by Lucy Hepburn
Finally she snapped the phone back into her briefcase and spoke gleefully to her reflection again. “Christy Davies, you are going to work your butt off for that man! Woo-hoo!”
Downstairs, Annie was the only other person to have surfaced. She stood blearily at the sink, scraping the residues of their late-night fry-up into the waste disposal unit. She turned when Christy entered the kitchen, eyeing her up and down.
“No point asking you to help, I guess,” she said, adding grudgingly, “looking good, kiddo.”
“Thanks, and sorry. I should have done that last night.”
“Forget it.”
“It was great. And…and I appreciated the talk, Annie.”
“I did, too.” Annie walked over and laid a hand on Christy’s shoulder. “It’ll work out, Christy.”
Christy smiled. She wasn’t so sure. “Yeah, sure it will.”
“So, what you got on today?”
Christy reached for the coffee jug and poured herself a large one. She was still processing the implications of Aaron’s text. “Not too much, really. Bit of admin, a few calls. But first, I’m going to drop by the auction of that apartment block.”
“Really? Do you want to put yourself through seven circles of hell about how it could have been yours, honey?”
Christy smiled thoughtfully. “Well, Mr. Simpson’s niece added my name to the list of bidders, so it’d look bad if I didn’t show. I’m kind of hoping everyone in New York will be struck down by a mystery virus and not show up…” she tailed off. Her brain wasn’t focusing on what was coming out of her mouth.
“Come on,” Annie scolded. “Spill. You’re hiding something.”
Eventually Christy looked up at her sister. Her eyes felt like they had grown huge.
“Tell me!” Annie yelled.
“The apartment…I could maybe do it…I just got a new client yesterday, a big money kind of thing, and he’s just texted with details of what he wants to pay me…”
“Really?”
It made more and more sense. If Aaron’s figures stacked up, then she’d be in a position to realistically compete for the apartment!
“Annie—it could actually still happen! I can’t believe it!”
The two sisters hugged, jumping up and down. However she looked at it, her day had just altered beyond belief.
“I’ll jump on the next train and get there in plenty of time,” she beamed.
“What time does it start?”
“Ten.”
“Ten?” Annie yelled. “Christy, look at the time!”
Christy froze, the coffee mug halfway to her lips. “My…clock…wrong…” Her new, improved outlook on life was beginning to unravel already.
“Come on! Get in the car!”
“You’re not driving me!”
“Oh, Christy, do shut up and do as I ask, kiddo, for once in your life?”
“But—”
“Like, now?”
As though in a trance, Christy allowed herself to be propelled from the house and into their mother’s car. Annie, still in her fluffy pajamas and slippers, started the engine and roared off down the street.
“Careful…” Christy began, then tailed off. She had to let go, to allow Annie to take over.
And as soon as she did, she realized it wasn’t too bad.
9:58 a.m.
Annie screeched the car to a halt outside the auction rooms at two minutes to ten.
“Go, tiny princess!” Annie grinned. “Go get that apartment!”
Christy leaned across and kissed Annie’s cheek. “I love you, big sis, you know that?”
Annie winked. “Happy to be of service! Now go. Go!”
The room was packed and stuffy. Two huge ceiling fans made little impact on the tight mob of people who had crowded in. Christy, after filling in her registration details and finding a few square inches to stand by the back wall, immediately felt intimidated. Well-heeled women and smartly dressed men radiated money throughout the airless space.
Her heart was pounding. Checking the schedule, she saw that ‘her’ apartment was the last to be auctioned, so she settled down to watch and wait.
The penthouse went first, for an eye-popping amount of money. Bidding was fierce among at least four competing parties, ending up with two of them flouncing off, a third falling despondently silent, and the victor, a tall Russian man, punching the air in triumph.
Christy kept her head down. She sent a text to Aaron thanking him for the details and accepting the job, and he texted back immediately to let her know of his delight and asking her for lunch the next day to finalize everything.
An hour passed and gradually most of the apartments found new owners. Some of the bidders looked like agents, phones clamped to their ears as they sought instructions on how high to go. But at last the crowd began to thin out as, one by one, the lots were sold. Mr. Simpson sat at the front, beside a woman in a suit who appeared to be his lawyer or his realtor. Occasionally he’d lean in to her to ask a question but for most of the time, he was quiet. At one point he caught Christy’s eye, and they exchanged a friendly wave, though Christy had a jolt when the auctioneer thought she was upping the bidding on one of the larger lots to 2.6 million. Mr. Simpson smiled kindly at her confusion, and the error was put right.
The auction began to draw to a close after two hours of overheated bidding. The auctioneer, a short man of about thirty-five, was growing hoarse and had to keep sipping water from a glass on his table.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the final lot of the morning—Apartment Twelve, one of the smaller units, though charming, nonetheless, with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, reception room, integrated kitchen, and private parking…”
“My home, in other words,” Christy whispered. Nervously she fumbled for the laminated pink card with her bidding number on it.
