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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2020 by Kianna Alexander

  Cover and internal design © 2020 by Sourcebooks

  Cover design by Stephanie Gafron/Sourcebooks

  Cover image © Auwae Photo/Shutterstock

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For Aressa, who helped me look within and find my truest, most radiant self.

  Thank you.

  Chapter 1

  Carrying his black leather briefcase, Maxwell Devers used his free hand to pull open the glass doors at the Hay Street Municipal Building. As the door closed behind him, he enjoyed the feeling of the lobby’s heated air warming his frigid fingertips. It was the second week of February, and the cold and blustery weather outside had him wishing he hadn’t forgotten his gloves.

  After briefly speaking with the receptionist, Maxwell headed for the men’s room to check his appearance. He wasn’t vain by any stretch, but the importance of today’s meeting motivated him to make sure he looked every bit the consummate professional he was. Architecture wasn’t just his work, it was also his passion, and he hoped to convey that today.

  Two things in his life mattered more than anything: family and architecture. He paused for a moment, pulling out his phone and swiping to a picture of Sasha. My beautiful baby girl. Looking at her cherubic face always made him smile and, at the moment, helped quell his nervousness about the upcoming meeting. She’d just turned seven months old, and while his relationship with her mother was less than ideal, he loved his daughter with his whole being. A major part of what drove him to go so hard, to climb toward success at every turn, was his desire to give her a wonderful life. Tucking the phone away, he kept walking.

  The restroom’s simple white tile walls, gray floors, and chrome fixtures reflected the same modern style as the rest of the building. Tugging off his black trench coat, Maxwell folded it and laid it on the white marble countertop, along with his briefcase. He regarded his reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on the wall, adjusting the lapels of his sports coat. The black-on-black look suits me. He smiled, glad he’d chosen the rich black Italian label suit, starched black shirt, black satin tie, and black dress loafers. The splash of color provided by the bright green TDT handkerchief in his breast pocket was just the right accent.

  Satisfied, he gathered his things and strode out into the corridor, headed for the conference room upstairs. A short elevator ride delivered him to the third floor, and he entered the conference room a full five minutes before the presentation began. While he moved across the room, he nodded greetings to the men and women present. Taking a seat in an empty chair on the right side of the table, he settled in.

  He put his phone on silent, tucking it away, then he took out a pad and pen in case he needed to jot down any notes. This ritual helped him get in the zone, corralling his focus so that he wouldn’t miss anything important during the meeting.

  A projection screen displayed facts and figures related to the project at hand: a new performing arts center, to be built on the existing Crown Center property in Fayetteville. A smile tugged at Maxwell’s lips as he thought of what such a large, high-profile project would mean for his firm and his career. Devers Architectural had handled its share of city and state projects all over North Carolina, including schools, seniors’ centers, and shopping centers. They’d never taken on a project of this scale, and the idea of working on the civic center excited Maxwell to no end. DAI was a small firm, and if they were to win the contract, the project would no doubt be a challenge. When it came to his craft, however, Maxwell relished a challenge.

  He took a second look at the faces around the room, and when he saw Harold Carmichael there, Maxwell’s face immediately folded into a frown. He’d known Harold since college, and they had been locked in competition for architectural contracts for the past seven or eight years. For the life of him, Maxwell couldn’t figure out why Harold felt the need to try to beat him at every step. Harold went out of his way to prove he was the better architect, and Maxwell found the man’s constant one-upmanship petty and pointless. And while Maxwell didn’t subscribe to such childish behavior, he still wanted to win this contract for other, more important reasons. Seeing Harold’s tightly pursed lips would only be a bonus. Maxwell had worked hard to get to where he was and had earned his seat in this room.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming in.” Mayor Ravyn Taylor, standing near the projection screen, looked around the room as she spoke. She was a petite woman with bronze skin, brown eyes, and jet-black hair pulled into a bun low on her neck. As the city’s youngest ever mayor, she was known for her forward-thinking ways. “We’ve asked you all here because you’re the best and brightest architectural minds in the state. We’d like to have an innovative, green, and aesthetically appealing design for the new civic center, and I’m sure one of you in this room can give us just what we need.”

  Maxwell noticed the smug look on Harold’s face as he glanced around as if sizing up his competition. When Harold’s gaze fell on Maxwell, his expression soured.

  Maxwell replied with a fake smile and a nod of acknowledgment. That’s right, Carmichael. Your worst nightmare is here.

