“Time to eat crow,” she said with a sigh and dialed the phone, thankful when Rachel’s voice-mail message came on. She listened until the beep, then took a deep breath and dove in.
“Um…Ms. Hart. Hi. This is, um, Courtney McAllister. You remember me, I’m sure. I’m the one who wigged out on you yesterday and practically tossed you out of my house? Yeah. Well. Um, I wanted to apologize. I was very rude and I’m really, really sorry. It’s just…” She had no idea how detailed she should get, but couldn’t seem to stop herself once she got started. “It’s just that my, um, my partner was killed in a car accident not quite three years ago, so…the whole ‘take the pictures and stuff down’ aspect of your visit…I took that a little too personally, I’m afraid. I’m really sorry.” She exhaled, feeling relieved to have gotten it out. “Anyway. If you’re still interested in selling my house, I’d love to start over. If not, I understand completely and maybe you can direct me to another realtor.” She left her phone number and signed off, feeling a weird sense of pride and accomplishment.
*
“God, I want to take a nap.”
Rachel looked across the room at her officemate, Danny Boyle, and grinned. “I told you to lay off the chardonnay during lunch, didn’t I?”
Danny laughed, taking the chastisement in stride. “You did. I can’t help it. James doesn’t understand the idea of a quick lunch. He likes to eat at nice places.”
“And nice places mean a glass of wine.”
“Absolutely.”
“Just like a couple of gay men.” She winked playfully at him as she dialed the voice-mail retrieval number on her cell and listened. Closing her eyes as she absorbed the words, she muttered, “Oh, Christ.” The sound of her snapping the phone shut cracked through the air like a whip.
Rachel could feel Danny’s curious gaze on her, knew her face was flushing, and she was more irritated at the shame she felt than she was about the overall situation. Not an emotion she was familiar with, embarrassment flooded her like some internal dam had just broken. The cell phone landed on the desk with a thunk. She dropped her head into her hands and groaned loudly.
Cocking a perfectly manscaped eyebrow at Rachel, Danny asked, “Everything okay?”
Rachel picked her head up from her hands and focused on him as she processed what she’d just heard. “That was my insane client from last night.”
“The cute one who changed her mind at the last minute and tossed you out on your shapely behind?”
Rachel managed a smirk. “The very same one.”
“And?”
“Remember when I told you that she started to get weird when I went through my depersonalization lecture?” Danny had taught that method to Rachel. Not all realtors used it because clients could be put off or become insulted, but more often than not, clients understood that the realtor just wanted to help create the best circumstances for selling the house. Before now, neither of them had ever run into an issue.
“She had a lot of stuff out. A lot of personal things,” Rachel continued. Even though she’d already told him all this earlier, she felt like saying it again would maybe help her feel better now that she knew the root of the problem. She thought back to Courtney’s upstairs office in particular. There were photos and volleyball trophies and some MVP award on a wooden shelf, and several certificates and awards mounted on the wall. She hadn’t really looked all that closely, but she’d bet her entire savings account now that the name inscribed on each item was
not
that of Courtney McAllister.
“So you said,” Danny prodded, willing her along with a hurry-up gesture of his hand.
“So her partner? The one I was sure must have moved out?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Yeah, she’s dead.”
Danny blinked at her in shock. “Wait, wait, wait.” He held up a finger, keeping her from continuing. “So…let me get this straight. No pun intended. You told her to take down and pack away all the pictures and personal items belonging to her
dead
girlfriend?”
“That’s exactly what I did.” Rachel nodded with a grimace.
“Oh, my God. Holy shit.” Danny cackled with glee. “This is better than a soap opera.”
“It’s not funny, Danny. I didn’t know,” Rachel said in her own defense. Her stomach churned and she felt sick.
“She didn’t think that might be a good thing to tell you?”
“Apparently not.” She dropped her head back into her hands, mortified. “God, I’m so embarrassed. Was I just supposed to figure that out on my own? Do I look psychic to you?”
“Wow.” Danny continued to chuckle, shaking his head. “I can honestly say in all my years in this business,
that
has never happened to me.”
“Lucky you. Jesus.”
“So…” He gestured to the abandoned cell phone with his chin. “Was that all she said?”
