Wedding Vows: With This Ring: Rescued in a Wedding Dress / Bridesmaid Says, 'I Do!' / The Doctor's Surprise Bride. Cara Colter
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problems if he kept this up. Everything would be gone!
A woman backed out of the closet, and Molly gave a startled squeak.
“Oh, so sorry to startle you. I’m the design consultant. I specialize in office space and you need storage solutions. I think we can go up, take advantage of the height of this room. And what do you think of ochre for a paint color? Iron not yellow?”
He’d told her there was no money for Prom Dreams, but there was apparently all kinds of money for things he considered a priority.
Foolish, stupid things, like construction and consultants, that could suck up a ton of money in the blink of an eye. How could complete strangers have any idea what was best for Second Chances?
Molly was suddenly so angry with herself for always believing the best of people, for always being the reasonable one, for always giving the benefit of the doubt.
Pushover, an imaginary Chuck toasted her with his Margarita.
She had to make a stand for the things she believed in. Be strong, and not so easy for people to take advantage of.
“The only colors I want to discuss are the colors of prom dresses,” she told the surprised consultant.
Molly’s heart was beating like a meek and mild schoolteacher about to do battle with a world-wise gunslinger. But it didn’t matter to her that she was unarmed. She had her spirit! She had her backbone! She turned on her heel, and strode toward the O.K. Corral at high noon.
This had already gone too far. She didn’t want another penny spent! He had called her favorite program frivolous? How dare he!
She stopped at the threshold of Miss Viv’s office, where Houston Whitford had set up shop.
He looked unreasonably gorgeous this morning. Better than a man had any right to look. “Ready to go?” he asked mildly, as if he wasn’t tearing her whole world apart. “I need half an hour or so, and then I’m all yours.”
Don’t even be sidetracked by what a man like that being all yours could mean, she warned the part of herself that was all too ready to veer toward the romantic!
Molly took a deep breath and said firmly, not the least sidetracked, “This high-handed hijacking of Second Chances money is unacceptable to me.”
He cocked his head at her as if he found her interesting, maybe even faintly amusing.
“Mr. Whitford, there is no nice way to say this. Miss Viv left you in charge for a reason I cannot even fathom, but she could not have been expecting this! This is a terrible waste of the resources Miss Viv has spent her life marshalling! Construction and consultants? Are you trying to break her heart? Her spirit?”
She was quite pleased with herself, assertive, a realist, speaking a language he could understand! Well, maybe the last two lines had veered just a touch toward the romantic.
Still, Molly was making it clear to herself and to him that she wasn’t trusting anymore.
Not that he seemed to be taking her seriously!
“From what I’ve seen of Miss Viv,” he said, with a touch of infuriating wryness, “it would take a little more than a new paint job, a wall or two coming down, to break her spirit.”
“Are you deliberately missing my point? This is not what Second Chances is about. We are not about slick exteriors! We are about helping people, and being of genuine service to our community.”
“Pretty hard to do if you go belly-up,” he pointed out mildly.
“Isn’t a renovation of this magnitude going to rush us toward that end?”
He actually smiled. “Not with me in charge, it isn’t.”
She stared at him, unnerved by the colossal arrogance of the man, his confidence in himself, by his absolute calm in the face of her confusion, as if ripping apart people’s lives was all hohum to him!
“There’s someone in my office wanting to know if I like ochre,” Molly continued dangerously. “Not the yellow ochre, the iron one. I’d rather have new prom dresses.”
“I thought I made it clear the prom dress issue was closed. As for design money for the offices, I’ve allocated that from a separate budget.”
“I don’t care what kind of shell game you play with the money! It’s all coming from the same pot, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer her. He was not even trying to disguise the fact, now, that he found her attempts at assertiveness amusing. She tried, desperately, to make him see reason.
“Girls who are dying to have a nice dress won’t get one, but we’ll have the poshest offices in the East Village! Doesn’t something strike you as very wrong about that?”
But even as Molly said it, she was aware it wasn’t all about the girls and their dresses. Maybe even most of it wasn’t about that.
It was about turning over control. Or not turning over control. To people who had not proven themselves deserving. Especially handsome men people!
“Actually, no, it doesn’t strike me as wrong. Prom dresses in the face of all this need is what’s wrong.”
Part of her said maybe her new boss was not the best place to start in standing her ground. On the other hand, maybe it was just time for her to learn to stand her ground no matter who it was with.
“This is what’s wrong,” she said. “How on earth can you possibly justify this extravagance? How? How can you march in here, knowing nothing about this organization, and start making these sweeping changes?”
“I’ve made it my business to know about the organization. The changes you’re seeing today are largely cosmetic.” A tiny smile touched his lips. “Sweeping is tomorrow.”
“Don’t mock me,” she said. “You told me I could have two days to convince you what Second Chances really needs.”
“I did. And I’m ready to go.”
“But you’re already spending all our money!”
“Second Chances hasn’t begun to capitalize on the kind of money that’s available to organizations like this. A charity, for all its noble purposes, is still a business. A business has to run efficiently, this kind of business has to make an impression. Every single person who walks through the front door of this office has the potential to be the person who could donate a million dollars to Second Chances. You have one chance to make a first impression, to capitalize on that opportunity. One. Trust me with this.”
Molly suddenly felt like a wreck, her attempt to be assertive backfiring and leaving her feeling regretful and uncertain. Trust him?
Good grief, was there a job she was worse at than choosing whom to trust? She wished Miss Viv was here to walk her through this minefield she found herself in—that she hated finding herself in! Second Chances was supposed to be the place where she didn’t feel like this: threatened, as if your whole world could be whipped out from under you in the blink of an eye.
Molly, there are going to be some changes.
“I’ll be ready in half an hour,” she said with all the dignity she could muster. She was very aware that it rested on her shoulders to save the essence of Second Chances. If it was left to him the family feeling would be stripped from this place as ruthlessly as Vikings stripped treasures from the monasteries they were sacking!
The consultant, thankfully, was gone from her office, and Molly sat down at her desk, aware she was shaking from her heated encounter with Houston, and determined to try to act as if it was a normal day, to regain her equilibrium. She would open her e-mail first.
Resolutely she tapped her keyboard and her computer screen came up. She was relieved to see an e-mail from Miss Viv.
Please give me direction, she whispered