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Chase ran the back of his hand along her cheek

Sylvie could hardly breathe. Everything in her waited to hear what he would say, what he would do.

He gave in and pressed his mouth to hers, holding motionless, as if waiting for the spark to flare. And oh, did it flare. Just like all those years before, pure desire poured through her.

They were reliving a memory, fixing it. For once in her life, she was going for it. Arousal sparked along her nerves, like strings of twinkle lights. She felt light-headed and pulled back just long enough to take in a gulp of air. With their hands on each other’s faces, their upper bodies close, the embrace was tender and hungry and wild all at once and she never wanted to stop.

Dear Reader,

I have to confess: I’m not a good shopper. I walk into a mall and get overwhelmed. That dates back to childhood when my mother would take me shopping for a special dress and I’d find something in the first store, but she would say, “Shall we keep looking for something better?” Better? There might be something better? So off we’d go, to store after store after store. All that choice wore me out.

So why would a non-shopper write a story about a woman who practically grew up in a mall and loved it like home, its employees like family? Because malls fascinate me. A mall is a world unto itself under an air-conditioned sky. I used to have a fantasy of spending the night in the mall and exploring all the stores. You’ll see that happen in the book. Boy, did I have fun with those pages!

This story is also about family—about how family is what you make of it. With her mother largely absent from her life, Sylvie created a family out of the mall and Chase’s relatives. The book takes place around Christmas, and even I love the crazy, festive fun of a mall at Christmas. Starlight Desert Mall does Christmas right, I think.

So we’ve got malls, family, Christmas and falling in love. Can you see why this story was a delight to write? This is my first book for Harlequin Superromance, so I hope you’ll find it a worthy fit.

Let me know what you think at dawn@dawnatkins.com or visit www.dawnatkins.com.

Best,

Dawn Atkins

A Lot Like Christmas
Dawn Atkins

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Award-winning author Dawn Atkins has written more than twenty novels for Harlequin Books. Known for her funny, poignant romance stories, she’s won a Golden Quill Award and has been a several-times RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award finalist. Dawn lives in Arizona with her husband and son.

In memory of my mother, the Starr of our family

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Thomas Randall, manager of Paradise Valley Mall, who graciously squeezed my questions into his jam-packed schedule. Any errors are my own.

I’m also indebted to Paco Underhill, whose books Why We Buy: the Science of Shopping and Call of the Mall gave me enough intriguing shopping facts to last a lifetime.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

THIS MALL SUCKS!

The spray-painted scrawl across the whimsical pueblo-style exterior of Starlight Desert Mall hit Sylvie Stark like a poison dart. Starlight Desert was her second home, the store owners and employees practically family.

Now the area looked like the aftermath of a frat party. Trash bags from the Dumpster had been torn open, their contents strewn about, and festoons of toilet paper dangled from the thorny mesquite trees and soiled the silver sage hedges.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. In an hour, the mall’s owner, Marshall McCann, would arrive to make Sylvie the new general manager—her dream almost since she started working here at age fourteen.

Currently second-in-command, Sylvie was the obvious choice to replace Mary Beth Curlew, the former GM, who’d left abruptly two weeks ago to care for her ailing mother in Michigan.

Mary Beth did tend to take credit for Sylvie’s work, but she’d surely recommended Sylvie to Fletcher, Marshall’s younger son, the McCann Development liaison to the mall.

Still, Sylvie felt uneasy. Marshall was the decision-maker and he hadn’t been to the mall since before his wife, Starr, passed away from cancer three years ago. The mall had been Starr’s baby.

Sylvie had a complicated relationship with the McCanns. Her mother, Desiree, had been best friends with Starr and when Sylvie moved in with her grandparents due to Desiree’s travel schedule when she was seven, Starr had treated her like family.

Now Sylvie feared Marshall still thought of her as the teenage assistant who served muffins at mall meetings or the little girl sitting quietly at the noisy McCann holiday dinners.

That was why she’d included her work history and accomplishments in the update she’d prepared—to assure Marshall that the mall was in capable hands.

Now this vandalism threatened her moment. It felt as though she were about to host a foreign dignitary with a pile of dirty laundry on the porch. Worse, it might make Marshall believe the slight down-tick in profits meant more than it did.

Just as Sylvie grabbed her cell phone to call the head of security, Randolph emerged from the mall, shoulder to shoulder with Betty, the maintenance manager, loaded with paint gear.

