

Maggie wasn't sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn't Ellie looking shaken but otherwise unharmed.

“Are you okay?” she asked, surveying Ellie closely for signs of bruises.

“Brian would never hurt me,” Ellie said. “Not physically, if that's what you're thinking.”

“From the elevator it sounded like a pretty violent argument,” Maggie said. “I was worried about you. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you by insisting on coming in.”

Ellie sighed and sank down on a leather sofa. “It doesn't really matter. He'll calm down eventually. He always does.”

“Then this has happened before?”

“A couple of times, but not like tonight. This was the worst he's ever been. I upset him when I told him you might do a showing of my art.”

“I heard something break. Did he throw something at you?”

Ellie shook her head. “Not at me. At one of my paintings.”

Maggie heard a defeated note in the girl's voice that spoke volumes. She finally understood that this was why Ellie was so reluctant to agree to a showing—she could never be certain if she would have anything to show. “He does that a lot, doesn't he? Destroys your work,” she guessed.

Ellie nodded miserably. “He says I have no talent, that he doesn't want me to be humiliated.”

Maggie felt her indignation rise, but she kept her voice under careful control. “Who is he? Your boyfriend?”

“He was,” Ellie admitted, shamefaced. “He wasn't always like this. He's changed lately. I've been trying to break things off with him. I know Brian's no good for me, but he was my mentor, you see, so it's hard. There was a time when he encouraged me, when he taught me technique and composition, when he helped me settle on the right medium for my work.”

“Then he's an artist, too? How did you meet?”

Ellie nodded. “He was my instructor. Everyone said Professor Brian Garrison was the most talented artist on staff. I was flattered when he took an interest in me.”

“But eventually he realized that your talent was greater than his own,” Maggie guessed.

Ellie seemed startled by her assessment. “I don't know. Maybe.”

“Oh, Ellie, I'm so sorry,” Maggie said, reaching for her hand. “Don't let Brian or anyone else ruin this gift of yours for you. Let's take a look at what you have here. You trust my judgment, don't you? You know I'd never lie to you about anything this important?”

“Of course I trust you, but I don't think I can look right now. You go ahead,” Ellie said. “I don't know how much damage he did this time.”

Maggie moved into the huge open space that comprised the studio portion of the apartment, then winced at the destruction. Brian had obviously been at it long before she arrived and heard that crash. What she'd heard had apparently been a jar of turpentine that had been thrown at a huge still life of sunflowers. The style was reminiscent of Van Gogh, but Ellie had a unique vision that brought a touch of lightness and whimsy to the work. Of course, now the paint ran in distorted streaks, so it was impossible to get the full effect.

Another canvas had been slashed, another splattered with paint. One had a giant X painted cross it in vivid red. Apparently he'd been indiscriminate in his rampage, choosing whichever works were most convenient, not those of any particular theme. Still lifes had been damaged, as well as street scenes.

Maggie's fury rose. Seeing such incredible paintings destroyed in a jealous rage made her almost physically ill. What a terrible waste!

“How bad is it?” Ellie called out in a voice that trembled.

“Half a dozen are destroyed,” Maggie told her, struggling to keep the outrage out of her voice. “But there are quite a few he left untouched, more than enough for a show.”

She went back to sit next to Ellie. “I think we need to get these paintings over to the gallery where they'll be safe,” she told her. “And then you need to get your locks changed here. I'd do it myself, but I don't want to leave you alone while I pick up my tools and try to find a lock at this hour. Besides which, we need someone with a truck to take the paintings. I'll call some friends. We can take care of both of those things tonight. In the morning, if you'd like, we can go to the police and get a restraining order against him.”

Ellie shook her head. “That will only infuriate him more. Besides, I told you he'd never hurt me.”

Maggie squeezed her hand. “But he
has
hurt you,” Maggie said gently. “This is meant to hurt your soul, Ellie. It's meant to destroy your self-confidence and rob you of something that's very important to you.”

Ellie shook her head stubbornly. “I can't ask for a restraining order. Changing the locks will be enough. He'll get the message.”

Maggie had seen the rage in the man's eyes. She doubted his mood would mellow significantly anytime soon. Nor did she think Ellie should ever risk trusting him not to explode when she least expected it, but she bit her tongue for now. She didn't want to add to Ellie's distress. “If you change your mind, I'll go with you, okay?”

“Thank you.”

“Now, let me make that call and we'll secure your apartment and move the paintings.”

