The Only Man for Maggie

by Leigh Michaels

  She set the tray on the hassock which sometimes doubled as a coffee table. Tripp, who had followed her from the kitchen, sniffed warily at Karr's boots and finally settled directly under Maggie's feet, still eying the newcomer.

  "Haven't you inspected this part of your new property before?" she asked.

  Karr shook his head without looking at her. "You were out of town, and your lease specifies that the landlord can't have access without your permission. Except for emergencies, of course—but buying the property didn't seem to fit that classification."

  "You amaze me." She filled a mug for him. "I've got sugar, but I didn't pick up any milk, I'm afraid."

  "That's fine. On construction sites you learn to drink coffee however you can get it." He accepted the mug and took a long swallow, heedless of the almost-boiling liquid.

  "Why are you amazed that I know the rules? I read that lease very carefully."

  Maggie merely held her mug, knowing it would be at least five minutes before the coffee cooled enough for her taste. "Then you know that I have two more months before it expires. If I wanted to move before then—which I assure you I don't—I'd either have to sublet or pay the whole amount due, because I've entered into a valid contract to live here till the end of June."

  "That's the way leases work," he agreed.

  "Exactly. It's a legal contract, and as long as I have a lease, it's exactly as if I own this section of the house. So what makes you think you can just send me a letter and make me move?"

  "Clause seven, paragraph two," he said succinctly. "Equivalent housing."

  Maggie laughed. "You call what you're offering equal to this?"

  Karr looked around once more. The silence stretched painfully, till almost a minute had gone by. Then he shrugged and looked directly at Maggie. "Nope," he said easily.

  She hadn't expected him to agree with her, and the hairs at the back of her neck warned that something wasn't right. Perhaps he'd admitted it only because they were alone, so she couldn't prove a thing—it would be her word against his. Nevertheless, he had conceded the point.

  She pressed her advantage. "Well, that leaves us—"

  He interrupted. "What I'm offering is a whole lot better."

  Maggie gave a genteel little snort. "Says who?"

  "Let's do a little comparing. You get your choice between a three-bedroom townhouse with a garden and a garage, or a condo with a fireplace and a hot tub, or an apartment with a clubhouse, pool and fully equipped gym right on the site, for the same amount of money you're paying now."

  "But only for the remaining two months of my lease."

  He shrugged. "Those are the breaks. It's still a good deal, even for just two months. Do you know what those units rent for normally?"

  "A whole lot more than Eagle's Landing," Maggie said dryly.

  "True—but you get what you pay for. What do you do, anyway?"

  "I'm the associate editor of a magazine."

  "Oh, that's right, my secretary told me. The editor, hmm? Then I doubt you'd have too much trouble affording the rent, even at my supposedly outlandish prices. Or are you just too cheap to pay the going rate?"

  Maggie snapped, "My finances are none of your affair!"

  He looked a little surprised at her vehemence, and Maggie swallowed hard. She didn't have to explain to anyone how her budget had gotten in such a mess—but she'd only cause increased curiosity if she let it be known how sensitive a subject money was.

  "I wasn't asking for a financial statement," he said mildly. "I still think you'd have trouble making a case that giving up a one-room apartment on the third floor of a shabby old house is any great sacrifice, no matter how much money's involved."

  "It isn't simply a matter of money, anyway," Maggie argued. "How about the aesthetic value of this apartment? It's like living in a tree house, which is a whole lot different than the average condo. You may not have any appreciation of charm or beauty, Mr. Elliot, but—"

  "Oh, I wouldn't go that far," Karr drawled. His gaze was resting appreciatively on her face, and the sparkle in his eyes had grown even more wicked.

  Maggie gritted her teeth. "I know, you find it in women," she snapped, "not old buildings. Spare me the sexist views, please—I'm not interested."

  "Since when is it sexist for a man to find a woman attractive?" he said softly, and leaned forward as if to touch her.