“We’re on it,” Randolph told Sylvie when they got close.

“Graffiti-buster primer,” Betty said grimly, hefting one of the three paint cans. The other two were gold and turquoise, the two colors the ugly scrawl had been sprayed over.

Most malls were blah beige boxes. Starlight Desert was a feast for the eyes—a colorful take on an ancient Hohokam village, with rounded corners, wooden posts and decorative ladders, its walls painted gold, turquoise, salmon and purple, all cozily tucked into the parklike area of shade trees and desert landscaping also owned by McCann Development.

“Marshall is due soon, so just a quick coat for now,” Sylvie said.

Betty nodded and set to work. Two of her crew had spread out to gather the trash, determined as soldiers. Sylvie’s heart lifted at the sight. Everyone who worked here was as devoted to the mall’s well-being as she was.

“Who would do such a thing? Is this a post-Halloween prank?” she asked Randolph.

“It was either those Goth kids I gave hell for banging into your mom’s kiosk or those delinquents from that art group.”

“The art kids love it here.” Sylvie had convinced Mary Beth to lease a hard-to-rent space to Free Arts, which taught art to kids from drug rehab programs or foster homes. They had to earn the privilege of coming. “At least it’s not gang tags.”

“Just you wait,” Randolph said. “That’s coming.”

“Hold on. You’re sounding like Councilman Collins.” A modest increase in home foreclosures and petty crime in the area had Reggie Collins politicking in the press about the need for urban renewal funds and more police patrols.

Everyone loved Starlight Desert, the homey heart of Phoenix’s oldest suburb. If there were problems, Sylvie was determined Starlight Desert would be part of the solution.

“This wouldn’t have happened if I had more guards,” Randolph said. “Leo’s nephew needs a job, you know. We could hire him at least.”

“Let’s just be more watchful for now.” Randolph took his job very seriously, which Sylvie appreciated, though she had to rein him in from time to time. If he had his way, he’d ground every teenager who walked in the place. With ten-year-old twin daughters, the man was terrified of puberty.

“You’ll mention it to Marshall? About the new locks and about replacing the golf carts?” Randolph pushed.

“Let’s get our revenues up first.” She had a plan for that to show Marshall, too. “If you’ve got this handled, I’ll go set up for my meeting.” She patted her laptop, which held the presentation she’d run through at home until she’d nearly memorized it.

“You’ll do great,” Randolph said. “You’re sure dressed like a boss.” He nodded at her outfit with a wistful smile. Recently divorced, Randolph had a bit of a crush on Sylvie they both wisely ignored. “Is that from Margo’s?”

“Yes.” She’d spent too much on the white silk shirt and navy suit, but Sylvie supported mall shops whenever she could. She felt sweat trickle down her rib cage. It was nerves, not heat. Summer had released its death grip on Phoenix and the early November air was pleasant, the sun gentle.

Randolph held the mall door for her and Sylvie stepped inside. Home. The feeling never failed to cheer her.

She paused to breathe in the aroma of flowers and fruit from Heaven Scents, the lotion shop, and pick up light jazz on the loudspeaker. In a couple of weeks the smells would be cinnamon, clove, peppermint and pine and the music would be Christmas songs.

The prospect made Sylvie’s heart swell with joy. The holidays here were so festive, so full of promise and surprise, of people wanting to show their love in tangible ways. To her, Starlight Desert was a lot like Christmas.

Maybe it was weird to love a mall, but Sylvie and Starlight Desert had history. Her happiest memories with Desiree and her grandparents were here. She even had the same birthday as the mall—a sign if she’d ever heard it.

“Want a ride to the stairs?” Randolph asked.

“Just to the bakery to pick up my order, please.” She climbed into Randolph’s security cart, happy not to scurry the length of the mall in her new pumps and the itchy lace-topped stockings Margo had talked her into instead of her usual sensible panty hose.

They rolled past the pet store and Sylvie craned her neck for a good-luck look at the puppies in the window. They were Cavalier King Charles spaniels and cute as buttons. She’d given them all reindeer names in honor of her favorite season.

Randolph hit the brakes, and Sylvie was rocked forward and back. “Want to pick one out? Jed would give you a good price. He needs the room for the rescued dogs.”

“I can’t have a pet,” she said, watching her favorite, Dasher, tumble over the one she’d named Rudolph for his very pink nose. “I’m here twelve hours a day. He’d be alone too much.”

