Beautiful Dreamer

by Melissa Brayden

  “Twelve. And check your email. Two offers came in on Eighteen Lexington. One is an international buyer.”

  “Full ask?”

  “One at full ask. The international offer is slightly under but all cash. I think you can get them up.”

  “I love it. My client will love it even more. Thanks, Karen.” Then she remembered Ricky, who was still on her heels.

  “So, what can I help you with exactly?”

  He had a hungry look about him. “How do I move from private listings to developments?”

  Well, wasn’t that the million-dollar question, literally. She tossed him a glance. “You want to work with developers?” It didn’t shock her. There was nothing in the world like being handed a fifteen-million-dollar building and selling out the entire thing single-handedly. The dollar signs from the commission alone sent her a thrilling chill. That didn’t even begin to cover the street cred.

  Ricky came farther into her office and sat in the oversized leather chair across from her desk. There were times she slept in that chair when it made more sense than going all the way home. “Yes, very much, and you seem to have it all figured out.”

  “I do okay.” She flashed a smile, knowing it was an understatement. She played hardball in the big leagues with her name on the tip of everyone’s tongue and loved every minute of it. It came at a price, though. She couldn’t slow down for so much as a millisecond or she’d lose it all to someone who was willing to schmooze harder or stay up an hour longer. Good thing she loved the grind.

  “How did you get started?” Rick asked.

  “With high-rises? You start with a single listing in one building, prove yourself by knocking it out of the park by bringing in a killer offer, and hope the developer is so stoked that they give you another shot, then another, followed by an entire building of high-end inventory.”

  He nodded along enthusiastically.

  “Then their developer buddy sees that their multimillion-dollar building sold out in three months and wants to know who they used. It’s all about your track record and forming strong relationships. Prove yourself, and there’s always more.”

  Ricky stared at her like she’d just invented electricity. “That’s amazing.”

  “It can be.” She grabbed a Red Bull from her bottom drawer for herself and slid one to Ricky, who happily scooped it up. “New construction in Philadelphia is up twenty percent. It’s a good time to get your feet wet if you’re serious.”

  He blinked hard as she spoke as if committing her wise words to memory. “I am. Very serious, in fact.”

  Despite her schedule, Ricky’s obvious sincerity snagged her attention, prompting her to make an uncharacteristic decision. “Listen, I have a four o’clock this afternoon with a known wheeler-dealer. The guy never stops. In fact, I don’t think he sleeps with all the buildings he’s got going up. Do you want to sit in on the meeting? He’s three-quarters of the way into construction on a building on Walker Avenue, and I’m angling for it.”

  “The whole building?”

  “Of course the whole building.”

  His face lit up in admiration. Bless his heart. “Yeah. Yes. I would love that. If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t. We’ll likely do drinks after a tour of the property. There’s a bar around the corner he likes.”

  Ricky paused. “Just so I’m clear, this might be a late workday?”

  Devyn understood that Ricky would likely need to let his wife know that he wouldn’t be home for dinner. She couldn’t imagine being tied down like that. To her, every day was a late workday, but that was the kind of pace that got her fur up and made her excited to get up in the morning, to get out there and sell. She didn’t live by the clock, and that had paid off in spades. Financially, she was set. She lived in an upscale condo in the heart of downtown Philadelphia and reaped the rewards of her hard work, as evidenced by her round-the-clock concierge and large staff of various assistants both at work and in her personal life. “Yeah, Ricky. We might go past six. You still up for it?”

  He grinned and rolled with the punch. “Definitely.”

  “Great. Meet me downstairs at three fifteen. I have a slice of cake to finish now while I present these new offers to my client.”

  “Best of luck,” Ricky said, shooting her two enthusiastic thumbs-up.

  She smiled and leaned back in her leather desk chair. “I won’t need it.”

  * * *

  Elizabeth Draper and Hank the hound dog were getting along splendidly that morning. In fact, as far as Elizabeth was concerned, Hank was always a pleasure to walk, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth like a calling card. They rounded the corner onto the last tree-lined street of their weekly Wednesday-morning walk. With winter melting into spring, the green was reemerging in the grass, trees, and bushes after months of dormancy. The brighter colors inspired a bouncy spring in her step that she swore translated to Hank, who she’d decided months ago was an incredibly intuitive doggo.

