Dreams of Fire (Maple Hill Chronicles Book 1) by Elizabeth Alix Page B

to see his secretary, Diana, standing with a sheaf of papers. She was a pretty blonde and seemed appropriately in awe of him. “Mr. Chubb?” She said diffidently. “Your meeting’s in five minutes. I have the information you asked for here.” She held out the folders.
    He straightened his tie and tugged his jacket into place as he stood. “Thank you, Diana. Could you get me a coffee too? You know how I like it.”
    She handed him the papers as he stepped through the doorway, and he brushed her tight ass with one hand as she turned to get his beverage.
    Yes, it was good to be a marketing strategist on his way up the ladder.

    Marianne woke to the tabby’s whiskers tickling her cheeks, and his fishy breath in her nostrils. Rolling over with a groan, she tried to ignore him, but he persisted until she got up. Sore muscles from yesterday’s work and lack of sleep made her feel pretty awful. She dragged herself through a shower and ate breakfast.  
    Even though the periwinkle blue paint in her room was dry, she wasn’t sure she had the energy. If she could just get the rooms done, she could unpack and feel more like she lived here. Walking into the office, she discovered that the lid on the quart of brown had somehow come off again, and there were new insulting splatters of paint on the wall. They were already dry. Taking a closer look, she felt the hair rise on the back of her neck, and her heart start to beat faster. The organic splatters had been deliberately dragged sideways like finger paint across the wall. It was not an accident. Someone or something had made the mess, and that person or entity was in the house with her.
    Suppressing the urge to scream, she backed away from the wall and retreated to the living room where she paced, arms wrapped around her torso.
    Okay, my house really is haunted! She thought furiously. It’s not just nightmares and me scaring myself. Some angry ghost or spirit lives here and doesn’t like me. Is he still here? She looked around the room wildly, half expecting to see an apparition.
    Just then Oscar strolled into the room, waving his crooked tail. He jumped up on the sofa, supremely unconcerned, and butted her elbow until she unwound enough to rub his head. She took a shaky breath and collected her panicked thoughts like scared sheep.  
    If Oscar isn’t worried, maybe that means I don’t have to be. She caressed his soft fur and calmed down. What am I going to do? I have nowhere else to go. I have to make this work.  
    She took another deep breath and channeled her practical PhD historian self. I’ve faced a difficult doctoral committee, surely I can do this. First things first: I can’t be repainting that room endlessly.
    An idea struck her, and she hauled all the paint cans from both rooms, tamped their lids down firmly, and put them on the step outside the dining room door.  
    Take that, Angry Guy, she thought defiantly. Then, rolling up her sleeves mentally, she got out the primer and slowly repainted the affected wall for a third time. Oscar watched her from the top of the pile of boxes.
    “You’re king of the boxes, Oscar,” she said tiredly when she was done, ruffling his fur and rubbing his chin. “I think this would look really nice if I could just finish painting. I need a break, mister, so I’m going to town for a bit.”
    The air felt particularly muggy and oppressive with the threat of thunderstorms later in the day. Marianne walked up and down side streets trying to remember where she’d seen it, until the clean scent of green apple shampoo caught her attention. She followed the aroma until she saw the Hair Magic sign over the door. Gratefully, she stepped into the shadowy interior, hoping fervently they took walk-ins and had a space now.
    The shop was cooler than the sidewalk by virtue of not being in direct sunlight. A small rectangle of light all the way in the back showed the alley door open to stray breezes. The comforting and delicious smell of