“That’s the point, Sylvie. You deserve more of a life. A dog, a husband, kids.” His kind eyes looked her over.

“I’ve got plenty of time for all that.” She was only twenty-nine. She waved her hand at the distant prospect of a family. Frankly, since Steve left for Seattle three months ago, she’d been glad to reclaim her free time. Their breakup had been amicable and she’d visited him in Seattle. The sex had been nice, but relationships needed too much nurturing. That was tough enough when you lived in the same city but nearly impossible long-distance. The truth was she didn’t have space in her life for anything serious just yet.

“Don’t wait too long. That’s all I’m saying. Marriage is a wonderful thing. I wish I’d appreciated the good times when I had them.”

“Did the girls’ visit go better this time?”

“Yeah, thanks to you. We played that board game all weekend.”

The twins had been bored during their previous visit to Randolph’s new bachelor apartment, so Sylvie had given them the game as something they could all do together. “It was Toy Town’s top seller, so I thought it might work.”

“You always take care of us.”

“Just doing my job, Randolph,” she said. “We’re all in the Starlight Desert family. You can let me off here.” She bounded away before he could get mushier. Or, worse, romantic.

Breathing in the sweet and yeasty smells of Sunni’s Bakery, she bopped into the kitchen for her order of the award-winning cranberry-nut scones she knew Marshall liked, then dashed up the stairs to the mall offices.

Once she had her PowerPoint presentation set up, Sylvie left the refreshments for Cyndi, the GM’s assistant and receptionist, to arrange, and dashed out to check on the cleanup effort.

When she got there, she could barely see where the new paint had been added and the crew was prying off the last of the toilet paper from the sage bushes.

Spotting a few streamers at the top of a mesquite tree, Sylvie braced a ladder against the trunk and climbed up to retrieve them.

The damned paper was just out of reach. She stretched higher, but fell partly into the scratchy branches. Yikes. Her heart racing, she lifted a leg to balance herself.

Thank God there was no one below her to get flashed.

“Can I help?”

The voice came from beneath her. Sylvie cringed, then twisted to see who might have glimpsed her panties.

Chase McCann, Marshall’s older son and Sylvie’s first crush, grinned up at her from the bottom of the ladder. What the hell? The man did investment deals all over the U.S. and Europe and was rarely in town.

“Chase? What are you doing here?”

“Helping you, looks like.” Humor danced in his dark eyes, so he’d definitely seen. Damn.

He braced the ladder, forcing her to climb down into his arms, while he looked her over, not the least apologetic that he’d perused her underwear.

“You hurt yourself?” he asked, checking her out in that amused older brother way he’d always had with her.

Except that one night.

That one fizzled-out fire of a night.

Her twenty-first birthday and she’d intended to lose her virginity to him until he figured out what she was doing and backed away as if she were contagious or radioactive or both.

“Not at all. I’m perfectly fine.” The backs of her hands stung from scrapes and she’d snagged her jacket, but no way would she admit that.

“You’ve got…leaves.” Chase reached over and tugged mesquite twigs from her curls.

“Thanks.” She stepped back, needing distance from the man and to retrieve the tatters of her dignity.

“You’re all dressed up.” He shaped his hands in a body curve, not sexual at all, but his golden-mocha eyes held her tight. He had a way of really looking, as if he knew her well and was damned glad about it. Chase was a charmer, for sure.

He looked good in trendy jeans and a black microfiber shirt that molded itself to his chest. He clearly squeezed gym time into his jet-setting party schedule. Mary Beth kept Sylvie updated on his exploits through Fletcher.

“I’ve got a meeting.” She looked at her watch. Uh-oh. She had to get upstairs.

“I’ll get that.” He nodded up at the fluttering toilet paper she’d been unable to grab. “You can head in. Dad’s already there.”

“He is? Damn. Thanks.” She spun on her heels and ran. She was halfway down the mall before she realized Chase had never answered her question: Why was he here?

FROM THE TOP OF THE LADDER, Chase watched Sylvie take off, blond curls bouncing, backside firm in that tight skirt. Hardly any jiggle to it. Mmm, mmm, mmm.

Distracted, he nearly took a tumble himself. Focus, bro.

He grabbed the fluttering toilet paper and lowered himself to the ground.