  Tripp raised his head and growled a little, and Karr withdrew his hand. "Have you considered oiling that dog?" he inquired. "He sounds as if he's rusty. So which development would you prefer? I'd take you around myself and show you the available units—"

  "How thoughtful of you," Maggie murmured.

  "Isn't it? The other tenants didn't get such personal service. But you see I'm afraid I can't; I've got plans for the evening, and—" He glanced at his wristwatch. "Oh, goodness, I'm late already. Perhaps tomorrow?"

  "I'll be busy tomorrow."

  He set his mug back on the tray and stood up. "Better not let it wait too long," he warned. "The townhouses in particular are going fast."

  "I'm not interested in a townhouse."

  "Well, that might be a good choice, as the lawn would be a nuisance to keep up when you aren't used to it. And I must say I think the hot tubs make the condos very appealing."

  "The last thing on earth I want is a condo."

  "Really? Well, everyone to his own taste, I suppose. Not that the apartments aren't nice. That's where most of your neighbors decided to move, and of course they're the least expensive, but—"

  Maggie gritted her teeth. "I have a lease, and I'm not leaving here."

  Karr smiled. "Yes, you are. Your thirty days are up next Wednesday. And since today's Thursday…"

  "But I haven't had thirty days," Maggie said stubbornly. "I only got the official notice today."

  "It's not my fault you don't read your mail."

  "I wasn't even here—I've been traveling for nearly a month."

  "After such a long vacation, no wonder you're concerned about paying the rent. But that's beside the point. The letter was delivered in plenty of time, and according to the lease—" His voice held a note of feigned concern. "You have read your lease? Fine print and all?"

  "Of course I have." Not lately, Maggie admitted, but she certainly wasn't going to confess the fact to him. The minute he was out the door she'd find it; that was sure.

  "According to the lease, sending notice of changes by ordinary first class mail is considered sufficient. And this is a simple change in the lease, really—nothing complex at all."

  "You call being evicted a simple change in the lease?"

  "You're not being evicted," Karr pointed out. "Yet."

  Maggie bounded to her feet and dug her fists into her hips. "Is that a threat? I suppose if I'm still here next Thursday morning you're going to send a SWAT team to blast me out!"

  "Oh, I wouldn't like to say what I might do." His voice was gentle, but there was a steel thread underneath.

  "Because you're not absolutely sure you're in the right, is that it? I think you're afraid a judge would agree that I haven't had adequate time to react to this—this incredible infringement on my rights."

  "Do you, now?" He sounded almost admiring.

  For a moment Maggie was sure she'd struck a nerve. Now they were getting somewhere!

  "Personally, I can't see that your long trip is my problem," he went on. "Where were you, anyway? Lounging on a beach on a desert island? That's a nice tan you've got."

  He'd certainly looked her over closely enough to know, Maggie thought irritably.

  "I was working."

  A note of envy crept into his voice. "A thirty-day business trip that obviously involved a lot of sun… That's some job."

  "It's no crime to fit in some time on the beach between interviews," Maggie said crisply. "There are certain advantages to my job, but it's still a pressure cooker of a position, and the last thing I need is to come home to this kind of trouble!"

  "That," Ka
rr said, "is hardly my problem. But you think it over, and we'll talk about it tomorrow."

  He was almost to the door when Maggie found her voice. "As long as you're treating me like the little woman," she called, "there's one line you've missed. Aren't you going to tell me I'm cute when I'm mad?"

  "Oh, no," Karr said calmly. "I wouldn't want to be the one responsible for you getting a big head over a compliment like that."

  Maggie read clause seven, paragraph two for the sixth time, and in a fit of pique she crumpled the lease into a ball and flung it into the fireplace. Why had she been so blind when she signed the thing, not to see that there wasn't a single tiny loophole for a tenant who wanted to break the lease, but there was a glaring one for the landlord?