Rachel looked up at him. They weren’t what she’d considered close, but in all honesty, she wasn’t really all that close to anybody. He was a decent guy; she liked him and his partner. They’d shared an office for nearly five years and they helped each other out with clients; he generally sent the lesbians to her and she directed the gay men to him. It was a relationship that seemed to work well for both of them. “She wanted to apologize.”
Danny made a face of approval. “Okay. She gets points for that. A little late, but still a nice gesture.”
“And she wants to know if we can try again.”
Danny studied her as she chewed at her bottom lip.
“I don’t know,” she pronounced after several seconds of silence, as if he’d asked her a question. “I just don’t know. Mostly because she’s made me feel like an idiot and I hate that. I don’t know if I can face her. I don’t know if I
want
to.” She looked at Danny. “What do you think?”
“Well,” Danny said matter-of-factly. “Let’s look at the most important aspect, shall we? Would you make any money on the house?”
Rachel pursed her lips before she spoke. “It’s a nice, fairly new place out in Mendon. Yeah, I could definitely get a good price for it.”
He shrugged. “Then go sell the son of a bitch.”
*
The more Courtney had replayed her conversation with Amelia, the guiltier she felt about how she’d treated Rachel Hart, Million Dollar Producer, earlier in the week. Unable to believe Rachel had actually agreed to meet with her again, Courtney had spent the last three days rehearsing what she would say to the realtor when she finally saw her. She knew she had a lot of ground to make up and she was determined to do so. She delivered her apologies directly into the bathroom mirror over and over again until the wording was just right—sincere, but not too corny. She practiced her friendly smile, her open and approachable expression, hoping to invite any questions or suggestions Rachel might offer. She made a few small hors d’oeuvres of a good, sharp cheddar cheese and some crackers, and had a bottle of white wine chilling in the fridge. As she glanced down at her outfit and smoothed a wrinkle out of her shorts, she chuckled not for the first time because she felt more like she was waiting for her date to arrive than her realtor.
“God, what does that say about me?” she asked aloud, not really wanting to deal with the answer.
She practiced her apology one more time, feeling confident that it was just right. When the doorbell rang at exactly seven o’clock, all the words flew right out of her head and left her feeling blank and empty. She wanted to scream.
Patting a hand over her hair one last time and wishing she’d pulled it back off her face instead of leaving it down, she took a deep breath and pulled the front door open. She felt the heat from the outside hit her like a wall, and all sound stuck in her throat.
Rachel Hart stood on the front stoop looking like she’d just stepped out of an upscale catalog for ladies’ business attire and totally unaffected by the heat. Her suit was sage green and lightweight, a smart choice given the high temperature of late July. Rather than a pantsuit like the last time, this ensemble had a short skirt on the bottom and Courtney blinked, absorbing that Rachel’s legs seemed to go on for days. Courtney took in the imposing figure, from the strappy sandals on up, admiring the shapely cut of the matching green jacket and how it accentuated a trim waist, filing away the wink of cleavage that peeked out from beneath the cream-colored silk camisole, and stopping on the icy blue eyes that stared right back at her. Courtney nearly choked on her own breath.
“Um.” She cleared her throat, embarrassed that she’d been staring so openly. She thrust out her hand. “Ms. Hart. Thanks so much for coming back.”
Rachel took the offered hand and shook it firmly.
“Please.” Courtney stood aside. “Come in.”
Rachel entered the foyer, briefcase in hand, heels clicking on the tile floor.
“Before we get started,” Courtney began, her voice quivering just a touch, “I just wanted to apologize once more. Face-to-face.” She looked directly at Rachel, wanting to be sure the realtor believed she was sincere. “I’m really sorry for the other day. I was rude and there’s no excuse for the way I treated you. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
A beat of silence passed before Rachel responded. “It’s fine. No big deal.” She waved her hand dismissively and wandered off to the right, into the living room.
Courtney stood alone in the foyer for several seconds and wondered if her apology had actually been accepted or if she’d just been brushed off. With a mental shrug, she followed Rachel’s path.