The stockings had been a surprise. He’d have pegged Sylvie as a bare-legs girl—practical, simple and easy.

She did need help, Fletcher was right about that. Why the hell was she out here doing yard work in a suit?

She seemed worried and looked exhausted, probably from juggling two demanding jobs.

According to Fletcher, she was eager to join her boyfriend in Seattle, so Chase taking over the GM job would be a relief to her. Funny, but Sylvie didn’t strike him as someone who would arrange her life around a guy, but people changed, he guessed.

She was still a wound-up coil of energy, for sure, with a spark in her green eyes and a plan cooking every second. She still had that steady serenity about her that he’d loved. She made him want to slow down and just pay attention.

Even flustered, falling into a tree, flashing the world her underthings, she’d remained her solid self. Ah, Sylvie. He had to smile. She always made him smile.

He needed it, too. Chase’s focus in Phoenix was getting his new project off the ground, but his father and brother were in a tug-of-war over the fate of the mall, and Fletcher had asked Chase to bring his dealmaker eye to the situation.

If his family needed him, Chase was there, regardless of the personal land mines he’d have to dodge.

Bailing Sylvie out was a nice bonus.

Chase handed the ladder off to a worker and tossed the paper in the trash on his way into the mall.

He stepped inside and was hit with sick dread, reminded instantly of the months he’d run the mall once his mother became too weak to make the drive. He’d been barely there, a ghost, going through the motions, his attention on his failing mother. The mall was her joy.

It was named after her because she was the light of their father’s life—all their lives, really. Starr had smoothed Marshall’s rough edges and oiled the friction between the two brothers, building a decent family out of the four of them. After she died, they’d fallen apart, bumped heads, scraped words, grieving in their separate ways.

If emotions ruled, they couldn’t sell this place fast enough to suit Chase. But he did business based on facts, not feelings. So Chase would gather the data, drill down to the bottom line, then lay out the case for either keeping the mall or selling it based on what he found.

Which likely wouldn’t resolve the issue. Fletcher was as stubborn as their father, whom they called the General. Marshall would never sell away his wife’s dream while Fletcher was convinced that selling was the only way to go.

Chase took the stairs to the mall offices, where his father stood in the doorway to the meeting, munching on a pastry, a china cup puny in his big hand.

“You’re holding up the show, son,” he boomed, his voice as big as his presence. Marshall McCann took up a lot of space. He motioned Chase inside.

Sylvie looked startled to see him. “You’re sitting in? Oh. Okay.” She bit her lower lip, a move Chase felt below the belt. Sylvie had the most kissable mouth he’d ever tasted, before or since that ill-advised night.

“Grab him a chair, would you, hon?” his father said to Sylvie. “And some of this good coffee, too.”

“That’s not her job,” Chase said, shooting Sylvie an apologetic look. “I can get my own coffee.” He helped himself to a scone while he was at it and pulled up a chair.

Sylvie stood there looking stunned. What the hell?

“You all right?” he asked her, munching on the pastry. God, it was delicious. Tangy and moist. Sunni Ganesh knew how to roll dough, for sure.

“The team’s on the field, let’s put the play in motion,” his father said, rolling his hands like a referee.

Good grief. The man had gone from gruff to sexist to clownish in a few short words.

“The team?” Sylvie’s smile went stiff as plaster.

“That’s right,” his father said. “Team Starlight Desert Mall. Sylvie, meet your new head coach. And, Chase, Sylvie’s your able assistant coach. Let’s kick off.”

“Head coach?” Sylvie repeated. “Does that mean…?” She turned to Chase. “You’re the new general manager?”

“That’s the plan,” his father answered for him, beaming.

“Oh.” Sylvie looked like she’d been punched in the gut. “I didn’t realize…” So much for easing her burden the way he’d expected. Judging from her stricken face and the storm clouds in her green eyes, Chase had just gone from hero to villain in ten seconds flat.

CHAPTER TWO

MARSHALL HAD GIVEN CHASE her job. Rocked by the news, Sylvie bumped the table, jarring the computer mouse so the first slide of her presentation flashed on the screen.

It was a photograph of all the store owners grouped in front of the mall wearing sunglasses. Underneath, the caption read, The Future’s So Bright, We Have To Wear Shades.

Meanwhile, Sylvie’s future had just gone black.

Her loyalty, devotion, hard work and brilliance meant nothing. Marshall trusted family over her and that hurt. Bad.