  She paused the walk to let Hank and his nose investigate the suspicious crevice in the sidewalk, while she took a deep inhale of fresh air. Someone nearby was brewing coffee with the windows open, and it only added to Elizabeth’s enjoyment of the morning and the happy reminder that she still had the whole day stretched out ahead of her.

  “Almost home, big guy,” she said to Hank as they neared the red brick one-story where he lived with his owner, Pam. The reminder was unnecessary, however, because Hank was already pulling on the leash and whining softly. He knew exactly where he was and was anxious to lap up some water before falling onto his side on the cool kitchen floor for his late-morning snooze. Dutifully, she let them into the house with the key Pam had provided, made sure Hank had plenty of water, and retrieved the weekly payment left for her on the kitchen counter. “You have a good day, Hank,” she said with a final pat and kiss to the side of his big, sloppy cheek. “Be nice to your mom when she gets home from the office, and I will see you on Friday morning.”

  With a thud, he fell onto his side to absorb the cool from the tile. She smiled as he let out a long and contented sigh. They’d had a good walk that day, and for the first time in quite a while, she’d been able to leave her jacket and car at home where she worked from her converted garage that she’d turned into a functioning office for On the Spot, the errand and odd job company she owned and operated. True, there was only one full-time employee: herself, but she did employ a wide variety of part-time workers all categorized by their dependability and particular skill set. The community college kids had been a great resource for the kind of work she did, and as she grew, so did her Rolodex. And they did continue to grow. The town of Dreamer’s Bay had truly embraced the business, and Elizabeth was beyond grateful.

  In fact, in checking her phone after Hank’s walk, she learned she already had three new requests for tasks that very day. Mrs. Belmont was under the weather and looking for help picking up her dry cleaning and ingredients for fresh tomato sauce. The Hubbard family wanted to hire either her or one of her vetted childcare workers to take the younger two Hubbards to the park for some exercise once school let out for the day, and that grumpy Mr. Ivers wanted McDonald’s for lunch again, even though his doctor had told him countless times that his cholesterol was too high and salty foods should be avoided. She sighed and shook her head at that one. It wasn’t her job to evaluate the requests of her clientele. Though, when she delivered the Big Mac and large fries, she would certainly have trouble holding her tongue entirely about his continued high sodium consumption. She happened to care about him, grumpy or not.

  She did a quick calculation. She could easily handle those requests herself, as they were staggered, but as more requests came in, and they likely would, she’d call KC, her best friend and favorite outsourcer, to step in and handle a few. As the mother of a young child, KC appreciated the part-time work that got her out of the house but never overwhelmed her schedule. The fact that she brought Grayson, her two-year-old, along w
ith her on tasks had turned out to be a bonus. Her clients loved little Gray, the company’s new ambassador, which only added to KC’s tips.

  “Busy afternoon,” Elizabeth said, as KC answered. “I’m pretty much full on my end, so can I put you on standby should we receive any more bookings?”

  “Consider me standing by. We’re currently eating Cheerios with banana and discussing the need for more cookies at breakfast and maybe why that’s not a good idea. Done with Hank?”

  “He’s exercised and snoozing in a sunspot.”

  “That’s my favorite dog.”

  “I’m in agreement with Gray, though, in case you’re counting,” Elizabeth said. “There can never be too many cookies, and the morning hours seem like a great time to sneak a few more in. He’s seizing the opportunity and there’s a lot to be admired there.”

  “No, no, no. Don’t encourage his junk food fixation. He’s obsessed with food as it is.”

  “While you two battle it out, I’m headed over to Jill Winters’s place. She wants me to see if I can fix that stubborn hinge on her back door. Got my tool belt all ready to go.” She sighed wistfully. “I wish Thalia could see me with it on.” Thalia Perkins had been Elizabeth’s crush ever since she’d moved to town and set up her own massage and facial spa just outside the square. Dark hair, gorgeous lips, and a body she had to fan herself over. While Elizabeth had made it clear in every way she could that she was every bit as gay as Thalia—in case she didn’t pick up on that readily—she hadn’t exactly had the courage to make a move. She’d never really been the forward type. Okay, that was a lie. She was actually lame as hell when it came to moves. She had no game and owned it.

