Bad Boy of New Orleans (9 page)

"How did
you
know I was interested in rental property?" she asked slowly, not sure she wanted
to hear the answer.

He seemed slightly off balance; just for an instant, before he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Oh," he said easily. "Word gets around in this business. I've got my fingers in a
lot of pies. Real estate is the biggest slice. I heard about your deal that fell through.
I'm sorry about that, Micah. You know I would have helped if you'd just asked."

Something didn't feel quite right. Even if word did get around, this was a big city.
Awfully big for Chance to have known of her business dealings. She had been discreet.
She pushed the niggling thought away.

"I appreciate the thought. Chance. But you know how I feel about taking your money."

He held up his hand. "I wasn't offering. Just making a statement." He pulled out the
piece of paper he'd been studying and handed it to her. "Take a look at this and tell
me what you think."

Micah scanned the page, looking over Chance's distinctive scrawl. Her brow furrowed,
and she read it again.

Looking back up, she shook her head. "I told you, Chance. I've only got around three
thousand dollars. From reading this I get the distinct impression that not only is
the down payment more than I've got, the property needs repair."

"Lots of it. New paint, carpeting. A little plumbing. A lot of carpentry work. And
the appliances need replacing, but we could get by with some good used ones."

"Then why are you showing me this? I don't know how to fix a pipe, much less how to
hang paneling."

"Not yet, you don't." Chance leaned forward and fixed her with a steady, almost challenging,
gaze. "Here are the facts, Micah. You're not going to find
anything
for a few thousand bucks' investment. The best you can do is get something that needs
work and haggle for a lower down. This property is basically sound, in an okay neighborhood,
but the cosmetics are shot. I've been considering it for the past month or so; so
far no one else seems to be interested. The owner wants out. I think it could be a
good move for both of us if I cut you in on the deal."

Micah realized she was gripping the paper tightly, and she was fighting the buzzing
noise in her head. This seemed like more work than she'd bargained for. But what had
she expected? A miracle? That Chance had some kind of magic solution that with a little
money, a little work, all her problems would be ended? Grow up, she told herself.
Listen to the man, he knows what he's talking about. And she was in no position to
argue.

"Go ahead. Chance," she said, feeling uneasier by the minute.

"Here's the plan. You put up what you've got for your portion of the down payment.
I'll put up the rest."

"I don't think—"

Chance held up his hand. "Hear me out. Micah, before you say no."

She nodded reluctantly. "All right, I'm listening."

"Good, because I think you'll like the idea once you get used to it. What I want to
do is furnish the materials, have some of my men come in for the electrical and plumbing
problems. The rest is up to you."

"The rest, meaning...?"

"Hanging the wallpaper. Doing the running, like finding the best buy on carpeting.
Painting the interior. Sweat equity, Micah. I furnish the supplies, you furnish part
of the labor, and your ideas on color schemes. All that stuff I'd have to pay a decorator
for if you didn't do it. When it's done, we resell and find another project, or rent
and split the immediate profits."

"But, Chance. I don't know how to hang wallpaper, or... or—"

"I do. And I don't mind teaching you how. Something tells me you'd be really good
at it."

"But if you're teaching me, I'm not doing my part, and then it's no different from
a handout."

His scowl was enough to make her shrink back. But she wouldn't. She didn't care if
it was foolish, she had her pride, and she wouldn't allow Chance to supply the charity.

"Get this, Micah. If anyone knows what a handout is, it's me. My mother had to take
enough while I was growing up and I'm not about to insult you by offering you one.
It's a business deal, pure and simple. In fact, if you'll ditch your pride and come
to your senses long enough to see, this could be a good move for both of us, I'll
have my lawyer draw up the papers. That way you'll
know
it's a legal transaction, not some kind of trumped up excuse for me to give you money
you don't want. Believe it or not, I'm still careful with my money. I don't treat
any
investment lightly. Not even one with you."

He swiped his glasses off his nose and tossed them down on the desk. His jaw was set,
and Micah could feel her stomach twist as she came toe-to-toe with the infamous shark
from the waterfront.

"Now," he continued tersely. "You
said
you wanted to
work
at something you could make a go at. Here's your chance. Take it or leave it."

She carefully laid the paper on his desk in front of her and made the pretense of
studying it once more so she could avoid meeting his probing, dark gaze. She could
hear him slowly but steadily tapping the pen on the desk, and clasped her hands together,
trying to still them from covering the hollow of her throat, just as she forced her
feet not to slap the sandal back and forth against her heel.

What was she to do? Did she have a choice? Sure she did. She could turn her back on
this opportunity Chance was offering her, just to salvage her pride since he'd been
so... so businesslike. Abrasively so. The way he'd put it to her, she couldn't help
but believe he was really looking at it as just that—business. And wasn't that what
she'd asked for? No special treatment? She looked up from the paper to see Chance
studying her too closely for comfort.

Micah cleared her throat and asked as cooly as possible, "Shall we go look at the
property?"

His brooding expression faded as he smiled.

"Thought you'd never ask." He reached for his jacket, turning so she wouldn't see
his expression of victory. Or hear the weighty sigh that betrayed his unadulterated
relief.

