The Only Man for Maggie

by Leigh Michaels

  There was another knock at the half-open door, and Dan Montgomery put his head in. "I thought I'd find you up here," he told his wife. "Have the two of you solved the problem yet?"

  Maggie shrugged. "Not exactly, but I'm going to talk to a lawyer tomorrow. We'll see what he can do."

  "I hope he hurries." Libby kissed her husband's cheek. "If the townhouses are going fast."

  Maggie looked at her in astonishment. "Oh, Libby, of course they're not! Elliot the Great was just saying that to make us scared that we'd lose out."

  "Well, he succeeded with me," Libby said stubbornly.

  "I'm still having trouble with the whole idea. Nobody ever told me that Eagle's Landing was for sale." Maggie's toast popped up and she carefully spread the slices with strawberry jam, cut them into halves, and offered the plate to the Montgomerys. Dan bit into a piece.

  Libby shook her head. "I hadn't heard it either, so don't look at me. Maybe it was the reverse—Elliot wanted it badly enough to seek out the owners and make an offer."

  "But why?" Dan asked. "It's not exactly a financial winner for the landlord. The heating bill alone must be immense." He took a second chunk of toast. "Elliot said something about upscale housing, but—"

  "The place was elegant once," Maggie mused. "And it could be again. If it was completely renovated and made into five or six apartments instead of a dozen, they'd command a premium price." She put two more slices of bread in the toaster.

  "Maybe," Libby said doubtfully, and looked up at Dan. "I think we'd better take care of this tomorrow, don't you?"

  "Take care of what?" Maggie asked suspiciously.

  "We've been talking it over," Dan said. "And we're going to go ahead. Take the townhouse, I mean, and hope we can buy it in a few months."

  "Traitors," Maggie said matter-of-factly.

  "We were only waiting till we'd talked to you," Libby pointed out. "But there's no point in holding out. And if there's a shortage—"

  "What can I do to convince you there isn't? It's a ploy, Libby, and you fell for it."

  "Still," Dan said, "I think we'd better not wait too long. We've got to do something, and this seems the best alternative. If we're really careful with the budget, we can end up owning a place of our own."

  "I'm going to get a job, too," Libby said. "We've gotten along fine here with me not working, but I can't let Dan carry all the weight."

  Maggie finished off the last bit of toast. "I can't argue with you," she said finally.

  "We all have to make our own decisions."

  Libby reached across the table to touch Maggie's arm. "Come with me tomorrow and look at the townhouses," she urged. "Maybe you'll be surprised, and we can be next door neighbors this time."

  If it was going to take three jobs between the two of them for the Montgomerys to afford a townhouse, how did Libby think Maggie could swing it?

  Maggie laughed, a little hollowly. "Doubtful. From what Elliot the Great said, there probably aren't two units left, much less ones that are next to each other!"

  In the conference room atop the Metro Tower on Chicago's Magnificent Mile, the regular meeting of the editorial board was breaking up. Maggie gathered up her stack of folders and followed the editor-in-chief to his office. "Brian," she said, "I really need sixteen more pages in the anniversary issue. I've got so much incredible stuff you won't believe it."

  "Maggie," he said, without turning around. "I've explained this once already. We've pushed the budget to the limit, and there's no more space to be had."

  "I'll bet if I called the owners and asked them to increase the budget—"

  He wheeled to face her. "You wouldn't do that, Rawlings!"

  "Of course not," Maggie said calmly. "For one thing, it would be professional suicide to go over your head. But you could call them." She saw a glimmer of uncertainty in his face, and pushed her advantage. "Brian, you know this is going to be a great issue. But it could be even better with a little more space."

  "Sixteen pages more? Maggie—"

  "How about a compromise? I'll take twelve additional pages for editorial, and advertising gets four more to sell."

  "How about you get back to work?"

  Maggie leaned against the jamb of his office door and smiled.

  Brian rubbed a hand over his brow. "I'll try for eight," he offered.

