Desire by Design - By Paula Altenburg Page 0,70

he offered.

There was a ripple of laughter that only served to punctuate the sick feeling Eve now had in the pit of her stomach. She’d seen that report. She might even have mentioned it to Marion, although she couldn’t be sure. If she had, it was public information. Marion could have gotten it easily. Eve didn’t dare look at Matt. On top of everything else, how would he feel about her if she had somehow done something to ruin his uncle’s well-laid plans, even if it hadn’t been intentional?

Eve’s stomachache worsened.

“There have been reports of expenditures that are grossly over budget,” the reporter continued.

Eve leaped to her feet. “I’d like to address that, if I may.”

“I’m sorry. You are?” the reporter inquired politely, his pen poised.

“Evangeline Doucette.” She spelled her last name. Bob looked like he might be having a stroke. She could see his hands under the table. He was twisting his notes, probably wishing they were her neck. “I’m the project manager. I handle the budget, among other things.”

“The budget. Can you explain”—the reporter paused to shuffle through some pages in front of him, then pulled out several photocopied sheets—“an order for twenty custom-made desks at five-thousand dollars apiece, and twenty custom-made chairs, each at a thousand, for the new Council Room, placed before construction has even begun?”

One-hundred-twenty-thousand dollars on furniture.

Eve felt faint. Yes, she could explain it. The high-priced architect shouldn’t be left alone with an expense account number and catalogues.

“Custom-made furniture needs to be ordered well in advance,” she said. “Those desks and chairs are meant to suit the architectural style of the new building. They are fixtures that will never need to be replaced. As long as the new building stands, any redecorating can be done around the furniture and need not involve the furniture. Therefore, it will pay for itself in the long run. They’ll also make the Council Room an attractive place for tourists to visit. And,” she added for good measure, “I’d hardly call them ‘grossly over budget.’” She squared her shoulders, aware that Bob and Matt were staring at her in thinly veiled amazement. Well, she wouldn’t. She’d call them stupid and frivolous, but she could still see them as assets. She knew her job.

Bob recovered first. “Exactly,” he affirmed. “The furniture should be considered permanent fixtures.”

“Ms. Doucette.” Again, the reporter referred to his notes. Eve was beginning to hate that pile of paper. “Is it true that you are opposed to the demolition of this building?”

Marion was the only person with whom she had discussed the matter, other than Matt and Bob. Whatever happened to professional courtesy?

Or maybe Eve had been too eager to impress her. While she hadn’t said anything that wasn’t public information, it still made her feel like she’d done something underhanded.

“I work for the contractor on the new construction,” she explained. She fought an urge to wipe her damp hands on something, like maybe Bob for dragging her into this mess. “The demolition of the current Hall has nothing to do with my position as project manager for the new structure.”

“Do you specialize in historical restorations?”

This reporter had certainly come prepared. She suspected that his hesitancy over her name had only been for effect. What had Marion told him?

“I have worked on restoration projects, yes.” She now had a good idea where this conversation was going, and since the reporter knew exactly who she was, telling lies could only harm her professional integrity. Telling the truth, however, might possibly harm Bob, and through him, Matt. “But that’s not what I was hired for on this project.”

“Have you seen the engineer’s report Mayor Anderson referred to?”

Everyone in the room waited for her answer. “Yes, I have.”

“What’s your professional opinion on it?”

“I have no professional opinion. I haven’t enough information to give one.”

“Then what about a personal opinion?”

Bob sprang to his feet. “I think Ms. Doucette has already told you that she hasn’t formed an opinion. She’s not an engineer or an architect. I can’t imagine how her opinion would be of value.”

Couldn’t imagine how her opinion would be of value? If Eve were to kill him, she had a room full of witnesses who could swear she’d been driven to it.

“Sir,” the reporter replied politely, “it’s my understanding that she has, indeed, formed an opinion. Furthermore, it is also my understanding that she is fully qualified to state that opinion.” He proceeded to list Eve’s qualifications, and Eve had to admit, she did sound impressive. “Now. Ms.