WITH A GLASS of whiskey in his hand, John Robison leaned on the bar and looked at the woman whose cheeks had colored at the blustering contractor’s words. He could admire someone who wouldn’t back down from a confrontation with a bully. Took a lot of guts to keep your head high when others were trying to tear you down. The woman made her way up to the front of the bar and ordered a beer. Her dark brown eyes reminded him of the color of bourbon. “You have something to say, too?”

      He shook his head and looked her over. She was petite, but he sensed that there was a lot of power in that compact frame. “No, ma’am.”

      “Ma’am.” She rolled her eyes. “So polite.”

      “The way my mama raised me.”

      She eyed him with a gleam of speculation. “I know most of the people here, but I don’t think we’ve met before.” She held out her hand. “Cassie Lowman.”

      “John Robison.” He took her hand into his and felt the calluses on them. “You’re a contractor?”

      She gave a short nod and accepted the tall glass of beer the bartender handed her. “Rough hands tend to give away my profession. Your smooth hands tell me you’re a designer.”

      “Guilty. I usually hold pencils instead of hammers and saws. This will be my first time designing a house, though.”

      “First time? And you entered a contest like this without any experience?”

      “I have plenty of design experience, and I’ve won contests like this in the past. They just happened to be designs for cars.” Five awards to be exact, but who was counting? He didn’t need to have experience with houses to win this thing. His art training could be translated into many different avenues, but seeing the contest announced in the newspaper had seemed to be a sign of which one to follow.

      “Designing a house that has both function and beauty is a completely different animal than a vehicle designed for speed. I’m afraid you’re in over your head here, Mr. Robison.”

      “Well, the contest committee disagrees with you, or I wouldn’t have made it this far.”

      She narrowed her eyes at him. “No offense, Mr. Robison, but I hope that we’re not paired together. I need an experienced designer. That is, if you make it into the top five.”

      If? He had every intention to not only make it into the top five teams, but to win the entire contest. And he’d be more than happy to make her eat her words. “With that attitude, Ms. Lowman, the feeling is mutual. I need a contractor who has an open mind rather than one who has already decided what is right.”

      She took her beer and turned away, her legs teetering on heels that added a couple of inches to her height, but she had only met him at chest level. If he wasn’t so concerned about this contest, he might follow her and strike up another conversation. See if he could find more to admire about her. But he wasn’t here to make friends. He needed to prove that he had the ideas and skills to win this thing.

      A gentleman in a bow tie and suit tapped on a microphone situated on a platform at one end of the ballroom. Finally. Let’s get this party going.

      “Ladies and gentlemen, members of the press, my name is Christopher Belvedere, and I’m pleased to announce the kickoff for the Belvedere Foundation’s premier Take Back the Neighborhood contest.”

      The din of conversation dropped to a lull as people started to gather closer to the platform. John joined them and looked around at his competitors.

      “Since 1923 when the first Thomas Belvedere opened a construction company in Detroit, the family has been devoted to improving the city that built us. We built neighborhoods–homes, schools and the St. Anne hospital. When the third Thomas Belvedere created special software, not only did it revolutionize the design of architecture, its multi-million dollar success provided the funds to create the Belvedere Foundation. Since 1971 through additional fundraising, the foundation has financed several thousand low-interest mortgages to families who might not have otherwise had the opportunity to purchase their own home.

      “As you know, the foundation recently bought five abandoned houses from the city of Detroit that were set for demolition. Our goal has always been to bring back the city of Detroit, one house at a time. It is our hope that the selected contractors and designers will bring their expertise into turning these spaces into incredible homes. The winning team will win a quarter of a million dollars, a national and regional magazine spread for their winning design, and be featured in a television special on the Home Design Network. The other teams will win a smaller monetary prize and regional recognition in magazine and newspaper articles.” The gentleman stopped and glanced around the ballroom. “We had more than a hundred applicants for the ten slots. Through interviews and portfolio presentations, we winnowed the pool to the top ten contractors and top ten designers, all of whom are present this evening. After much deliberation to finalize the five teams, it is my pleasure to announce who will be competing over the next three months. Remember all work is to be completed twelve weeks from today!”

      The knot in John’s belly tightened. He knew that his portfolio had been strong enough to get him into the top ten designers. He hadn’t graduated at the top of his class in art school for nothing. Unfortunately, he didn’t interview very well, and he feared that would keep him from being chosen. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. He’d put everything he had into this contest. He needed this affirmation of his abilities. Being laid off due to budget cuts and downsizing had shaken his confidence.

      Shaking off his doubts, he listened as the first two teams were announced. The blustery bully made snide comments after each name, and John walked away from his group to distance himself. He didn’t need that kind of negativity to feed into his own fears. He glanced around the room and saw Cassie standing between two beefy men who looked like they could be her bodyguards. She bit her lip as the third team was announced.

      He sipped his whiskey and almost choked when he heard his name. Someone boomed out, “Who in the world is that?”

      John set his glass down and started to walk toward the platform, where the other teams waited. Mr. Belvedere continued, “And paired with Mr. Robison is