  "Try for sixteen and settle for eight," Maggie recommended. "That's what I always do." She ignored his bellow and crossed to her own office, one of a group of tiny, glass-walled cubicles arranged in a half-circle around a computer station where a single editorial assistant sat, juggling the needs of half a dozen associate editors.

  And people think the magazine business is glamorous, Maggie thought. The public image of a powerful editor included a big office with a walnut desk and a private secretary… She smiled at her own daydream.

  "Chad Buckley wants you to meet him for lunch at Coq au Vin in twenty minutes," the editorial assistant said. "What have you been doing now, Maggie, that you're in legal trouble?"

  "Who said I was, Carol?" She took the pink message slip the young woman held out.

  "Because nobody would voluntarily have lunch with that lecher."

  So Carol had no illusions about Chad. That was interesting, Maggie thought. "I hadn't noticed him chasing secretaries around desks," she said mildly.

  Carol didn't bother to answer. Instead she murmured, "From the wrinkles on your forehead, you must be facing a libel suit at least. Perhaps I should warn Brian—maybe he'll reward me with a promotion."

  "To fiction editor, no doubt," Maggie said sweetly. "You're highly qualified for the position."

  Carol grinned. "Will you write me a recommendation?"

  "Of course, if it'll keep you from going after my job." Maggie dropped her folders on her desk and picked up the sage green jacket which matched her suede skirt.

  Coq au Vin was one of the city's premier restaurants, always rated top on the list of five-star establishments, and it was seldom Maggie's choice for lunch unless she was on expense account. But then, an hour in Chad Buckley's office would no doubt cost a lot more, she reflected philosophically as she gave her name to the maitre d'.

  "I'm joining Mr. Buckley," she added, and he bowed and almost clicked his heels as he led her to a secluded corner table.

  Chad Buckley was already sipping sherry. He rose to hold her chair and snapped his fingers at a waiter. "Would you like sherry, Margaret, or something else?"

  "Just iced tea, thanks."

  "Very sensible. Let's take care of the business right away, shall we, so you can enjoy your lunch?"

  Maggie handed him her lease and told him about her encounter with Karr Elliot.

  Chad made no comment. He pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his breast pocket and buried himself in the fine print of the lease, looking up only to order a grilled-chicken salad.

  Maggie toyed with her iced tea and watched him. Finally Chad pushed the lease across the table to her and folded his glasses. "It's a very clear-cut situation," he said. "As far as equivalent housing goes, I don't see that there's anything you can do. The intent of clause seven is very clear, and equivalent doesn't mean the same, Margaret—not in legal terms. You shouldn't have signed the lease, of course, but that's not much comfort now."

  "All right. I guess I can't fight that one. But I haven't had proper notice. I certainly can't move by Wednesday."

  "Well…" Chad looked at the lease again. "We can try. It's likely to be a delaying action, though, rather than a winning campaign."

  "I know that's the best I can hope for. Will you fight it for me? I don't have much of a budget for legal work, but—"

  "Of course I'll do my best. And you mustn't worry about the budget; I wouldn't dream of charging you."

  Maggie sat up a little straighter. "That's very generous, Chad, but—"

  He smiled. "You know, I had you all wrong, Margaret. The first time we met, you were so chilly I thought you weren't interested, so I never followed
up, even though I really wanted to get to know you better. But now that you've found this excuse to call me-"

  He reached out to pat her hand. "I'm so glad, my dear."

  And that, Maggie thought, was just one more annoyance to ring up to Karr Elliot's account!

  CHAPTER THREE

  Maggie was still steaming when she got back to her office. Elliot the Great was a menace, she fumed. The man didn't even have to be within twenty miles of her to mess up her life and make her normal protective instincts blow up like antique dynamite.

  She stuffed the piled-high contents of her in-basket into her briefcase and left a message on the computer system for anyone who might be looking for her that she'd be working at home for the foreseeable future.

  "Or at least the next five days," she muttered. "While I still have a home."

