Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2)

by Gonzalez, Ani

  "He's going to blow a gasket." He clearly relished the prospect.

  "Don't worry. I'll find you another house," Elizabeth said, accepting defeat rather gracefully, even if she said so herself.

  "Middleburg has nice houses," he replied.

  Okay, maybe not so gracefully.

  "Don't be ridiculous. Don't you remember the jeers and catcalls during the Friday night football games? The semifinals game where all the Middleburg kids wore hockey masks? The night they drenched us in orange slime and called us pumpkin-heads?"

  "They used water guns, so it was more of a spraying. And it was kind of cool."

  "Cool? Pumpkin pie sludge splattered in your hair is cool?" Though Gabe had looked pretty good covered in orange slime. He'd looked even hotter after his mom had him take off his shirt for the drive home.

  "That was a long time ago," he said with a dismissive shrug. "Can we stop the rivalry now that we're adults?"

  "No, we can't. Some of us are trying to move this town forward. You're the town's ultra-famous success story. You can't move to Middleburg. They have plenty of rich people. We don't. You have to buy your house here. It'll be good for the town."

  "I don't care. I'm not buying a cursed house."

  "This was an earthquake," Elizabeth said through clenched teeth. "There's a reason why they're called natural disasters."

  Gabe looked down the street. It was calm and peaceful. The trees, the fences, even the porch columns were untouched. "An earthquake?" He smiled. "You're not in L.A. anymore, Elizabeth. This is Virginia." The kryptonite smile did something to her. His nearness was suddenly uncomfortable, and she was painfully aware that she was wearing his jacket. It held remnants of his warmth, reminding her of the hardness of his body and the heat of his touch.

  "It's a normal occurrence," she stammered. She felt like she should step back, but she couldn't. She stared at him, hypnotized. "Just a small earthquake. They happen."

  He leaned forward. "Small earthquakes happen?" Was he still laughing at her? That was so unfair. She couldn't stop thinking about his mouth, and he was cracking jokes.

  He was a jerk.

  A jerk who needed to be taught a thing or two.

  "Yes." Her tone was firm. "They do."

  And then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. His lips were warm and soft.

  He stiffened with shock, and she felt his muscles tighten, as if he were at war with himself. But he surrendered and wrapped his arms around her. The gentle touch of her lips wasn't enough for him, so he took her mouth with undisguised hunger, as if he too had waited a lifetime for this kiss.

  She dug her fingers into his hair and lost herself in the experience. The kiss went on forever.

  It was heaven.

  Until Gabe broke the kiss and pushed her away. She felt bereft. He looked conflicted, then remorseful, but Elizabeth's thoughts weren't as coherent. She struggled to find her footing. Her nervous system had blinked out after that kiss.

  Time to reboot.

  A long silence, then Gabe sighed. "I'm not interested in buying a house with localized seismic phenomena, Elizabeth." He smiled ruefully. "Although, small earthquakes do have their upside."

  Why was he talking about the house? And was she trembling? Ridiculous. It was just a kiss. She had kissed before. She'd taken several acting classes to perfect her kissing technique and had the accolades to prove it. She was certified as a kissing expert.

  But she'd never kissed like this. She was practically shaking. Or maybe it was the aftermath of the fallen chandelier. Delayed shock, that had to be it.

  Gabe looked at her intently. Elizabeth licked her lips. She struggled to focus on what he was saying. Then she remembered—she had to find him a house. And she had to sell the Hagen House too. But she had trouble collecting her scattered thoughts because she was hoping for another kiss.

  "Unfortunately," he said, sounding pained. "I can't take advantage of the upside." He took a deep breath. "That's why I'm getting a different agent."

  Elizabeth looked at him in confusion.

  "I'm fired?" she asked.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "I'M FIRED?"

  Elizabeth's shock was swiftly turning into anger. He tried to focus on that anger. Anger was good. Kissing was bad.

  He repeated the phrase like a mantra, but it had little effect on his libido. She looked rumpled and delicious and that, he knew, was a spectacular kiss. The sight of her wearing his jacket made his chest feel tight and he was having a hard time shaking off the effects of their embrace. Was it the adrenaline rush caused by the chandelier crash? He'd dated women who were just as beautiful, and a hell of a lot more pleasant and agreeable. They didn't have this effect on him, though.

