The Rebel. Adrienne Giordano

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      Appropriate or not, and definitely not caring that Paul sat just across the room, she stepped closer, slid her hand under David’s jacket around his waist and went up on tiptoes to hug him. “Thank you for being a pushy Hennings. After spending the afternoon in the lab, I believe my mother is letting me know it’s time I use my talent for more than what I’ve been doing.”

      He backed away from the hug and hit her with one of his amazing smiles, not lightning quick but a slow-moving and devastating one that creeped across his face and kicked off a tingle low in her belly.

      “Well, we Hennings people like to do our civic duty. How about as a thank you for saving me from my mother’s wrath, I buy you dinner one night this week? I can’t do it tonight because I’m expected at my mother’s.”

      “You don’t have to feed me.”

      “Yeah, I do. You’re doing this for us despite what you’ve been through. Besides, what I really want is a date with you, so a dinner kills two birds with one stone. As they say.”

      So slick, this one. Total charmer. And such trouble. But trouble, right now, might be nice. “I think I’d like that.”

      * * *

      “JUST PULL UP in front and drop me off,” Amanda said as David turned the corner leading to her building.

      He double-parked and turned off the engine. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

      “David—”

      But he’d already hopped out to get the door for her, which, the girlie-girl buried deep inside admitted, gave her a little thrill.

      The door flew open and he waved her out, adding a little bow that made her laugh. How she loved a man who could make her laugh.

      “Do you need help getting upstairs?”

      “No.” She retrieved her briefcase and tote from the backseat. “I’m all set. Thank you, though.”

      “I’ll walk you to the door.”

      Early-evening darkness had fallen and the streetlamps gave her building a creepy glow. Having been gone all day, she’d neglected to leave any interior lights on. As she approached, she spotted something white stuck to the front door of the building. Vendors were constantly leaving bagged flyers hanging on the door handle, but no one had ever fixed anything to the door. The nerve.

      Using the flashlight on her phone, she read the notice—what the heck?—marked City of Chicago, Building Department. Below the letterhead in thick, bold letters the sign left no doubt of the city’s request. OFF-LIMITS. DO NOT ENTER.

      She tilted her head, pondering this not-so-minor development. It had to be a joke. She glanced back at David a few steps behind her, thinking maybe he’d have... Nah. He hardly knew her well enough to pull this kind of prank. One she wouldn’t think funny.

      At all.

      “What’s up?” David asked. “Did you forget something?”

      “I...” Stumped, she held her hand to the door. “I don’t know. There’s a sign from the city telling me not to enter.”

      Has to be a joke. Right? Because if it wasn’t, she had big problems. But why would her building be sealed? Something odd squeezed her stomach, shooting tension right into her chest. Without access to the building, she’d be locked out of her studio and home. Out of her life.

      Frowning, David looked up at the door. “Why?”

      As if she knew. She shone the flashlight on the paragraph below the big block letters and scanned it while the pressure in her head skyrocketed and a sharp throb settled behind her eyes. “It says the building must remain vacant until further notice. Are they kidding me? My entire life is in this building.”

      “They must have the wrong location. Plus, they haven’t barricaded or padlocked the door.”

      “What does that mean?”

      “It means the building isn’t going to collapse. If it was they’d block the entrances. The city can’t afford to barricade every door and window on every building. If the problem is due to contaminants and the building won’t collapse, they do signage. Which they’ve done, so don’t panic. Call your landlord and find out what’s happening.”

      Yes. The landlord. The city had to have contacted him. Quickly, she scrolled through her contacts and found the number. “I’ve been trying to convince him to apply for landmark status on this building. And they want to condemn it?”

      The phone rang a third time and Amanda grunted. “He never answers when I call.” She left a voice mail explaining the situation, then disconnected. “I’m calling the building department.”

      “You can try, but it’s after five. They’re probably gone for the day.”

      She’d try anyway. Couldn’t hurt. Not wanting to deal with searching for the number on her phone, she dialed information and was connected to the city’s building department, where—yes—she received a recorded message telling her the office was indeed closed.

      Terrific. She tapped the screen and scrunched her eyes closed. Stay calm. Just a mix-up.

      Opening her eyes, she once again read the sign as her thoughts raced. Work. Clothes. Checkbook. Her damned allergy medicine. Everything was inside.

      Forget calm.

      Forget not panicking.

      All at once, her body buzzed and throbbed and itched and all this emotional garbage was so not good for her, the woman who kept her life in a constant state of neither ups nor downs. Well, this was one heck of a down. “I don’t know what to do. My clothes are all in there!” She flapped her arms. “My work is in there.”

      “Hang tight.” David retreated a few steps and stared up at the darkened building, obviously formulating some kind of plan. “There’s a back door, right?”

      “Yes.”

      “We’re going in the back.”

      “The sign says...”

      “Yeah, but you just said you don’t have any clothes. We’ll sneak in the back door, hope we don’t get caught and you pack up whatever you need for a few days until this gets hashed out.”

      Without the studio, she couldn’t work. Without work, she couldn’t earn. Her draining checkbook—the one inside the no-access building—filled her mind. “I lease a storage unit, but there’s not enough room for me to work in there. I have a sculpture to finish!”

      David slid the tote and her briefcase off her shoulders, walked back to his SUV and stowed them. “I’ve got this. My condo is still being renovated. You can use one of the bedrooms that’s not being worked on. I’ll put you in the guest room.”

      Amanda’s head dipped forward. “You’re letting me turn your condo into a studio?”

      “Why not? The place is empty. You might as well use СКАЧАТЬ