“Can I get you something?” Courtney asked as Rachel set her briefcase on the coffee table and popped it open. “I’ve got a nice sauvignon blanc chilling in the refrigerator. I’ve also got Coke, water, iced tea…”
“A glass of water would be great,” Rachel said, not looking up as she rooted through her papers. “Thank you.”
Courtney headed for the kitchen, wondering if it was true that the temperature was about ten degrees cooler in the living room or if it was just her guilty conscience. Well, what did she expect, anyway? She’d practically thrown the woman out bodily during their last meeting. It wasn’t surprising that she’d be distant.
Rude, even
. Courtney filled a glass with ice and then water from the fridge door. She picked up the plate of cheese and crackers, took two steps toward the doorway, and then came back. She set everything down and pulled out the bottle of wine. Wielding the corkscrew with defiant determination, she poured herself a glass of the New Zealand white and returned to the living room.
She stopped before she entered Rachel’s peripheral vision, staring in surprise at the change in front of her. Courtney had left the television on, hitting the mute button before answering the door. The screen was tuned to Animal Planet and some dogs were running an agility course. It wasn’t the dogs that stole Courtney’s attention and stopped her dead, though. It was the change in expression on Rachel Hart’s face. Gone was the cool, detached professionalism, replaced by the ghost of an amused smile and a gentle crinkling around her eyes, just as Courtney had pictured in her mind. The overall softening made her look like a completely different person, and Courtney was stunned by the transformation.
Not wanting to startle her, Courtney cleared her throat softly and continued on her path into the room. She nearly whimpered in protest when the “realtor face” dropped back into place with an almost audible slam.
“Here you go,” Courtney said, handing over the water glass. She set the munchies down on the table. Gesturing to the television, she ventured, “You have a dog?”
Rachel took a seat on the couch, seemingly absorbed once again in her notes. “No. I live in an apartment.”
When it was obvious no further comment was coming, Courtney nodded and sat on the opposite end of the couch, leaving plenty of space between them. “Oh.” She sank back into the leather and sipped her wine as Rachel scanned her notes from her previous visit. “Whereabouts?”
Rachel glanced up, a glimmer of irritation zipping across her face. “Pardon?”
“Where is your apartment?”
“In the city.” Rachel pulled a pen from the top pocket of her briefcase.
Courtney sipped her wine. After a few seconds passed, she said, “Huh.”
Rachel’s shoulders sagged just a little and she looked at Courtney once more. “Excuse me?”
“It just seems weird to me. That’s all. You’re a realtor. You sell houses for a living. It’s…unexpected that you live in an apartment.” Courtney shrugged.
Rachel studied her for a long moment, holding her gaze. “I’m busy. It’s easier.”
“Okay.” Courtney smiled, the smile fading to a grimace as Rachel finally glanced away.
God, she’d be so much prettier if she’d loosen up a little bit. And smile once in a while. What would that hurt?
Courtney let her gaze linger on Rachel’s profile, noting the gentle curve to the bridge of her nose, the almost-black of her eyelashes. Her hair had several levels of color, various shimmering shades of gold, and its waves just skimmed the tops of her shoulders. The idea of dimples could be seen on her cheeks, her chin was strong, and her throat looked soft. Courtney sat up abruptly when she realized how much she wanted to reach out and stroke it with her fingertips, just to see how soft that skin really was. Then she thought absently that it would more likely be chilly to the touch, like caressing ice. That idea made her bite her lip to keep from grinning.
“All right.” Rachel’s voice cut through Courtney’s musings and Courtney sat up a little straighter. It seemed to her that Rachel was trying to choose her words carefully. “My original advice still applies.” Her tone softened as she looked Courtney in the eye. “Are you okay with that?” she asked quietly.
Courtney nodded, again surprised at Rachel’s ability to change her entire demeanor in a split second. “Yeah. It’s hard. It’s hard to hear and it’s hard to do. But…I understand what you’re saying.” She swallowed down a sudden lump. “It’s time. I plan to work on that this weekend.”
Rachel watched her for a long moment, as if deciding whether or not she was telling the truth. “Okay,” she said finally. “We’ll come back to that when we talk numbers.” She flipped the top sheet of her pad over to a clean one. “Let’s talk about this first: what are you looking for in a new house?”