  Mayor Taylor continued. “Due to the scale of this project, we wanted to give you all as much time as we could to prepare your designs and bids. We’ll go over the budget and expectations today in d
etail. Then, we’d like to see your bids and designs submitted within sixty days.”

  Maxwell jotted that down on his notepad. Based on the mayor’s statement, he and his small, dedicated team would have about two months to come up with a world-class design and reasonable bid. That should be ample time to get this done.

  For the rest of the meeting, Maxwell continued to take notes, giving his full attention to the mayor. He filled several pages with details about the space requirements, the size and condition of the land parcel, and other general specifications related to the project.

  As was generally the case in these types of meetings with city officials, Mayor Taylor left the discussion of the budget for the project as her last topic. “As you go about creating your designs and bids, please be aware that the city is on a tight budget.”

  Nods and murmurs of understanding came from the people gathered around the table.

  Moments later, as the mayor quoted a number, the mood in the room changed significantly. A few snickers went up, and one of the architects simply gathered her things, sighed, and walked out of the room.

  Maxwell had to admit, the budget was paltry for a project of this scale and size. Still, after years in this business, he’d come to expect this type of thing with city and state governments. They always seemed to have champagne tastes and ginger ale budgets.

  As the meeting adjourned, Maxwell slid his notepad back into his briefcase, then stood and lifted his coat from the back of the chair.

  He’d just slipped into the coat when he felt someone enter his personal space.

  Turning around, he found Harold standing there, wearing that obviously false, crap-munching grin. “Greetings, Maxwell. How’ve you been?”

  “I’m well, Harold. How are you?” Maxwell fastened the buttons of his coat and picked up his briefcase, hoping his actions would let Harold know he didn’t plan to linger.

  “Good to hear. You know, Carmichael has been pulling in a lot of big jobs lately. It’s been so busy we’ve had to add some new staff.” Harold slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks, rocking back slightly on his heels, then forward onto his toes.

  Maxwell nodded. “Wonderful.” He didn’t counter with any information about his own business. After all, he had nothing to prove. He looked at Harold, who was a good two or three inches shorter than him, and wondered if the rocking motion was something he did to appear taller.

  “No news over at Devers, huh?”

  Maxwell shrugged. “Not anything I feel compelled to share with you.”

  Harold chuckled. “Okay, that’s fine. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know, I hope there won’t be any hard feelings when I win the civic center project.” He reached out to touch Maxwell’s shoulder.

  Maxwell cut his eyes at Harold’s hand. “I wouldn’t advise that.”

  Drawing his hand back, Harold shook his head. “At any rate, there won’t be any hard feelings on my part. In fact, I’m throwing a big party to celebrate winning the bid, and I expect to see you there.”

  Maxwell scoffed. “You’re mighty sure of yourself, Harold.”

  Harold shrugged. “As always.”

  Maxwell rolled his eyes. Unwilling to waste any more time on this fruitless conversation, he cleared his throat. “Well, it was nice to see you. Have a good day, Harold.” Maxwell turned and began walking out of the room.

  “See you at the party,” Harold called out.

  Maxwell ignored him as he left the conference room and took the stairs back to the first floor. If he waited for the elevator, his pesky little buddy might follow him.

  Back outside, the chill hit him as he crossed the parking lot to his SUV. Once he and his briefcase were inside the cabin, he started the engine and turned on the heat, including the heated seats. The digital thermometer in the dash showed the temperature in the low forties, but the chilly wind made it feel much colder.

  He pulled out into traffic, feeling somewhat jealous of his baby sister, Alexis. While he was here, working hard and bundling up against the cold, Alexis was enjoying the second week of her honeymoon with her new husband, Bryan. Maxwell hadn’t been too keen on his baby sister dating his best friend and had made his opinions clear. But when it became obvious that the two of them were in love, he’d apologized for his behavior. Never one to do things by halves, he’d paid for an extra week of honeymoon bliss for them to demonstrate his sincerity.

  His cell phone rang, breaking into his thoughts. Navigating the car through the gate of his community, he engaged the hands-free calling to answer it. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Max, it’s Kelsey.”

  Hearing his middle sister’s voice made him smile. “Hey, Kels. All settled in, I’m guessing?”

  “Yes. I promised to call you when everything was moved in, and I’m all set up now.” Kelsey’s tone was light, indicating that she was in a good mood.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Are you sure you don’t need anything else from me?”

  Kelsey giggled. “Maxwell, you helped me find this apartment, then you helped me move, then you paid my first three months’ rent, against my wishes. I think you’ve done enough, Bro.”

