“That’s a gorgeous fixture up there,” Walter says in awe, following Lincoln’s eyes. “Really makes a statement. Just the kind of statement my wife enjoys making when we entertain. And we do that a lot.”
“I’m glad you like it.” It almost sounds like Lincoln’s speaking through clenched teeth. “So, you’re moving out here to manage one of the casinos, is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Walter replies, clearly enjoying the talking about himself portion of the show. “I used to run the Carnivale Casino in Atlantic City, but a couple months ago, I got an offer to manage the Equator Hotel and Casino here in Vegas. I’m moving out here with my wife, Helen, and our two little girls.”
Lincoln nods, in the realtor zone. “That’s lovely. What are their names?”
“Christy and Cassie.” Walter peeks at the cameras, as though he’s tempted to give them a wave and a shout-out. I can see Nell tensing up, just in case he does.
“Pretty names,” Lincoln says warmly. “Well, as you’ll see, there’s plenty of room for all of you here, plus a guest room in case you want to invite any of your Atlantic City friends down to see how well you’re doing for yourself.”
Walter bobs his shiny head. “Perfect! Shall we see the kitchen?”
Before Lincoln can respond, a crack echoes from the ceiling, as loud and sharp as a gunshot. I look up just in time to see the chandelier come loose from the sheetrock, dropping to the floor below with the swift fatality of a falling guillotine blade. I freeze in place as several of the film crew members cry out in panic.
Lincoln moves like lightning, shoving Walter out of the way as the chandelier crashes to the floor. Both of them hit the carpet in a heap as Walter squeals and squirms.
“Hells bells, what is going on here? That damn thing almost cut me in half!” Walter shrieks, skidding backward on the carpet.
I peer up at the spot where the fixture had been and see that a monstrous rift has opened in the sheetrock. Gray splinters from the edges patter down to the floor like raindrops. My mind races. The installer I used is first-rate. There’s no way he wouldn’t know to install the fixture in a stud as well as fortify it with a ceiling brace.
Walter scrambles to his feet, running out the front door and slamming it behind him. I guess he’ll need to be talked down from the ledge.
I limp over to help Lincoln up, but he shoves my hand away, pulling himself up with a scowl. “See?” he hisses furiously. “This! This is what I was worried about. This is why you don’t install things without checking with me first. Look what the hell you’ve done now. We’re toast.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” I shoot back. “How was I supposed to know that would happen? It was a fluke! An accident! My lighting installer is the best in the business.”
His eyes flash fire. “Well, your best in the business installer should have known to check the damn trusses first, to make sure they were secure enough for a chandelier of that magnitude.”
Leaning in closer, I hiss in a breath that’s one hundred percent anger. “Don’t you swear at me, Lincoln. I’ve warned you about that. And I don’t double check my contractor’s work. Unless that’s something generally on your to-do list.”
“Yeah, I do, actually!” he bellows. “From the look of things, I know how to successfully prepare a house for sale, and you don’t. You keep this up, and you’ll flush the whole project down the toilet!”
He stomps out, his limp more pronounced than ever.
“Annnd…cut,” Nell says quietly.
I look over at her and see the film crew members switching off their cameras. They stare at me with expressions of horror and disbelief.
“You were filming that whole thing?” I don’t know what to think.
Nell laughs uneasily. “First rule of reality TV, Chloe. Never shut off the camera when something interesting is going on.”
How can this be happening? “Yeah, but you’re not going to show that, are you? I mean, it’s not really part of the show, right?”
She shrugs. “Well, that’s, you know…I mean, uh, it’s not up to me. There are editors, producers, network people, a whole decision-making process where that’s concerned, not to mention Andy. So I don’t know. We’ll see, I guess.”
My stomach drops into my shoes.
All this effort to get on the show, and this is going to be my business’s calling card? Some dumb fight over a chandelier?
My mind races, grasping at all options for damage control. “Well, do you want to shoot some of that mini-interview stuff with me? To explain what happened, or give it context, or anything like that?”