  Oh, be realistic, she reminded herself. The truth was, she'd been so taken with Eagle's Landing on her first visit—and so desperate for an affordable place to live—that she'd probably have signed a contract which was a great deal more restrictive.

  She had paid no attention to the clause because the idea of breaking her lease had never occurred to her. Even after her debts were repaid and she could afford a higher rent, she couldn't imagine leaving her tree house of her own free will.

  But the fact was, her debts weren't repaid—and they wouldn't be for another two years, at least—and in the meantime she couldn't afford a higher rent. Which left her with a problem.

  If she'd had proper notification, she could have sought out another inexpensive place to live. Thirty days would have been little enough time as it was, but she probably could have managed; to find something affordable in less than a week would be impossible.

  The alternative—to take up Karr Elliot's offer for two short months and then move again—would be crazy. Her job didn't allow time for foolishness like that. She was facing a major deadline as it was. In fact, she ought to be working tonight, instead of fretting about living arrangements…

  What made it particularly painful was that this was the second time she was losing what had seemed to be a permanent refuge.

  She walked over to the window. It was dark now, and the moon was just rising above the trees, bathing Eagle's Landing in its silvery glow. From any angle she could look out into the tops of the oaks and maples. The ancient oak on the west side of the house was so tall and so broad that at night she could lie in bed and listen to the rhythmic scrape of its branches against the brick and slate. It always seemed to whisper reassurance—telling her that she wasn't alone.

  Which was silly, of course. She liked being alone. As a child, and even as a young adult, she'd never had space and silence—and she'd wanted it desperately. That longing for solitude was a good deal of what had gotten her into the mess she was in now…

  Buying a condominium had looked like such a good deal, after years spent living in boxy, noisy apartments shared with multiple roommates. Maggie had been on the job as an editorial assistant at Today's Woman for a year, her bank account was growing slowly but solidly, and her future was bright. There was already the possibility of a promotion, and someday she would be able to afford a place of her very own…

  Then Darien Parker had come along. She'd met him at a party, and dated him casually for a month before—over dinner one night, after she'd told him how tired she was of roommates—he'd shown her that someday was closer than she'd ever dreamed.

  He had an inside track with a developer he knew, he said, and he could get her a deal on a brand-new condo. It was so new, in fact, that she could watch it be finished, and decide herself what color the carpet should be and whether she wanted natural wood or high-fashion gloss for her kitchen cabinets. To Maggie, who had never been able to paint a wall without getting approval from a landlord, it was heaven just to think about the options.

  Her own place. Her own four walls…

  If, that was, she could just come up with a down payment. A small one would do, Darien told her, because he would vouch for her with his friend—but of course, the more she could pay in advance, the less her monthly mortgage would be. He'd shown her how, with all the extra benefits of home ownership figured in, the condo would end up costing her less each month than the rent on an apartment. It was a deal so good that it would be insane to turn it down.

  So Maggie closed her savings account, took the maximum advance on her credit cards, borrowed against her car, and cashed in her tiny pension plan. The amount of money she could get her hands on was astounding, she'd thought proudly—not bad for a kid from the slums who'd only managed college by waiting tables and studying through the night till her eyes were always bloodshot, to keep her grades high enough to qualify for scholarship help.

  She'd signed the papers, and the check, with shaking hands, and then she went back to walk through the unfinished condo and dream of the home it would one day be. Maybe it would even be a home for two, she'd thought, for though it was too soon to make any firm decisions about their future, she and Darien were spending a great deal of time together…

  Six weeks later, the developer was arrested and charged with fraud. It was no consolation that he was still in prison somewhere, because for all Maggie knew, her condo was sitting there yet without a roof, its plywood subfloor sagging under winter snows, its half-framed walls warped by wind and rain.

  She couldn't even sell the shell, for it didn't belong to her after all, the investigators had told her gently. The project had been a scam from the start, and every one of the condos had been sold to at least three buyers.

