by

Diane Maxwell

Manuscript Complete / 200,000 words / Contemporary Romance

Copyright 2001 All rights reserved to the author

No copying in any form electronically or by any given means without the expressed written consent of the author 

Chapter 1

"You need to go to Huntington House. Right now."

"Huh?" Rose Anderson asked absently as she scanned a column of figures which simply refused to add up.

She instantly regretted her inattention when an exasperated sigh preceded the next words at the other end of the telephone line. "What does it take for you to listen to me?"

"Why do you want me to go?"

"I just think you should. I have this feeling. . ."

Rose blew out her breath. Technically, her aunt was now her boss. And if her boss asked her do something regarding her job... Still, it was so late. "Can't it wait until morning?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Rosy."

The hurt in that one word made Rose feel like she'd kicked a defenseless puppy. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day and--"

"You're tired, want a warm bath, a glass of chocolate milk and the books still won't balance," her Aunt Maye finished. "Don't work yourself so hard, honey. I'm certain you can do this job for us."

"Of course I can." Rose pushed the accounting books for her interior design firm aside, sick and tired of blaring red ink. "After that architect you've hired restores Huntington House, it will be no problem to decorate it. I've always wanted to."

"All the members love your ideas, too. Even Daisy didn't argue. So miracles can still occur."

Rose laughed. Her aunt and Daisy Greenworthy were co-presidents of the historical society which owned Huntington House. Their arguments over policy, projects and money were legendary. It should be interesting to see how world renowned architect Michael St. Lawrence would deal with them.

And how he'd like taking orders from Rose, the project's head.

She slipped her feet back into her shoes then glanced at her watch. If she left now, she could be back home in a bubble bath in thirty minutes. Hopefully.

"When you get there, make sure all the lights are out and the doors are locked, okay?"

"You don't have to tell me. . ." Rose halted, cleared her throat and began again. "When is Michael St. Lawrence supposed to be at the site?"

"I knew you were anxious to meet him," Maye's tone was smug.

"I'm not anxious. I'd just like to get a few things straight with him right off the bat. That's all."

"Sure it is. You've wanted to meet him since you returned from that Louisiana house he restored last year." Rose could almost picture her aunt's face lit with a grin. "You said pictures don't do his work justice."

"They don't," Rose replied as she remembered the beauty and grace of the house she toured last Christmas. Proclaimed the pinnacle of St. Lawrence's brilliant career in restoring historical mansions, it was literally too breathtaking for mere words.

Yet Rose felt this strange sense of apprehension every time his name was mentioned.

"Drive over to Huntington House now," Maye urged. "Or is there something you want to talk about further? Perhaps how attractive he is?"

"Turn off the match-making Auntie." Rose stood. "Like I just said, pictures often don't tell the whole story. Besides, I'm not interested in how he looks. I only care how dedicated he'll be toward Huntington House. And how honest he really is."

"He's not another Louis," her aunt replied softly. "I wish I could make you believe that, even if he's from the same place and once owned the same firm Louis now works for."

Rose stiffened at the mention of her ex-boyfriend. "I don't care to discuss it."

"Louis was wrong, spiteful and plain shoddy. But it's over. Please don't keep blaming every man in the world for the actions of one."

Rose slowly relaxed and grinned, glad for the diversion. "This advice from someone who still holds a grudge because the North won the Civil War?"

"That's completely different," Maye argued. The vehemence of her tone increased Rose's amusement. "Every self-respecting Southerner holds some ill feelings for its treatment after the War. But I don't judge people before I know them a bit, either."

Rose picked up her purse. "I'll say good-bye now, Auntie."

"Give Michael St. Lawrence a chance."

"Thanks for the advice." Rose glanced at her watch again.

"If you'd only listened when I first tried to tell you about that Louis character. . ."

"I know, I know. I could have spared myself and my career a whole lot of heartache." Rose searched through the pile of books on her desk until she found her keys. It was old history. Really, it was. "Thanks for reminding me. Again."

"You're welcome. While we're at it, it wouldn't hurt if you'd simply see Michael as a very attractive man instead of--"

"Auntie if you say it, I really will--"

"Scream. Yes, I know."

Rose laughed. "Talk to you later."

"Call if you need me." Maye broke their phone connection.

Rose shook her head and also hung up. She sighed and walked to her door. She didn't have time for such nonsense as whether Michael St. Lawrence was attractive or not. All her energy needed to be focused on Huntington House. She'd waited for the chance to decorate it half her life. It was her dream. She couldn't let anything stand in her way.

The deserted, crumbling house was like an old friend to her aunt's society. And to Rose. It provided her only real chance to prove her talent to the world. Not to mention this project would finally put her struggling firm in the black.

History would not repeat itself.

Chapter 1

(end)