She pulled her cell phone from her bag and punched in Dinah and Cord's number. Unfortunately no one answered. She debated the wisdom of calling Warren, who might also be able to counsel Ellie on dealing with Brian, but she doubted he had the tools to deal with changing a lock, and that was a top priority. Nor did he have a truck to help with moving the paintings.

But Josh could help on both fronts, she realized. And if he'd been convinced to assist with the building of Amanda's house, then he must have something of a knight-in-shining-armor complex. Fortunately he'd given all the volunteers a card with contact information on it, including his cell-phone number. Maggie found the card in her purse and dialed his number.

“Yes,” he answered so irritably that Maggie almost hung up.

“Josh, it's Maggie.”

“Well now, this
is
a surprise,” he said, his tone immediately changing. There was a sexy vibe that hadn't been there ten seconds ago.

“I need some help,” she said. “Are you busy?”

“Maybe you ought to tell me what sort of help you need before I say just how busy I am,” he said, a sudden note of caution in his tone.

Walking away from Ellie, Maggie spoke in a low voice and gave him a condensed version of what she'd walked in on a half hour earlier.

“I'll pick up a new dead bolt and be there in twenty minutes,” he said without hesitation. “You two going to be okay until then?”

“We'll be fine. Brain's gone. He took off when he realized I wasn't budging.”

“If he turns up, though, call nine-one-one and then scream your head off till all the neighbors come running,” Josh said. “Don't hesitate, okay?”

The genuine concern in his voice was comforting. It confirmed her gut instinct that he was the right man to call.

“You want me to stay on the line till I get there?” Josh added.

“I'd rather you concentrate on getting that lock and driving over here like a bat out of hell,” she said honestly.

“I'm on my way,” he said.

“Thanks.”

She turned to smile at Ellie. “Help is on the way. Why don't I make us some coffee.”

Ellie grinned. “I thought all Southerners lived on sweet tea this time of year. Lord knows, we did at my house. What is it with you and coffee?”

“A minor part of my rebellion,” Maggie told her. “I've always hated going with the crowd on anything. That doesn't mean that drinking sweet tea isn't one of my guilty little secrets. I'll go pour us a couple of glasses, okay?”

“Sure.”

En route to the kitchen, Maggie paused to give Ellie's shoulder a pat. “It's going to be okay, you know.”

“I hope so.”

“Come on. You know so. I keep telling you how talented you are. I'm an expert, remember? You need to start listening to me, rather than a man who's pea green with envy.”

“It's not that,” Ellie said. “I'm just worried if you store those paintings at the gallery, it'll make you a target. What if Brian comes after them there? I don't want to be responsible for him ruining your wonderful gallery.”

“He won't,” Maggie replied with a confidence she wasn't entirely sure was justified. “He knows he can intimidate you, but he won't try it with me. He's already seen that I don't back down. He knows I won't hesitate to put his sorry butt in jail.”

But despite the forceful words, Maggie resolved to have the security system at the gallery checked and the locks there beefed up, as well.

 

It took Josh longer than he'd anticipated to find a halfway decent lock and then locate the warehouse. Every second of the delay was torture. Despite her brave front, he'd heard something in Maggie's voice he'd never expected to hear—fear. Despite her declaration that she and this other woman were fine, he'd been tempted to send the cops over there to keep an eye on things. Only her promise to call the police herself if this nutcase showed up again kept him from doing so.

When he finally found the darkened warehouse, he was appalled that anyone was living in such an area, especially a woman alone. It was clearly a place that someone had hoped to turn into a trendy section of funky studios and shops, but the transformation was far from complete. It was mostly dingy and run-down, with way too few streetlights for his comfort.

By the time he finally got to the right address and rode the groaning elevator to the top floor, he was cursing a blue streak. Not that anyone could have heard him over the music blaring from the apartment beneath. It sounded as if a garage band on speed was rehearsing inside. No one would ever hear screams over that racket.

He pounded on the apartment door for what seemed like an eternity before Maggie finally opened it.

“Why didn't you ask who it was?” he demanded.

“I did. Apparently you didn't hear me,” she said, even now shouting to be heard over the din.

“How the hell does your friend stand that?”

“It just started,” she told him. “Ellie says they only rehearse on Sunday nights.”

“Lucky for her or she'd be deaf by now.” He knelt down and studied the door and the current lock. The door was solid enough. In fact, it felt like steel. Nobody would get through that, he concluded. Add the new lock, and she should be safe.