that was just the right opportunity. I want this and I’ll do what it takes.”
“Don’t worry about that. Apprentices are slave labor. You’ll put in your sweat and blood.” He extracted a file folder with surprising efficiency from one teetering pile. “You already have the show schedule. Here’s a preliminary list of prop and set items for each opera. And ...” Charlie spun his chair around to the sagging industrial bookcase behind him and yanked out an enormous three-ring binder, dropping it on the desk in front of her with a bang and a poof of dust, “... our inventory.”
She stared at the binder in dismay. “On paper?”
Charlie grinned and poked a finger at the laptop, which was making an ominous grinding noise. “I’ve been meaning to get to it. And Tara—well, she was only a few days into it before ...” He trailed off, scratching his scalp. “Most of the staff starts arriving next week—you ought to have a chunk of it done by then. I have Tara’s notes. They might help.”
With a sigh, Christy propped the tome on her lap and flipped through the yellowing pages. “The letters and numbers indicate location?”
“Yeah, in theory. That’s where you come in. The L number is the level. The other codes indicate the exact storage room. Here, let me grab you a map.” Charlie spun back around to frown at the shelves.
“Am I interrupting?”
“Roman!” Christy grinned at her old friend. “I was wondering when I’d get to see you.”
Handsome as ever, Roman leaned in the doorway. He looked to be doing well, from the expensive cut of his chestnut brown hair to the sleek shoes peeking out from under his impeccably tailored suit. He returned Christy’s smile with familiar charm. “I had to stop by, see my sweet girl. But I see that I’m interrupting.”
“Not at all, Mr. Sanclaro!” Charlie popped up from his chair, dusting his hands off on his jeans and leaning over to offer one in welcome. “You know you and your family can stop in anytime. How’s your father?”
“Busy as ever,” Roman replied easily, then turned to Christy. “How about a hug—or are you too grown up for that now?”
“Don’t be silly.” She returned the light embrace, accepting his polite kiss on her cheek—something her ten-year-old self would have sighed over and embroidered into fantasies for weeks. “It’s so good to see you again.”
“I knew the Davises and Sanclaros have long jointly owned the property,” Charlie commented, “but I didn’t realize the families are close.”
Roman rolled his brown eyes. “When Christy and I were growing up, our fathers used to joke about our betrothal—that it would at last resolve the logistics of the Davises owning the actual opera house and mineral rights, while the Sanclaros own all the surrounding property.”
“It wasn’t funny,” Christy put in. That was putting it mildly. Any time Domingo Sanclaro and his son visited them in New York City, she’d been torn between a frenzy of anticipation at seeing her lifelong crush and dread at the older men’s teasing. They were two of a kind, Carlton Davis and the elder Sanclaro, living for the business deal. It never occurred to them that needling an adolescent girl who imagined herself in love with the dashing college boy family friend was so cruel. Roman had always been so patient, however, treating her like a little sister. His sweet girl.
With a rush of warmth, Christy realized she had a hand on Roman’s arm. She let go and grabbed ahold of the unnaturally blue plastic binder.
“Have you seen much of Santa Fe yet?”
“No—I’ve barely just arrived. I’m surprised you even knew I was here.”
He winked. “Your dad told my dad—I’m to look after you.”
“I’m not twelve anymore,” she replied with a bit of irritation. Which immediately melted when Roman’s grin shaded to sexy and he swept her with an appraising look.
“No. You’ve definitely grown up. Let me at least take you to