The auctioneer smiled wearily at the few remaining people in the room. “Who will start me off?”
A hush fell. Nobody wanted to be first to show their hand. Nobody was on the phone, either; Christy took this as a good sign.
“Anybody?”
She had a top figure in mind but didn’t want to shout it out in case it was immediately bettered by someone else, and her hopes would be dashed within the first ten seconds.
“Come on, ladies and gentlemen, the final lot of the morning, a nice little investment opportunity…”
Christy tutted. That was not some investment opportunity! That was her dream home he was talking about!
Finally, just as Christy was about to crack and shout out her top figure, a large, bald man standing just a few feet away raised his bidding card and called out his opening bid.
“Thank you, sir.”
Christy gasped. It was right up there, just a few thousand short of her maximum.
“Who will give five thousand more?”
“I will!” Christy couldn’t bear it anymore. Forgetting about her card, she called out over the heads of the small crowd. A low murmur of laughter tickled the walls.
“Thank you, miss,” the auctioneer smiled. “may I see your number, please?”
“Oh,” Christy panicked and the number fell to the ground. “Just a minute!”
She scrabbled to pick it up before waving it in the air over her head. “That’s me—four two nine!”
But Mr. Simpson was leaning over to the auctioneer, whispering something.
“That’s fine, Ms. Davies, we have your details here.”
“Oh…thank you,” Christy’s face was aflame.
“Five more!” The bald man, exasperated with the delay, thrust his number in the air.
“Thank you, sir.”
Christy looked at the man in alarm. He did not look like the sort of person who would be happy in that apartment. It was hers. She raised her card in the air.
“Thank you.”
The bald man followed suit.
Christy hesitated. She had ju
st smashed through her limit.
“Is there anyone else?” The auctioneer was scanning the crowd, but it appeared the race was solely between Christy and the bald man. And the bald man was winning.
Christy didn’t know what to do.
“Are we all done?”
She’d lost the apartment after all.
“No more bids?”
But then, if she worked super hard…
“Going once…”
And put in some extra weekend hours…
“Twice…”
Then maybe, just maybe…
“Me! Me again, sir!” She was jumping in the air, the card forgotten, waving her free hand at the auctioneer.
“Thank you, Ms. Davies.”
To her left, the bald man was tearing his bidding card in half. Then, with an exasperated look in her direction, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.
“No more bids?”
A long silence followed. Christy had her hand covering her mouth to stop herself squealing.
“Sold.”
“Woohoo!”
That had been her.
“Sorry!”
As she turned away to go and find an official to sort out the paperwork, she caught Mr. Simpson’s eye again, and he gave her a tiny thumbs-up, which she returned, as well as blowing him a kiss.
“Congratulations, Christy.”
Christy turned around to see who was speaking, and she almost collapsed in shock. “Will!” She had practically barged right into him as she spun around. “Wh…when did you get here?”
“About two minutes ago. Just in time to witness your latest success!”
He looked devastating. Casual in jeans, a blue shirt, and corduroy jacket, he still looked every inch the successful young business executive. His hair was tousled, and there were shadows under his eyes, which suggested a possible bad night’s sleep. Nonetheless, Christy felt her entire body responding to his presence.
“You…you look great,” she mumbled, then cursed her big mouth.
“So do you,” he smiled. “So you’re going to be a Brooklyn girl again, after all?”
“I’m in shock,” she grinned. “I can’t believe it! I’m so happy! I can’t believe my dream has come true after everything went so badly wrong yesterday!”
“Maybe it’s happened because things didn’t go according to plan,” Will suggested.
“Fate, you mean?”
“Who knows?”
“Or just an inconvenient chain of events caused by not having my phone…”
As soon as she said this, she wished she hadn’t. After all, if she hadn’t lost her phone, she wouldn’t have met Will.
Will was silent. Christy searched her head for something to say.
“I’ll go with ‘fate,’” she said after a spell.
He nodded. “Well, whatever it was, it worked.”
Once again, Christy felt shy. This was weird. She and Will had slipped into conversation as though they’d known each other for years—and as if the previous night’s awkward ending hadn’t happened. “How did you know I was here?” she asked.
“It wasn’t hard to work out, after yesterday,” Will replied as together they began to make their way toward the office to pick up Christy’s paperwork. “You didn’t strike me as the sort of girl who’d give up on her dream all that easily. So I checked up on where the auction was going to be held and headed on up here.” He indicated the glossy photographs of the apartment building, which were hung all around the walls. “Looks like a nice block. Good choice. Should appreciate in value, too.”
She pondered. “Do you know, I never gave the business aspect of the purchase a moment’s thought? This project was heart-led, all the way!”