  She couldn't put any great faith in Chad Buckley so long as he thought her plea for help was only an excuse to get closer to him. And if he was right about her lease, approaching another attorney would end up accomplishing little and costing her money she couldn't afford.

  I'll think about it later, she decided.

  She spent her hour on the commuter train reading freelance articles sent in by hopeful writers, and by the time the train stopped at Eagleton she'd made a decent dent in the pile. One never knew when there might be a rare jewel hidden in the slush—but it didn't look as if today was one of those lucky days.

  She stopped at the post office to return the articles she couldn't use, and with her bag considerably lightened she caught the local bus. The ride was too jerky to do any serious work, but fortunately it was only a mile out to Eagle's Landing. Public transportation was a nuisance; she looked forward to having a car again, once she was out from under her load of debt and could afford the payments and insurance.

  With this new twist, however, that day would no doubt be postponed even longer.

  Maggie sighed. Of course, if she ended up back in the city, she wouldn't need or want a car…

  Damn Karr Elliot, anyway. Why had he had to come along and mess up what had been a perfectly well-organized, sane, and reasonable life?

  When she got off the bus at the end of the long drive, there was no sign of human life, just the random, careless songs of a half-dozen birds and the irritable chatter of a squirrel annoyed by her presence. Maggie paused to talk to him for a moment, and he stared beadily at her before darting around the tree trunk and off into the woods.

  Everything else was quiet. But then Eagle's Landing usually was quiet; the house had been built for silence, with thick walls and floors. Dan and Libby and Maggie herself were by far the youngest of the residents, and the wildest party Maggie could remember in her three years in the house was a Sunday afternoon when Mr. Kelly in one of the ground floor apartments had doled out his homemade dandelion wine by the thimbleful to all his fellow tenants.

  The intense quiet was one of the big attractions of the place, as far as Maggie was concerned. When she was working on a special project, it was so much easier to concentrate in her quiet tree house than in the bustle of the office. The memory of trying to do serious work in an ordinary apartment complex made her head ache.

  It was mid-afternoon, and the sun was pleasantly warm on her shoulders as she walked up the long drive. The soft breeze caressed her face, whispering the promise of spring.

  She paused once to shift her load to the other shoulder; despite all the weight she'd dropped off at the post office, the briefcase was getting heavier with every step.

  She heard the crunch of gravel and glanced over her shoulder as a black Mercedes purred up the drive and slowed to an idle beside her. But she didn't stop walking. There was no doubt in her mind who was at the wheel; none of the tenants had the kind of cash it took to drive a vehicle like that.

  The passenger side window lowered, and Karr leaned across the seat. "Hi." His voice seemed huskier than ever. "I thought you said you were busy today."

  "I was," Maggie said. "In fact, I still am." She tapped the side of the leather briefcase.

  The car crept along beside her for another ten feet. "Would you like a lift to the house?"

  She shrugged. "Might as well. Thanks."

  Karr's eyebrows lifted. "A bit grudging, but it'll do."

  "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful."

  Compared to the hard bench on the commuter train, the Mercedes' leather seat was sheer luxury, and the lulling motion of the car was so unlike the rocking of the local bus that she felt as if she was hardly moving at all.

  "You know," Karr said thoughtfully, "my townhouse development is only three blocks from the train station."

  "Really?" Maggie kept her voice cool, so he couldn't possibly mistake politeness for enthusiasm.

  "That's not much longer than this driveway. But I forgot—you have no interest in gardening, so the townhouses are out. Well, the condos are right on the city transit system. Step off the bus and you're practically at the front door."

  "That's hardly a recommendation in my book."

  "I'll bet this is a cold, uncomfortable walk in the winter," he speculated. "But then you won't have to worry about it any more, will you? By the time winter comes again, you'll be gone."

  "That's eight or nine months," Maggie mused. "All right, that offer seems fair. I'll stay till the end of November, and when the cold sets in—"

  "Long gone," Karr said firmly.

  She looked at him innocently. "You mean that wasn't an offer?"