“Nope,” Nell says briskly, motioning for the others to pack up their equipment. “We’re good here for the day. The next big shooting day will be the open house, with potential buyers and all of the top brokers in Vegas.”
I feel so helpless as I realize I’ve blown it. With the show and with him. “So, Lincoln and I probably shouldn’t get into a shouting match that day, huh?”
“I won’t pretend it wouldn’t be good television if you did.” She smiles unconvincingly.
What the hell have I gotten myself into? And when it’s all over, will I still even have a career?
Chapter Fourteen
Lincoln
I feel myself blush a deep crimson as I watch the YouTube video of myself arguing with Chloe in front of the film crew, acting as stubborn as a mule and fighting just for the sake of my wounded pride. Since there were multiple cameras rolling, the interaction is shown from numerous angles. It’s even been edited together. The view count below the player screen ticks slowly, rising to over four hundred thousand, and it seems to jump another fifty thousand or more every twenty minutes.
And all of this in less than twenty-four hours.
Holy shit, how humiliating.
I know that we’ve been living in the Digital Age since before I was born, and everyone instantly records when they do anything at all, but I still find myself shocked and frustrated. How did this happen? How could the footage have been leaked? In theory, all of the people there who weren’t me, Chloe, or Walter were employed by Bravo, so it seems unlikely that they’d be responsible.
But it’s not like this was amateur stuff. This was the actual footage from the cameras that were shooting. So who did this, and why?
Viral video. Yeah, that’s an excellent phrase for this kind of thing. It takes hold and spreads out of control, burning through your reputation, your career, your future like a horrible visual fever.
So much for this damn show helping me professionally. I doubt Bravo will want to keep working with me – or Chloe, for that matter – and I’ll be regarded as a joke in the Vegas real estate community.
Even worse, this torches my chances of getting close enough to Dante to expose him and bring him down.
As if on cue, my blue tooth buzzes. I hit the pause button on the video and look at the caller ID. I don’t recognize the private caller, but I don’t have much trouble guessing who it is as I answer it. “Dante?”
“Hey, Lincoln, you hot-headed son of a bitch!” It sounds like he wheezes for a moment, and I realize it’s laughter. At my expense. “You cooled down yet?”
“So, you saw the video.” I struggle to keep the anguished groan out of my voice. So much for hoping Dante was too old to have seen a viral video. Then again, he’s got people for that who watch for him and apprise him of the highlight reel.
“‘Did I see the video?’” he chortles. “I’ll tell you, a couple more outbursts like that one, and I’ll put you to work for me. And I don’t mean selling real estate. How in the hell did a chandelier in my house come crashing down, whelp? I want the person responsible. I want their head on a plate. And if I can’t get their head, I’ll take yours in tribute.”
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I contemplate the best way to appease him. “It’s embarrassing, to be sure. I apologize, Dante. I have no idea how that video was leaked.”
This sends him into fresh fits o
f laughter, a sound infiltrating my brain like nails on a chalkboard to me. “You don’t know? Wow, you really are retarded, eh, kid?”
I feel an icy fist clench in my stomach at that word. Don’t push back, I remind myself. Keep him happy. Keep him thinking you’re too mentally disabled to even take offense. Once he underestimates you, you’ve got him by the short hairs.
“Ah, I’m just breaking your balls.” I imagine the smile on his face and how much I’d like to punch it off him. “Who leaked the video? It was Bravo, of course. Who else? They may as well have put their network logo at the bottom before they posted it.”
Confusion knits my brow together. How is it that this dipshit knows more than I do? “But how does that help them hype the house?”
“They don’t care about hyping the house, Lincoln. They’re not the ones selling the house and making money off it. They care about hyping the show. If people think it’s all dissolving into a bunch of hysterical personal drama, they’re a lot more likely to tune in, right? So they pretend this was some kind of accident that the video got out, and boom, they’ve got about a million more viewers when the thing premieres. Salivating. Waiting with baited breath to see what happens next.”
