Page 7 of Passion and Privilege

“Hey!” I heard a man call out.

I looked up to see a tall, handsome man blocking out the sun. He picked up one of the stray papers. “Are you in the habit of breaking onto people’s private property?” he asked, arching a brow.

I shot him a defiant look, clutching the gathered paperwork to my chest as I got to my feet. From my knees, he looked tall. Standing up, I realized he was really tall. And damn, was he devastatingly handsome. But I was not about to be deterred from my mission by a hot dude. I cleared my throat, raised my chin, and tried to look as dignified as I could.

He pointed to my head. “You’ve got a little something.”

I reached up and pulled a leaf from my hair. “I’m just trying to meet with Mr. Hastings before he ruins this manor,” I retorted, my tone laced with snippiness. “Take me to your leader.”

He didn’t appreciate my joke. He shot me another scowl and looked down at the bid proposal in my hand, curiosity flickering in his eyes. I seized the opportunity to passionately plead my case. If I could convince him I wasn’t a kook and worthy of five minutes, I might get in.

It wasn’t over until it was over.

“It’s a Queen Anne Revival, one of the largest in the state,” I blurted out. “It was built before the turn of the century. If someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing starts tearing things apart, it’ll be damn near impossible to return the house to its original glory. They’ll replace it with modern fixtures and make it look like every other trendy, hipster home. It’ll be a tragedy, a desecration of history!”

The man blinked at my tirade—then laughed. Not the mocking laughter I expected, though. It was a deep baritone that seemed to echo around the garden.

“I see,” he drawled, his eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement. His skeptical gaze lingered on me. “And you know the way this house should be?”

“I do,” I said, nodding. “Whoever he hired is probably in there right now, destroying the historical features. Mr. Hastings is likely to strip it all down, paint everything white, floor to ceiling!”

The man’s lips curled into a smirk, and I felt my cheeks burning with frustration. “Who do you work for?” he asked.

I proudly handed him my card. “Jacobson and Sons,” I said. “This is the bid. It’s a little out of order, but I promise, once he sees it, he’s going to see I’m the best one for the job. I know history. I can restore this house—without destroying it in the process.” I handed him the bid paperwork, crumpled as it was.

“Is this it?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you. Just please make sure he sees this. It’s very important. I’ll see myself out.” I turned back to the wall, looking for a good foothold when I felt him behind me.

“Follow me,” he ordered. “I would hate for you to fall and break your neck and end up suing the property owner.”

He led me out of the overgrown backyard toward the driveway.

“I’ll make sure I deliver this bid to my boss,” he said, grinning with a hint of amusement playing on his features.

The security guard I encountered earlier stared at me with wide-eyed shock.

“I appreciate that,” I said and walked through the gate with my head held high. I didn’t look back to see if the man or the guard were watching me. I was a little embarrassed by my antics, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. I was determined to get my hands on that house.

When I reached my truck, I glanced back at the mansion, a mix of frustration and hope swirling within me. I wanted the job so bad I could taste it. It was all I could think about.

I went back to my apartment, feeling exhausted and elated. I opened a bottle of wine to celebrate my small victory. I didn’t know if my bid would be considered, but I had done everything I could possibly do to get my proposal in front of the owner.

Amber showed up a bit later with a Hawaiian pizza. We sat on the worn-out couch with glasses of wine and pizza.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Have you talked to Scott?”

“Nope,” I answered, taking a long drink from my glass. “I spent the last couple of days working on a bid for the Gloriana Manor.”

“So I did some digging into Scott’s social media,” she said.

“Why?”

“I wanted to see if I could find anything,” she said. “I know you never get on there.”