  He didn't like feeling like this—confused, out of control. He should've stopped that kiss.

  Why hadn't he?

  He wanted to kiss her again, and if she kept staring at him with flushed cheeks and swollen lips, he would. He was pretty sure that she'd let him. But kissing Elizabeth would lead to an unexpected place. A place where he'd find himself looking into the mirror, staring at a man he didn't recognize.

  That was why he needed a new plan.

  "You can't fire me." She enunciated her words carefully this time. "Our families are friends."

  That word again. It concerned him. His family already thought he was a soulless corporate toad. He tried to visualize their reaction when they found out he'd "fired" little Elizabeth Hunt, who'd left a successful acting career to take care of her sick mom. He'd probably lose his exalted toad standing. He might be demoted to salamander status or perhaps even cockroach.

  "You're not exactly fired," he explained. "You're not an employee. I can't dismiss you. I'm just going to use someone else."

  "You know, you could have a thriving career as a Hollywood casting director. I know fired when I hear it, Gabe." She paused, tasting the word and finding it unappetizing. "I'm fired because you're a superstitious idiot?"

  "Please stop using that word. And avoiding a tainted property does not make me superstitious, Elizabeth. It's just not a good investment."

  "See?" She squeaked the word out in surprised glee. "That's what the ghost stories do. That's what those ridiculous Haunted House Tours do." She stabbed her finger into his chest. "That's what PRoVE does." Another stab. "It turns our town into a bad investment."

  "It does not. The Hagen House is an outlier."

  "It does so. And it's all thanks to your Fox Mulder wannabes. PRoVE's Hagen House documentary has three hundred and fifty-seven thousand, six hundred and twenty-two page views in YouTube," she snarled. "As of this morning."

  "Really? That's good news."

  Good for his Haunted Orchard project, that was. But he still wasn't sinking seven figures into a cursed, or even haunted, house. Amazingly, Elizabeth didn't seem ready to accept that. She looked like she was ready for a fight.

  "You're firing me because you know I'm right. You're firing me because I'm showing you exactly what your stupid marketing scheme is doing to this town."

  "Don't be ridiculous, Elizabeth," he said, fighting the urge to strangle her, or kiss her, he wasn't sure which. "The Hagen House is just one building with a particularly pernicious history. The rest of the town is doing well. The local legends add to its, um, charm."

  "Really?" Her eyebrows were raised in Muppet-like skepticism. "Then there's no need to go house hunting in Middleburg. Banshee Creek has plenty of charming houses with picturesque local legends."

  "I want a house that isn't trying to kill me. Is that too much to ask?"

  "I've told you a million times," she was practically screeching now. "The house is not cursed."

  "Think whatever you want. I'm still buying in Middleburg and I'm still getting a new agent."

  "Oh, I hope that doesn't happen," she drawled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Hell freezing over wouldn't help with our ghost problem. But I suppose you have a replacement in mind, then?"

  "Yes." He t
ook a breath. Best to get it over with. "Your mother." It was the only solution. Mary Hunt was his mom's best friend, which meant he couldn't abscond to a rival firm. He could, however, get rid of Elizabeth. But he didn't expect her to go gently into the good night. He fully expected an explosion.

  Elizabeth stood perfectly still. "My mother?"

  "Yes. I expect she'll be a lot more objective about my requirements."

  "My mother?" She kept repeating that. His spider sense buzzed.

  "Mary is a very practical person. I'm sure she'll find me something suitable."

  "And I'm not?" Gabe flinched at the sharpness in her tone.

  "You tend to get a little stuck on your causes." To put it mildly.

  "My mother hasn't come back to work yet," Elizabeth said in an eerie, meditative tone.

  "Then she may have to return for this." The firmness of his tone belied his growing unease. She was thinking hard, and that gave him pause. Elizabeth Hunt thinking hard would make any man nervous.

  "Yes." The word was a thoughtful sigh. What the hell was she planning? Now he was really worried. "She may have to return for this." She nodded, and a happy smile lit up her face. "Very well, Gabe. It's a deal."