  Maggie's money—every single asset she'd been able to scrape together in the world—was gone, with nothing to show for it. She'd lost her car, and she was still paying back the other loans.

  But even that hadn't been the worst of it. The cruelest blow had come when she called Darien, frantic—almost hysterical—in the hope that he could fix things, and he'd told her with a sneer that she'd been the easiest mark of them all. All he'd had to do was take her out, he'd said, and she'd been putty in his hands…

  Maggie had cried for a week, and then had lifted her chin and made up her mind that she would not be defeated. She had pulled herself up from the slum; she could rise above this. But she would never be such a fool again. She would rely only on herself.

  Once she'd had the promise of her own space, she found she couldn't bear to go on sharing an apartment with others, and that was when she'd found Eagle's Landing. It had been more than a place to live—it was a haven, a sanctuary. There was nothing like it; no matter how long she looked, she'd never find anything which could compare to her tree house.

  She couldn't have it, of course. Sooner or later, she would have to go. But it wasn't fair for Karr Elliot to rob her of her home without even giving her breathing space—the rest of her lease, or at least the same amount of notice that everyone else at Eagle's Landing had gotten.

  Somewhere, she told herself, there must be a judge who'd agree.

  She reached into the side pocket of her briefcase for her notebook calendar and paged through it till she found the unlisted home phone number of the magazine's legal counsel. She didn't know Chad Buckley well, but surely if she told him how important this was, and how pressured she was for time, he wouldn't mind being disturbed at home.

  She recognized his voice, and hesitated, for it sounded as if there was a party going on. She could hear the clink of glasses and the murmur of voices and laughter. "Chad? It's Margaret Rawlings from Today's Woman."

  His voice warmed. "Well, hello, Margaret." He pronounced all three syllables, as if he was caressing the name.

  Maggie frowned. That didn't sound like the businesslike Chad Buckley she'd encountered at occasional staff meetings.

  "There's nothing wrong at the magazine, I hope?" he went on.

  "No—I'm afraid this is personal business. I'm sorry to call you at home, but I'm in a jam."

  "What can I do for you?"

  "I'm having a problem with my lease, and I wanted to ask your advice. I know how busy you are, but perhaps I could buy you lunch tomorrow?"


  "I assume this is a matter that needs quick action?"

  "Well, yes. I just found out—"

  "Then why don't we take care of it tonight? It's early yet. Come over to my house, and—"

  "Aren't you having a party?"

  "Oh, it's nobody important. I can get rid of them by the time you arrive."

  Definitely not the Chad Buckley she was used to, Maggie thought dryly. "That's very thoughtful, but I think lunch would be a better idea."

  "Well, if you insist on worrying about it overnight, I guess that's your right. I'll give you a call at the magazine in the morning, shall I?"

  Maggie put the telephone down with mixed feelings. With a plan of action underway, she could relax a little. On the other hand, if she'd had any inkling that Chad Buckley had something besides magazine law on his mind when he looked at her…

  She'd probably have called him anyway, she concluded, since he was the only attorney listed in her little black book.

  She was rummaging in the kitchen for a snack when Libby tapped on the door a little later. "Honey? Are you feeling better?"

  "I wasn't feeling bad, exactly."

  "Well, I heard you shouting at someone."

  "Oh—that was just Elliot the hot-shot home wrecker. Want a cup of tea?"

  Libby nodded and pulled up a chair. "What did he tell you?"

  "Typical propaganda—how I'd better make up my mind right away because the townhouses are going fast. You know the sort of stuff salesmen always say."

  Libby looked doubtful.

  Maggie surveyed the contents of the refrigerator with distaste. "I knew I should have stopped at the supermarket before I came home." She dug a loaf of bread out of the freezer and dropped two slices into the toaster. "Cheer up, Libby. It'll work out somehow. Aren't you going to ask about my trip? I've got so much material for this special edition that I'm going to ask Brian tomorrow for another sixteen pages. And if he doesn't give it to me—"