“Sylvie? Are you okay?” Chase asked.

“Sorry. Yes. Let’s, um, get started, shall we?” She would go through her presentation and figure out a solution as she went along. She managed a smile at her audience, Chase and Marshall, who would determine her fate, her heart just aching.

“In tough economic times, shoppers must be selective about where they shop and how much they spend.” She somehow kept her voice steady, her tone upbeat. As she spoke, she clicked through slides of the stores, one at a time, each with its owner in smiles and sunglasses. She’d been so proud of this presentation.

Now she just felt sick.

“Weary of huge malls, with their generic stores and indifferent salespeople, today’s shoppers want a place where cheerful, caring employees guide them to the goods they want at the prices they need. Just like the famous Cheers pub, they want to go where everybody knows their name.” She paused.

“And where is that?” She tried for the grin she’d planned, but her face muscles lagged. “Starlight Desert Mall, of course, where our forty shops are one-of-a-kind, where every salesperson is eager to assist, where prices are fair and customers are treated like royalty.”

Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, so she took a sip of water. “And how do we know this? We asked our customers!” She clicked through several charts from a recent survey and summarized the positive findings.

Next came the tough part—the revenue dip.

She flashed to the graph with its visible down-tick. “Though the general economic downturn has resulted in a slight drop for us, we’ve replaced four of the six lost tenants and in a blip of time we’ll hit our financial stride again.”

She paused. “However, to be certain we were on firm ground, last week I met with a top mall renovation consultant and she declared us solidly positioned to survive the downturn. Here are some excerpts of her report.”

Sylvie flashed quotes about the mall’s stability, its unique niche, its staying power.

She glanced at Marshall, who was nodding along, clearly impressed. Chase’s face was neutral. Should that worry her? Maybe he just didn’t care. This was hardly his area of interest. He’d been a piss-poor manager those months he’d been in charge after Starr got sick, hardly there and unresponsive when he was. The rest of the team had soldiered on, leading themselves.

And now he would be her boss. She made a fist of her nonmouse hand to contain her frustration.

“Starlight Desert is what’s known in the industry as a ‘destination mall,’ she continued. “People don’t just go to the mall. They go to Starlight Desert. They know they’ll get a special shopping experience within these colorful walls. That’s why, in these difficult times, while generic malls lose revenue or close their doors, Starlight Desert will not only survive, we will thrive.” She paused for a breath.

“Excellent presentation,” Marshall said, pushing himself heavily to his feet. “Thank you, Sylvie.”

“Oh, I’m not finished yet.” She smiled at him.

“That’s fine. I’ll let you and Chase carry on from here.”

“You’re leaving?” She was stunned.

“I think that’s best.” He looked briefly around the room. “Starr surely did love this place.” He cleared his throat, his smile wistful.

But he couldn’t leave. Not when she’d worked so hard. “Please stay, Marshall. I’m nearly finished.” She held her breath, her heart banging her ribs, waiting for his answer.

“Five minutes,” he said sternly, lowering himself again, his bushy eyebrows dipping into a frown. Marshall did not like to be disagreed with. Eccentric, obstinate and cranky, he gave Fletcher, his second-in-command, hell, according to Mary Beth.

“Thank you.” Sylvie’s pulse raced. Make it good. Make it count. “The Black Friday promotion I’ve planned, ‘A Starlight Desert Christmas,’ will dramatically boost our revenues, but I’ll save that portion for another time—” she clicked quickly through those slides “—and move straight to what’s most crucial now—mall leadership.”

She stopped at the slide that showed her career path, from gift wrapper, to mall maintenance crew, to cashier at the card shop, then hobby shop manager, GM secretary, marketing assistant, and finally operations manager for the past two years, where she handled the budget, maintenance, capital outlay and more.

Marshall seemed restless, and Sylvie heard her voice tighten with tension as she explained how she’d cut expenses, negotiated discounts with vendors, met tenant needs in a timely fashion, been active with the Retail Association and coordinated community events—a heart-healthy foods cook-off, a karate kick-a-thon for cancer, a community theater production and a skateboard competition.

These tasks were Mary Beth’s responsibility, but Sylvie had taken the lead, assisted by Olive, their part-time marketing assistant. Sylvie, like Starr before her, believed Starlight Desert should be as good a neighbor to the community as it was a family to the employees and shop owners.