  "It is?" What the hell? She was happy to be fired? It made things less unpleasant, to be sure, but now he felt vaguely wounded.

  "Yes, I'll ask my mother to take over the search." Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "No, I'll tell my mother to take over the search. She won't be able to say no to you. This will work nicely." With a final nod, she shrugged out of his jacket and handed it back to him. Apparently, the showing was over.

  "Well, yes, it will," he stammered, grabbing the jacket. He was confused and annoyed. Why was she so happy about this? A few minutes ago, she'd been kissing him like she'd never let go. Now, she couldn't wait to get rid of him.

  "Excellent," Elizabeth said as she walked towards her car. She didn't look very stable in those sexy heels, so he stepped forward to steady her. She tensed when his hand wrapped around her arm and then pulled away.

  "Well, it was nice to see you again, Gabe." She gave him a cheerful wave. "I'll tell Mom to call you."

  Gabe frowned at the driveway. "You're still driving that?"

  "Of course." A confused look crossed her face. "It's my car."

  "I know it's your car. Cole and I went to the used car lot to pick it up. The targa tops were so unpopular, they stopped making the car." The license plate read Virginia Vintage Motors. Elizabeth's tiny rattletrap was vintage? Man, he felt old.

  "It's a collector's item," she replied, beaming at her gremlin of a vehicle.

  "It doesn't even have anti-lock brakes." Why was he fighting her? Let her keep the little deathtrap. Elizabeth wasn't his problem.

  "Some of us like the classics." She gave his car a meaningful look.

  "It's a del Sol. It'll never be a classic. You shouldn't let sentimentality rule you. It's just unsafe."

  She glared at him and got into the car. He watched her as she tried to start the car.

  The engine sputtered then died. She tried again with the same result. This was ridiculous. He would give the stubborn woman a ride to the nearest car rental place and call Rafe at Vintage Motors to arrange for a tow. He stepped forward to pull her out of the car just as the engine roared into life.

  He frowned as she drove away. He felt somehow disappointed and wondered why.

  No, he knew why. He was entirely too attracted to Elizabeth Hunt.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ELIZABETH PARKED her car in her parents' driveway. The del Sol hadn't broken down, so take that, Gabe Franco. She turned off the car and jiggled the key, two turns to the right and one quick jerk to the left, to pull it out of the ignition. See? Perfectly serviceable.

  Del Sol: 1. Gabe Franco: 0

  She grabbed her purse and got out of the car, still cursing his name. Then she looked up and smiled.

  It wasn't the house that lightened her mood, although it was a handsome enough brick colonial with a historically accurate white portico and Williamsburg lanterns framing the six-paneled front door. Like all houses subject to the Banshee Creek Historical Preservation Committee Regulations, it was classic, tasteful, and occupied less than seventy-eight percent of its lot. No, she was smiling, but it wasn't because of the house.

  She was smiling because there was a flat of purple pansies and a set of garden tools on the front yard.

  Her mom was gardening again.

  She eyed the purple and yellow flowers with pleasure. Yes, indeed, wonderful news. It almost made up for today's fiasco.

  Almost.

  Her happy mood dissipated. Two rejections in a row, and she'd been fired to boot. How would her mom react to that last bit of news? She'd finally rallied some interest in her real estate business, and her daughter had managed to terminally alienate the client. Not good.

  But at least the firing had a silver lining; it would get Mom back into the office. She would likely not characterize this particular development as a blessing in disguise, though. This was going to take a bit of finesse.

  She walked up to the house, trying to think of a way to confess that Gabe wanted a new agent. Nothing came to mind.

  Had that stupid kiss short-circuited her brain? She reached the portico, still pondering this unpleasant thought, but stopped dead on her tracks when a slender figure came out of the house clutching a piece of paper in her hand.

  Mary Hunt, still beautiful in her fifties, was dressed casually in beige chinos and a teal shirt that brought out the blue in her eyes. She also sported a chic new haircut with feathery bangs. Elizabeth was taken aback. She'd been wearing nothing but dingy gray sweatpants and T-shirts since Cole's passing. Elizabeth couldn't even remember the last time her mom had bothered to put on jewelry. But today Mary Hunt looked great.