  “One day you’re going to be over this whole Thalia thing and I’m going to fall to my knees in relief for both of us. That woman may be beautiful, but she’s trouble, and I don’t like the way she treats you, like you’re some flavor of gum that she likes some of the time.”

  “I think it’s the some of the time that keeps me on the Thalia hamster wheel.”

  “Exactly, which is why she needs to stop leading you on.”

  “Unless she’s not, and one day we might live happily ever after.” She was only half kidding.

  A pause on the other end of the line. “So, you’ve seen Jill?”

  “What do you mean seen her?” Elizabeth asked. “I’ve seen her a lot. Medium-length brown hair, brown eyes. Cheerful disposition. Hangs out with eight-year-olds a lot.”

  “I mean recently, weirdo.”

  “I passed her at the grocery store on Saturday when she asked me about the hinge job. Then a few days before that at Morning Glory.” She really did love the breakfast specials there.

  “Not at all today?” KC asked. “Because when I stopped in for coffee and a dozen jelly-filled, Lulu at Amazin’ Glazin’ said folks were looking for Jill because she didn’t show up at the elementary school this morning.” News, even the most mundane, always traveled at incredible speed in the Bay.

  Elizabeth shifted her phone to the other ear as she walked, nearing her one-story house on Whippoorwill Way, the shady little cul-de-sac she called home. She frowned into the phone. That was weird. Jill was a fourth-grade teacher and incredibly reliable. Everyone knew that. It wasn’t like her to not show up…for anything. “I haven’t seen her today, no. I bet she just overslept. It happens to the best of us. But you know what? Just to be proactive, and because I’m a little worried, I’ll head over to her place and see what I can find out. Maybe she’ll answer the door, bleary eyed and embarrassed, and we can all exhale.”

  “I’m all for that.”

  “She’d do it for any one of us.” Jill Winters, only slightly older than Elizabeth’s thirty-two years and a couple grades ahead of her in high school, was someone she considered a friend, a bright spot in the community. Elizabeth sincerely hoped all was okay, yet she felt an uncomfortable gnawing in her midsection. Jill wasn’t a wild child. This could be bad.

  “So would you,” KC said. “You’re a good egg, Liz.”

  She shrugged. “Just doing what I can to help. With the divorce from Ed, Jill’s on her own now. We all have to look out for each other, right?”

  “She doesn’t have any family nearby?” KC asked. “I’m trying to remember her story.”

  “Her mother died several years ago.”

  “Right, right. I remember.”

  Elizabeth pulled a leaf off a low-hanging branch as she walked. “And then of course there’s her sister, Devyn.”

  “Who’s dropped off the face of the planet. I don’t even think she has an Instagram.”

  Elizabeth grinned ruefully. “She’s probably too cool for social media, KC. I mean, c’mon.”

  KC laughed. “My bad. Can’t expect the sought after to mix with the commoners in a public space.”

  “Can you imagine?”

  Devyn Winters had been their classmate back in the day, but Elizabeth hadn’t seen her at all since. Last she heard, Devyn was some kind of hotshot real estate broker in Philadelphia and hadn’t looked back. She’d swooped into town for their mother’s funeral four years prior and swooped back out again without much in the way of a hello to anyone other than her circle, which included Jill and likely Devyn’s fellow cheerleaders, who unfortunately still lived in town, clinging to their glory days and too much Botox. Apparently, the two went hand in hand. She hadn’t seen a frown line on Cricket Johansson’s face since the eighth grade, and it frightened her.

  “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. Dan is on call at the hospital, but Gray says he’s game for On the Spot gigs as long as there is music in the car,” KC said over Gray’s singsongy voice in the background. He’d been on a Justin Timberlake kick recently, soaking up whatever he could from the radio. KC was going to have to keep an eye on that one and his burgeoning two-year dance moves.

  “I will, and stand by for the afternoon rush. Dreamer’s Bay is just waking up and I have a feeling there’s a lot these people need.”