“And it’s none the worse for it.”
“Mmm. Well, I’ll be able to give up the lease on my poky place uptown and finally move all of my stuff out of my old room at home—Mom will be thrilled.”
“She’ll be lonely, too, won’t she?”
Christy laughed. “Well, after last night, I’m not so sure. Remember Toni?”
He seemed to stiffen. His face became tighter. “I think I do, yes.”
“He’s turned into her lodger! She couldn’t bear to leave him in a soulless hotel room, so she asked him to stay!”
“So you and he stayed over at your mom’s house last night?”
“Uh-huh,” Christy smiled and then stopped in her tracks. Will’s face was a picture. “Well, sure, we were in the same house, but, Will, you don’t actually think we…do you?”
Will coughed.
“Do you?” Christy pressed.
Still Will said nothing.
“Shame on you! We’re friends, that’s all!”
“Okay! I’m sorry!”
Her insides flipped. So he had been jealous! For a few moments, she enjoyed the delicious knowledge. He might like her after all!
“Will?”
“Yes?”
“Last night—you just left. I…I thought we were, you know, having a nice time…?”
Christy knew that, no matter what conclusions Will had jumped to about her and Toni, it didn’t seem like him to simply storm off without saying goodbye. Not very…classy, or something.
They stopped walking and faced one another. Will’s face was contorted, like he was struggling for the right words.
“I’m sorry about that, Christy, and I did feel bad. But put yourself in my shoes! I could barely see your heels for dust as you took off into the arms of the Italian supermodel with whom you had shared the entire day.”
“Ooh,” Christy raised a finger to her lips, “you know, when you put it like that…”
Will was giving her a cheeky, knowing look. “Not easy for a guy left holding the drinks and at the mercy of a teenage waitress who seemed intent on getting me into bed.”
“Which one?” Christy shot back far, far too quickly. “Not that thin one with the funny eyes? I knew she was hitting on you.”
Will burst out laughing and soon, Christy joined in.
“I can’t say I noticed,” he said in a tone of mock innocence once he had composed himself. “I only had eyes for one woman last night.”
“But you left,” Christy reminded him, though his words had made her shiver with excitement. She leaned a little closer. “You didn’t even wait till I was finished with my supermodel, Will.”
“And I regret that,” he said, his voice suddenly a little lower and a lot more serious. “But it had been quite a day for me, too.”
“Oh, of course! The business plan.”
“Well, yes. But not just that. I had a lot to deal with yesterday. Just seemed…easier to leave you to your family party and trust my instinct that I’d be able to find you tomorrow—which is now today, which I have, indeed, done. Um…did you follow that?”
“Not really.” Christy laughed, then sighed and looked into his eyes. “It’s good to see you, Will.”
“I was wondering…”
“Yes?” Christy held her breath.
“Do you think I might?…”
“Yes, Will?”
“…get your phone number?”
“My phone number?”
“I…I don’t actually have it.”
Christy chuckled. “And that is not weird at all, considering the day we had yesterday.”
“I know. So, could I have it?”
“Um…”
“Could I have it, please?”
“Yes, Will.”
“I should very much like to call you sometime, to arrange coffee.”
Unable to conceal the huge grin on her face, Christy reached for her phone and handed it to him. Wordlessly he took it and stared at its screen for a long while.
“Christy?”
“Yes, Will?”
“Um,” Will looked perplexed. “I have no idea what to do to get this marvelous gadget to give up your number.”
<
br /> Christy affected a look of outrage. “Even after all the practice you had yesterday?”
“What can I say? I’m a lost cause.” But then his expression changed. “Or…maybe not…I know what I could do…”
He had moved closer to her; their faces were inches apart.
“What’s that, Will?” Christy closed her eyes.
“I could get one of these phones for myself!”
“Don’t you dare,” Christy breathed. And as the people from the auction house filed out beside them, she raised herself up on tiptoes for their first kiss.
THE END
More from Lucy Hepburn
All Dressed Up
Unpredictable travel and runaway dresses create a race against the clock. Will Molly find love at the finish line?
Molly Wright is in Paris, in a romantic restaurant, with the moonlight dancing over La Seine, sitting her long term boyfriend Reggie… hoping he doesn’t propose! She’s not sure they want the same things anymore – he wants the big time, all she wants to do is design clothes.
Molly gets her wish: Reggie doesn’t propose. Instead, he breaks up with her!
Her broken hearted thoughts are interrupted by a frantic message from her sister who needs a teeny tiny favour: she’s getting married in Venice in two days and she wants Molly to pick up the all-important dress from the Parisian designer.
But the dress seems determined to get away from her, and transportation keeps letting her down. When film-maker Simon Foss tags along for the ride Molly thinks he’s another Hollywood wannabe, and just one more distraction that Molly doesn’t need. Especially when she finds herself falling for him!
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