  She also looked angry. Pissed, in fact. Her eyes sparkled as she put her hands on her hips and glared. Elizabeth cringed. The source of her mother's anger was no mystery.

  "The Hagen House?" Her eyebrows were knit together in a frown. "Have you lost your mind? Why did you show him the Hagen House?"

  "Why?" She snapped back, knowing that the best defense was a good offense. "Because I have to sell that house. And, as long as we're discussing the whys and wherefores, why didn't you tell me Gabe was your oh-so-wealthy client? I would have appreciated a little warning."

  "I wanted it to be a surprise." Her mom's eyes shifted guiltily. "And I didn't expect you to pull a stunt like this. What were you thinking?"

  "I was thinking like a sensible person. The Hagen House is perfect for Gabe."

  "Perfect?" Her mom's voice held great skepticism. "I heard Liam had an exorcism performed."

  "It was just a blessing," she said between clenched teeth.

  What was it with the absurd curse talk? Was she the only right-thinking person left in the world?

  "And," she continued, "he only did that because his workers asked him to. Any rational person would buy this house."

  Her mom smiled at that. "I take it Gabe is not a rational person?"

  "Don't tease me, Mom. Mrs. Franco already told you that the showing didn't go well."

  "She's been a good friend, and she really wants her son nearby. Surely we can do better than the town's most notorious curse. "

  "It's a historic property. It's bound to have a legend or two. Legends are part of this town. They provide..." Elizabeth sputtered, "...folkloric value."

  "I hear it's going to be on TV soon."

  It's only YouTube, she wanted to scream, but her mom went on.

  "The important thing is, what did the client think of the folkloric value?"

  Elizabeth's shoulders slumped. The client had driven away as fast as his expensive Italian sports car could take him. "He doesn't want to buy it," she admitted. And really, why was she defending the Hagen House? She knew perfectly well that she was trying to sell the unsellable. But it was an old reflex, this automatic defensiveness. The black clothes are comfortable.
All the kids are wearing purple highlights. The scaffolding is solid. I can too make it in Hollywood.

  "Gabe didn't make piles of money by buying folklore. He's going to want a solid house. And Isabel won't let him buy the Hagen House."

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest.

  "Give it up, sweetie. You'll sell the Hagen House, but you won't sell it to Gabe." Her mom smiled at her kindly, trying to take the sting out of her words. "But enough about the house. I don't want us to have a fight. Have you heard from your father?"

  "Not yet," she answered, her mood clouding further. "I guess the board meeting has taken longer than expected."

  If her mom wanted to avoid a fight, talking about Elizabeth's father wasn't the way to do so.

  While her mother had spiraled into depression, her husband had engaged in continuous business travels. Elizabeth suspected that his long absences also had to do with his assistant, a flirty and attractive blonde in her early thirties. She wasn't going to share such suspicions with her mom, though.

  "I'm sure he's very busy," she said quickly.

  It was time to change the subject yet again. An obvious topic came to mind, but she wasn't sure how to report that she'd managed to lose Gabe as a client without dropping back into their old Mom-criticizes-and-Elizabeth-gets-defensive routine.

  "I love your hair," she blurted out in desperation.

  Hairstyles were a neutral subject, right? And her comment was completely truthful. Her mom's gray hair was now neatly trimmed in a cute pixie cut that gave her a severe, but impish look. Where had she seen this haircut before? Judy Dench?

  Oh Lord, her mom looked like James Bond's hard-as-nails boss. It was strangely appropriate.

  "Thank you." Her mom's eyes brightened. "Isabel took me to the salon. She told the stylist what to do." She looked at Elizabeth doubtfully. "Is it really okay? I just trusted Isabel. She's so well groomed all the time. I figured she wouldn't steer me wrong."

  "It looks wonderful," Elizabeth said sincerely. That explained the transformation. She could picture Mrs. Franco storming into the house, forcing her best friend into clean clothes and dragging her to the hair salon. Her conservative mother would have never considered a change as drastic as a pixie cut, but Mrs. Franco was as strong-willed as she was kind, and she'd done well by her best friend.