I hate to admit it – even to myself – but he’s got a valid point. I hadn’t considered that, but then, I’ve never been much for so-called “reality TV.” I only took an interest in this show because I thought it would help me promote my business and my goal of being the top real estate agent in Vegas and then on to the entire US. Maybe I’ll stop short of world domination.
“I never thought of it that way.”
His continued chuckles burn a hole straight through me. “Hey, it’s okay, kid. You let me do the thinking for both of us, and I’ll make you so rich and famous, you’ll be up to your handicapped ass in potential buyers for your properties.”
My “handicapped ass?” Oh, I’m going to love making you pay for that one, Dante, you greasy fucking pinstriped human stain.
“You got it.” I work my mouth to keep my jaw from tightening.
“Everything will be just fine,” Dante assures me. “The open house for the brokers is coming up, and that’ll smooth everything over. Oh, by the way, you’re not fucking that staging broad, are you? The one who’s doing the show with you?”
I swallow hard because it’s not a sin to lie to this particular man. “No, why?”
He snorts a laugh. “From the way she let you have it, it’s the logical conclusion. Only a pussy you’re fucking gets herself that worked up. Just keep your dick in your pants while you’re working on this project with her. Don’t shit where you eat, right?”
Before I can answer, he hangs up, leaving me to wonder whether the scumbag might have a point. Maybe sleeping with Chloe wasn’t such a good idea after all, at least from a professional point of view. At least not until the project ends.
I huff out a sigh as reality smacks me in the face with its latest unwelcome wake-up call.
Chapter Fifteen
Chloe
I pace the living room of the model home in a tight circle, right in the very spot where the chandelier fell, thinking about everything that’s happened.
The broken glass has been cleared away, and the sheetrock above has been replaced. Getting that done so quickly cost a lot of money, and I had to go into my own pocket for it instead of raising my insurance rates, which certainly stung. Of course, it had to be done before the big event, but there was another reason I wanted the job rushed too – I wanted the rift gone so it wouldn’t keep reminding me of how I screwed up or the look on Lincoln’s face when he yelled at me.
Not that I’m at risk of forgetting that, since that damn video of us fighting went viral. Lincoln must be livid. Even in our short time together, I can tell he holds his privacy close to his heart. Just like I do. I thought about calling him to apologize again when I saw it, but what could I say that I haven’t already said? Do I really want to hear him scream at me again? At the mere thought of it, a shiver travels up my spine, and I wrap my arms around my torso in a hug.
I’ve staged dozens of homes since I started my business, and I’ve never encountered problems like these before. I didn’t exactly expect this to be easy – after all, this time it’s television, a world I’m not familiar with – but I expected the problems to be familiar, at least. Things I’ve encountered before, things I’d know how to handle.
And damn it, I do not know how to handle Lincoln Caldwell.
My brain roars to life, processing hundreds of memories from the moment we met, and I felt that intense connection with him. We’ve had sex, and now we have to work together in this high-pressure situation. Do I pretend it never happened? Do we need to have some stern conversation about how it’s important to stay focused and not get distracted with personal drama? How can I address how disrespectful his outburst was to me professionally, knowing that my real problem is how much it hurt me personally?
So instead of dwelling on all of this, I spin in tight circles like a sleek black panther inside iron bars, ignoring the shooting pains in my hip as I desperately try to listen to what this house has to say to me.
And still, nothing. No sense of the home’s walls, its foundation, its potential. I may as well be standing in an open field with a wicked winter wind paralyzing my skin.
It’s like a metaphor for my inability to navigate an adult relationship.
I start as a knock rings out at the front door, and it opens a moment later. Jamie pokes her head in hesitantly, then steps in the rest of the way, closing it behind her.
“Hey, um…I figured I’d find you here. Are you okay?”