  "You know, I had you pegged as the sort who would want everything cut, dried, and signed on the dotted line, with an engagement calendar set up six months ahead—"

  "Well, in the magazine business—"

  "And an annual budget figured to the penny."

  That was uncomfortably close to the truth, and Maggie didn't care to admit it.

  "Well, don't you like to know what you're going to be doing well ahead of time?"

  "Only where my business is concerned. Which is why you're moving next week."

  The Mercedes pulled up in the small paved lot behind the house.

  Maggie shook her head. "No, that's why I'm not moving next week. I want time to consider and make a reasonable decision—time your so-called notice didn't let me have. Thanks for the ride." She couldn't help sighing just a little as she picked up her briefcase.

  Karr didn't miss her reaction, of course. "Aren't you looking forward to those two very long flights of stairs?" He came around the car to open the door for her. "My apartment complex has an elevator."

  "What a novel idea," Maggie murmured. "Did you think of it all by yourself?"

  "Would you like me to carry that bag upstairs for you?"

  She tipped her head to one side and studied his face. He looked innocent, but she knew better. "Now that's a loaded question," she mused. "If I say yes, you can point out that it would be much easier to carry if I lived anywhere but here. And if I say no—"

  He was smiling. "The question wasn't as loaded as that bag obviously is. Give it here." He reached for the strap of her briefcase. His hand brushed her shoulder, and despite the weight of her tweed jacket Maggie could sense the roughness of his work hardened palm against her skin.

  Now that's silly, she told herself. She started to glance at him, wondering if he'd felt her suppressed shiver, and then turned quickly away, not sure if she wanted to know what he was thinking.

  She spotted a colorful brochure in the back of the Mercedes, and reached for it.

  The cover showed a long row of identical townhouses; the only distinguishing feature was the various colors the front doors were painted. But even all of those harmonized, as if the shades had been chosen from a narrow palette. "Do you have an extra copy of this?" she asked.

  "A whole trunkful. Take as many as you like."

  "One will do." She opened the pamphlet studiously. Let him think she was interested after all, she decided. If he thought she was about to surrender, he might slow down any action he'd been considering.


  "The floor plans are on the back," he said. "Your friends the Montgomerys seemed to like the layout of the Wakefield unit best."

  "That's nice." Maggie tucked the pamphlet into the pocket of her jacket. So Libby and Dan had followed through. Well, she wasn't surprised, and she also wasn't about to let Karr Elliot see that she was disappointed.

  "I expect they'll be moving over the weekend." Karr held the side door for her, and Maggie stepped into the downstairs hallway.

  It was flooded with light; the pocket doors that led into the drawing rooms were open, and sunshine poured through the library windows. The rooms were empty but there were dust balls here and there, dents in the carpet where furniture had stood, and darker patches on the wallpaper where pictures had once hung.

  Still, despite the worn appearance of the rooms, Maggie had no trouble recognizing see the potential that Karr must have seen as well—the high ceilings, ornate carved woodwork, and leaded glass that were simply unavailable in modern buildings. Instead of a dozen small, dark, and rather dingy apartments, there could be half as many light, airy and luxurious ones. It was space that would command a premium price, Maggie knew.

  "You know," she said thoughtfully, "as long as we're talking about elevators… Unless you put one in, that attic space I've got will be practically useless. Nobody's going to pay big money for a third-floor walkup. So—"

  "So why don't I just let you stay, and pay your pittance of a rent? Nice try, Maggie my dear."

  She shrugged. "It will take years worth of rent to pay for an elevator."

  "I'm touched that you're watching out for my bottom line." He started up the stairs.

  Maggie followed, more slowly, looking over the banister at the empty, lonely rooms on the ground floor.

  This morning when she'd left the house it had been easy to pretend that the silence was normal, that Mr. Kelly was simply sleeping a little later than usual and Mrs. Harper was still sitting over her breakfast and her newspaper. But seeing the rooms open for the first time, Maggie was forced to admit that half the residents were already gone, and the other half would soon move on as well.