Chapter 7

Micah swiped her fingertip down the molding of the kitchen doorway. Not only was the
place dirty, the ghastly purple paint was chipped, revealing a mottled olive-green
beneath. It was enough to turn her stomach. And the thin sheen of kitchen grease covering
everything did.

She shuddered, and could hear Chance's chuckle close behind her.

"This is what you call a handyman's special. But believe it or not, by the time we
finish, this place will sparkle. Buy cheap, rent high. Or sell—but we'll cross that
bridge when we come to it."

Micah turned and faced him, unable to keep her distaste, or dubious belief in his
claim, to herself.

"But, Chance, it's so... so..."

"Gross?"

"Yes. Very." She wrinkled her nose, sniffing for anything foul, and was relieved to
smell only the sweet scent of honeysuckle and gardenias wafting from the open window
above the sink.

"Just look at it this way, Micah. Think of all the satisfaction you'll get when you
look at the final product. It makes a person feel good to take a lost cause and turn
it around. I'd think that was right up your alley."

He looked at her keenly. Micah looked away, ignoring his not so subtle message.

"You're impossible," she laughed. "And you always manage to get your way with me.
How you do it, I don't know, you... you scallywag."

Chance clucked his tongue in mock dismay. "Micah, such language. And all heaped on
a man who's crazy about you."

The smile faded on her lips, and Chance raised a brow in question.

"Was it something I said?"

"You believe in bringing out the heavy artillery, don't you?"

"Only when the occasion warrants. And believe me, Micah, you ain't seen nothing yet."

He turned away abruptly, directing his attention to the sink. He tried the faucets
while she stood there absorbing the last of what she knew she should take as a warning.
This was a mistake, getting into a business with Chance. He was going to ensure this
"business" alliance was far from just business. Then why wasn't she as upset as she
should be? Why was she standing there with such a silly, dreamy look she could even
feel on her face?

Get rid of it! She had to do this on her own, without his help. Tell him. Tell him
now before it's too late—

"Chance, we need to talk about this. About—"

"Sure, Micah. But come over here first. I want to show you something."

She'd been ready to say it and get it over with no matter where that left her, only
now he was leaning over the faucet, fiddling with the spout.

"Anyone ever show you how to change a washer?"

"A what?"

"A washer. Look. See how this faucet leaks? Here, first I'll turn off the water supply.
Okay, here, take this."

Micah reached out and accepted the thin rubber circle Chance held in his palm.

"This is a
washer?"
She examined it curiously. "Hard to imagine how a dinky little piece of rubber like
this could stop a leak."

"That's right. Now, watch how I unscrew this piece of the faucet here... and you put
the washer in there... that's good, very good... okay, now we screw the cap on the
faucet back in place." He handed her the cap. "You do it."

Micah followed his directions, intrigued with the simple job as he talked her through.

She finished and turned the water supply on and Chance turned the faucet.

"Look, Chance! It doesn't leak!"

"Well fancy that. And just think, Micah. You did it
all by yourself."

"I did, didn't I?" She grinned ear-to-ear with her unexpected accomplishment, then
turned to Chance and impulsively squeezed his hand. "But you helped. You told me what
to do."

He squeezed back. "Just investing my time wisely. You can go through later and do
the rest by yourself. See how simple this is? I show you how, then you do the rest.
Do you still have a problem with that?"

Micah remembered what she'd said about the handout, and could feel herself flush from
the misplaced pride.

"No. No, I have no problems with that."

"Good. Now what were you about to say before I called you over here?"

She'd totally forgotten her resolve to call the deal off while they'd worked side
by side. But she'd fixed a leaky faucet! It was just a little thing, she knew. But
it represented so much. She could learn. So what if Chance had to show her a few tricks
of the trade? She'd make it up to him. She'd work so hard there would be no doubt
she was doing her part.

No. It was a ridiculous notion to call the deal off when she had this opportunity.
And it wasn't charity. As for Chance and what this might mean to their relationship...
well, that was just the risk she'd have to take.

"Micah?" He broke into her silence.

"Oh, it was nothing. I just wanted to see the rest of the house. Try to get some ideas
going on, what we need to do to make our money back."

Chance nodded in approval. "Now you're talking. I'll make an offer today and have
my lawyers expedite the papers. Right this way...
cherie."

He extended his hand. She hesitated only a moment before lacing her fingers with his,
and tried to ignore the bubble of delight from her accomplishment that lapped into
an even greater ripple of pleasure at hearing the name he used to call her so long
ago.

* * *

"And that, my dear woman, is how you hang wallpaper." Chance laid the wooden roller
down and motioned Micah closer. "Your turn."

Micah shook her head as she reached for the pasted sheet of heavy paper. "I don't
believe it. Last week it was paneling, this week it's wallpaper. Where in the world
did you learn all these things?"

Chance's laugh was a little jagged. "Where in the world is about right. I managed
to work my way across Europe doing odd jobs like this." He caught the end that was
trying to curl up on itself. "Careful, or you'll have paste on the wrong side. Here,
let me get that started for you. I'm taller, which happens to come in handy at the
moment."