I sigh, not sure how much I should tell her, if anything. Jamie has enough to worry about without taking on my burdens too. “I honestly don’t know, Jamie. I’ve got a terrible feeling about all of this.”
“Even Lincoln?”
I can’t help but smile at that. It’s easy for me to forget how observant and analytical Jamie can be. “No, I’ve just got confused feelings about Lincoln, not terrible ones. Jeez, am I that obvious?”
Jamie grins and shrugs. “Don’t feel bad. It wasn’t hard to see the look in your eyes when you’re with him, since, well, I’ve never actually seen that from you before. I was starting to think you were just asexual or something.”
She would head that direction, so I decide to just let it all loose. “Maybe I was. Or maybe I was getting there, anyway. I hadn’t been on anything past a first date since senior year in college. Then I met Lincoln, and he was such a jerk, but then he wasn’t, except he still kind of was…ugh! And then there was this screw-up with the chandelier, and the fight, and now there’s the show and the open house with the brokers, and I feel like if one more thing goes wrong, this whole damn thing will blow up in my face and I’ll never know whether I really had a shot with Lincoln after all.”
Jamie’s eyes widen, and her mouth forms its trademark astonished little circle. “Oh. That’s like…a lot.”
“Yeah, okay, so I’ve got it bad,” I admit, finally stopping long enough to feel the physical pain I’ve instigated upon myself. “I’m babbling and obsessing like some schoolgirl. I can’t blame you for being surprised.”
Jamie’s bloodcurdling shriek stops my words in the vicinity of my lips. It sends panic through my body like ten thousand volts. She points at a spot just behind me, her finger trembling.
I whirl around and see a line of huge black carpenter ants, leading into the dining room.
Although I’m not usually great at identifying bugs, when I work with houses as much as I do, you come to recognize the ones that are serious trouble – and these ants can be almost as much trouble as termites. They don’t eat wood, but they excavate and nest in it, so the effect can be just as devastating. When they’re done with it, it’s utterly ruined.
Jamie still screams bloody murder, her face turning red. I know she’s got a major phobia when it comes to insects since she’s mentioned it before. I feel bad for
her, but the sound she emits makes my skull feel like it might blow up like a cold egg dropped into boiling water.
“Jamie, chill!”
Her mouth snaps shut, but her bulging eyes keep screaming silently.
“Stay in here, okay?” I tell her, snaking out a hand to grasp her upper arm. “Stand in the corner over there, away from them. I’ll take a look and see what we’re dealing with here.”
Jamie nods miserably, backing into the corner and shivering as she scratches at her arms.
I follow the trail of ants, and when I get to the dining room, my flesh starts to crawl. A black, roiling sea of ants all crawl on top of each other, covering almost every available space in the room. They spill out of cracks and holes in the antique table at the center of the room. From the look of things, they’ve had enough burrowing time to turn it into a whole city. Who knows how many eggs they’ve already laid in there? I fight back a gag.
Getting that table for this house staging was difficult and expensive, and I had to give numerous guarantees that it would be returned in perfect condition.
Well, so much for my business reputation in Vegas. No one in their right mind is going to let me borrow any valuable antiques for my work now. I may as well go back to rummaging yard sales and alleys for furniture like some kind of first-year novice. I have nothing this exquisite and one of a kind in my storage units.
And worst of all, there’s no way in hell all of these ants can be exterminated in time for tomorrow’s event.
Shit, shit, shit.
I stomp out of the dining room, running my fingers through my hair until it resembles a rat’s nest. When you come right down to it, I’ve got a bit of a thing about bugs too, but right now, I’m a lot more frightened of how Lincoln will react to this news.
“What should we do?” Jamie’s voice trembles. It sounds like she’s afraid to even open her mouth, in case an ant somehow crawls in.
“I don’t know,” I answer helplessly. “I can’t think in here. Let’s go outside, get some fresh air, and try to work this out.”
On The House (Caldwell Brothers Book 7) Page 12