  “We already have our sneakers on,” KC said. “Hit us up and we’ll be on our way. I wouldn’t mind if someone needed a liquor delivery. We’re low on fun juice and I haven’t danced in a while.”

  “Any liquor requests are prioritized for you. Don’t forget to check their IDs. And don’t drink with them while on the job. Get your groove going later.”

  KC sighed. “Fine, Killer of Joy.”

  “That’s me. Always. Owning it. Purchasing stock.”

  She didn’t say goodbye as she clicked off the call. She didn’t have to with KC. They had an impressive shorthand that went all the way back to kindergarten, when KC Makowski—now KC Collette—and her family first put down roots in Dreamer’s Bay. Elizabeth had been born there. She liked to tell herself that the place was in her blood for that reason. While it was true that not too many people had heard of their town, they’d snagged a decent enough tourist uptick after American Leisure listed them as one of the small towns you should visit before you die. The handful of bed-and-breakfasts couldn’t accommodate the influx, and several more had sprung up to sustain the visitors, who still came in clusters during the warm weather months for time on the beach. The Bay had a group of pretty darn good restaurants, a couple of supermarkets—one big, one small—a movie theater with three screens, and a recently renovated bowling alley where Elizabeth participated in the Tuesday-night league in the winter months. Go Ball Busters! The stretch of water along the coast and the quaint little boardwalk were their claim to fame, however. You could buy ice cream and watch the tide come in.

  With concerns about Jill still on her mind, Elizabeth let herself into her modest but, in her opinion, very charming home on Whippoorwill Way. She was the third house on the bend of the cul-de-sac and knew each of her neighbors quite well. What she loved most about her home was that it felt entirely hers. She’d decorated in a decidedly rustic Southern motif, embracing sunflowers and overturned tin pails and faded wooden signs that hung on the beige walls. She’d us
ed a variety of lavender accents because, well, she adored lavender and all its purple relatives. She smiled at the pair of wooden ducks on her mantel and nodded as she passed. In her refrigerator, she found the fresh-squeezed orange juice she’d made just the night before and poured herself a luxurious glass, which really did hit the spot after her long walk with Hank.

  She checked her appearance in the mirror and found that her longer-than-she-was-used-to brown hair sported even more natural highlights than it had just a few weeks prior when the sun had been less present. Now she could spot hints of blond, red, and light chestnut mixed in with the everyday brown, culminating in a hodgepodge of color. She’d been told the natural highlights brought out the green in her eyes. Whether that was true or not, she embraced the compliment, enjoying her hair’s jumble of shades. What else could she do? Elizabeth had never considered herself a beauty, but she was attractive enough and, for the most part, comfortable in her own skin. Of course, she secretly wished Thalia Perkins noticed her more, but then she couldn’t have everything she wanted in life. She ran her fingers through her hair, giving it an informal fluff. Good enough, she thought, and set out in her car for McDonald’s and Mr. Iver’s overly salted lunch, just as a new flood of requests hit the app on her phone. She checked her watch and did a quick calculation on time. Her phone buzzed again with a request for a grocery delivery. And another for a ride home from the auto shop. It was going to be a busy day for On the Spot, and Elizabeth was up for it. But first, a stop at Jill Winters’s place. She wasn’t religious but rattled off a quick yet sincere prayer that all would be okay. This was Dreamer’s Bay. It had to be, didn’t it?

  * * *

  By 8 p.m., Ricky was glancing furtively at his watch, probably wondering how much longer they were going to go. Devyn ignored him and focused her attention on Wyatt Lowe, the shrewd developer at the helm of Twenty-Four Walker Place, an art deco tower going up in Streeterville on the north side of Philadelphia. The sixty-seven-story high-rise was one of the most expensive construction projects in the city’s history, and any broker worth their salt was angling for a piece of the pie. Devyn wanted the whole damn thing. First, she had to convince Wyatt, who was known for his perfectly coiffed dark hair, high-end wardrobe that bordered on perfection, and risk-taking business sense. He’d raked in millions like Monopoly money and had a lot to show for his forty-five years on the planet.