  “You’re my sister, and I love you. I was happy to do all of it.”

  “I love you, too, Maxwell. And once I get a chance, I’ll invite you over for dinner. You can even bring a date,” she teased.

  He rolled his eyes while pulling his SUV into his driveway. “Fat chance. But I’ll be there.”

  “Tsk, tsk. You’ve seen how happy your frat brothers are since they got married. Don’t you want that for yourself?”

  He shook his head, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. “Kelsey, you and Lex have got to stop trying to set me up with women. I’m plenty happy just the way I am.”

  “If you say so.” She didn’t sound very convinced.

  “I definitely do say so.”

  “Okay, I’ll let you go. Bye, Maxwell.”

  Ending the call, he cut the engine, grabbed his briefcase, and took it inside.

  It never ceased to amaze him how the women in his life constantly tried to couple him up with someone. As he entered his home, relishing the silence and solitude, he pushed the thoughts aside.

  His life was perfect just the way it was. The last thing he needed was for a woman to come into his life.

  * * *

  Yvonne Markham sat in a stiff-backed chair inside the office of Victoria Cross, director of the Wittenmyer Agency. She shifted in the seat, crossing her legs. She was seeking a position that would make her appear calmer and more collected than she felt. Yvonne couldn’t remember ever being this nervous during a job interview, but she’d been on edge since the moment she stepped into the building. The décor and air of the place made it seem more like a law firm than a nanny agency. Yvonne felt slightly underdressed, even though she’d donned her best navy-blue blazer and matching skirt, with a fresh white shirt and navy pumps. She’d brushed her short hair into a wavy style and kept her makeup light and professional. Yvonne looked great, and she knew it. But sitting here in the silence as Mrs. Cross read through her résumé made nervous prickles run up and down her spine.

  What part is she reading now? What is she thinking? Yvonne didn’t dare to peer across the desk to see Mrs. Cross’s progress; that would be rude. She could only hope that despite the stoic, blank expression Mrs. Cross wore, she was pleased with what she was reading.

  Finally, after what seemed like ages, Mrs. Cross put Yvonne’s résumé aside. Looking up to meet Yvonne’s eyes, she spoke. “Well, Ms. Markham. I must say, you have an impressive résumé. I do have a question, though.”

  Yvonne braced for the query, the one she didn’t really want to answer but knew she would have to anyway. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “What made you quit your last position?”

  She drew a deep breath. “In all honesty, Mrs. Cr
oss, I was unhappy with the way management at Avery Child Development treated low-income families and families of color.”

  Mrs. Cross’s brow rose in surprise. “As a woman of color myself, I’m sure you understand why I’d like some clarity here. What do you mean?”

  Not one to propagate drama, Yvonne didn’t relish elaborating on the situation but knew it was necessary. “Management was very stringent in handling late payments, regardless of the family’s situation. I’d seen them dismiss families who were suffering job losses or death in the family and even those who had just fallen on hard times. No provisions were made for these families to catch up on their payments or for them to secure other care.”

  Tenting her fingers, Mrs. Cross nodded. “I see. And this disturbed you enough that you felt you couldn’t continue working there?”

  “Yes, ma’am. When I brought up the problems I saw, I was reprimanded and even disrespected. I couldn’t accept that, so here I am.” Yvonne had put away a small amount of money as a cushion, but with all her responsibilities, the cushion would soon be gone. She needed this job, and she hoped her honesty reflected well on her.

  Mrs. Cross was silent for a moment. “Thank you for telling me about your experience, Ms. Markham. I can appreciate your candor. You do understand that at Wittenmyer, we serve a wealthier portion of the population, correct?”

  That statement almost made Yvonne want to laugh. If she hadn’t known that the Wittenmyer Agency was a high-end operation, she’d have found out the moment she stepped inside the building. “Yes, ma’am, I understand that. I have no problem with people who are well off financially. I just don’t like to see those who aren’t so fortunate be mistreated.” If she could secure the position and get a client or two, Yvonne planned to set aside some funds to open her own childcare center, where less fortunate families wouldn’t be treated differently.

  “Wonderful. That’s just the sort of character we like to see here, so welcome aboard, Ms. Markham.” Mrs. Cross stood, extending her perfectly manicured hand.

  An excited Yvonne hopped to her feet, smiling broadly as she shook hands with her new boss. “Thank you, Mrs. Cross. I’m going to do my absolute best to be an asset to Wittenmyer.”