She clicked to the final slide of her and Sunni outside the bakery, Sunni with a basket of scones on one hip, sunglasses on the tops of both their heads, holding up red umbrellas on which Sylvie had stenciled The Starlight Desert Family: Together we weather any storm.

Her cuticles still sported black spray paint from stenciling an umbrella for each tenant. She’d planned to hand them out on her walk-around announcing her new job.

Then she delivered her bottom line: “I hope you can see that with my skills, experience and commitment, I’m uniquely suited to lead the Starlight Desert family through the economic storm into its bright and sunny future.”

She stopped, her pulse throbbing in her ears, waiting for Marshall’s reaction. He looked bewildered and so did Chase.

Eventually Marshall spoke. “We’re kind of caught off guard here, Sylvie. We hoped you’d stay on as operations manager as long as you remained in Phoenix.”

“As long as I remained? What does that mean?”

“Mary Beth let Fletcher know you were headed for Seattle. There’s someone special there?” He smiled faintly.

Mary Beth told Fletcher about Steve? “Not anymore, no. I mean, we dated, but… Never mind.” No way was she discussing her love life with the McCanns. “The point is I’m not leaving.”

“Well, then, that’s good news for us. You’d be tough to replace, in point of fact.” Marshall seemed to hesitate. He glanced at Chase, then cleared his throat again. “Which is why we’d like to, uh, offer you a bit of a salary increase.”

“That’s nice and all, Marshall, and I know we’d have to hire someone for my old job, but I’d happily train that person.” She smiled, forcing more confidence into her voice than she felt. “With the holiday season approaching, we need strong, knowledgeable leadership. And that would be…me.”

“No can do, Sylvie. I’m sorry. We feel this is best.”

“I have to respectfully disagree. I—”

“Let me tell you a personal story that might help you,” Marshall said. “When I was a young man, I worked as a clerk in a drugstore. I loved the job and before long they offered me a position as shift manager. I jumped at it—it was more money, more responsibility, more prestige. The only problem was—” he paused for effect “—I hated it. I was a terrific cashier, but a miserable manager. I should have stayed with what I loved, with what I was good at. Do you see my point?”

“I’d be great as GM,” she said woodenly, feeling the ground slide beneath her. She was lost. “With all respect to Mary Beth, I’ve already taken on many of her tasks.”

“And we appreciate that. You’re tremendous at what you do, so we want you to keep doing it. And at a higher salary, now, I insist.” He wagged a finger at her. “I’ll let you and Chase decide on the proper amount.”

“It’s not about the money, Marshall,” she said, her mind a riot of arguments and despair. Marshall didn’t believe she was up to the job and that broke her heart. She hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“I’m sure you’ll come to see this arrangement is best for all concerned.” He stood, signaling the end of the discussion.

Not for her. For her it was the worst. Her throat burned and she’d dug half-moons into her palms with her nails.

“Can we count on you to stay with us? I’m sure MegaMalls would snap you up in a Mall-of-America minute.”

“I’m happy here, Marshall. And I’ll do what’s best for the mall.” Her insides seemed to sag like her spirits.

“We wouldn’t expect anything less. Hell, you’ve been practically part of our family.” Marshall leaned forward for another scone. “These things are sinful. Great coffee, too.”

God, he did think of her as the snack girl.

“I’ll leave you two to work out the playbook.” He lumbered out the door without looking back.

If only Starr were alive. Starr would have known what was going on, how hard Sylvie worked, how qualified she was. Starr would have fixed this.

Water wobbled in Sylvie’s eyes, but she would not let one tear drop in front of Chase, who stood and joined her, his expression uneasy and full of pity.

“Look, I’ll be counting on you a lot, Sylvie,” he said, as if that made it better. “If you want we can comanage the place. How’s that? The title’s not a big deal to me.”

Anger flared. “Well, it is to me. It’s a huge deal to me. And as far as comanaging goes, operations is a full-time job. So is the general manager’s if it’s done properly.”

“Calm down, Sylvie. I’m on your side here.” He was trying to mollify her as if she were an angry child who’d lost her Popsicle.

“Really? Then post my job and give me yours.”

“That’s not possible at the moment.”

“Then you’re not on my side.” She turned to go, before she said what she was really thinking. This reeked. She’d worked for every scrap of success and Chase had swooped in and stolen the dream job he thought was no big deal.