“Half a … of amillion dollars?”I sat on the settee, and a springsproingedas I tried to breathe.
He chuckled and set a hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t say awholemillion dollars, but then again, you can spend as much as you want fixing up this place. Maybe a quarter mill if you do it smart. You can do it. The city has some historical preservation grant money it’s trying to spend. You can get a business loan. And you can do a really great fundraiser here to get you started. People all over Bohemia want to save this house. If you build it, they will come.”
“Like a bake sale is going to save this place.” I looked up at him but didn’t jiggle too much, because I liked his hand on my shoulder, especially because it had slid toward my neck and was now kneading the knotted muscles there.
“A really good fundraiser gets you seed money. Then you can figure it out. Worst case, you make just enough to get it into salable shape. Though I’d hate to see you get rid of it. It’s — it’s special.” He had a wistful look in his eye.
“Says the home builder-renovator. Though I have to admit that it’s charmed me just a little.”
Just then, a strange creak seemed to shudder through the room.
“I think the ghost likes you.” Landon’s eyes twinkled.
“And then there’s that.” I looked around warily, telling myself that sound was just an old-house noise. “Say I wanted to keep it. I can’t build — rebuild this from scratch without a dime to my name. Just for starters, how am I going to get it in shape for any kind of fundraiser?”
He gave my neck a last gentle squeeze, crossed his arms and smiled knowingly. “Me.”
Chapter 7
After jury-rigging the mansion’s old gate back into place, Landon talked me into lunch at the Diamond. Officially the Double Diamond Diner, it was a mid-century gem in downtown Bohemia with an awesome neon sign and a menu full of hearty classics. I readily agreed, because I wanted to pick his brain. I wasn’t altogether assured by Landon touting himself as the secret to my success with Milkweed Mansion.
The business lunch crowd thronged the place, but a friendly waiter found us a two-top. If my friend Millie still worked here, we would’ve had a nice, cushy booth, but I’d learned the hard way that you have to make the best of what you get.
We both ordered iced teas. I asked for a Reuben; Landon, a burger; and when the drinks arrived, I started my interrogation.
“What makes you think renovating Milkweed Mansion makes any sense for someone as broke as I am?” I asked him.
“It’s not a burden,” Landon said. “It’s an opportunity.”
“Taking on something like that scares the hell out of me,” I admitted.
“That’s because you didn’t grow up with my dad. Business is all about risk. If you want to grow, you have to take risks.”
“A noble idea, but I took a chance on my first job, and it blew up in my face.” I didn’t mention that the man who went along with the job assisted in my personal implosion. “I’d rather go with someone I can” —whoops!—“somethingI can handle this time around.”
He raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his tea. “Wait a minute. What happened with your first job? You worked in TV, right?”
“Yeah, while I was finishing my master’s. I was an assistant director on a new kids’ show produced in Orlando.”
“That sounds pretty damn good for a first job.”
“Doesn’t it?” I said wryly. “Only the show sucked, and even when I stepped in as director when the first one left, the boss kept blowing off the ideas I had to make it better. Plus he was an asshole on multiple levels.”
Landon’s eyes were a little too penetrating. “You had a thing with him?”
“WHAT?” My tone was all protest, but I looked everywhere except at Landon and drained half my tea to avoid a more reasonable answer.
“Sorry. Not my place to ask. But you can tell me.”
“Welivetogether,” I said, “and I don’t tell you anything. Why would I start now?”
He shrugged. “You haven’t gotten to know me before now.”
Ouch.It was true. He was just this hunky guy who came and went, left his socks on the living room floor, and took my checks for half of the rent. He wasn’t around much. I’d assumed he was partying all the time, mostly because of his jokes to that effect.
“I haven’t given you much of a chance, and I’m sorry about that,” I said. “I’m just trying to start over, you know? And no offense, but getting buddy-buddy with the Don Juan of Bohemia isn’t really good for my head space.”
He chortled. “Don Juan? What do you think I do every night? I hang out with my friends sometimes, but most of the time, I’m working.”
