by Kimber Chin
What the hell was he doing here when Cara was out there?
* * * *
"That was Mrs. Thompson.” Cara flipped her phone shut, placed it on the countertop and dropped back down onto her foam covered knees.
"Richie's mom?” Shirley's eyes danced merrily at calling her boss by that kiddie name. “She's a sweet lady. A little confused, but sweet."
Cara smoothed the gray grout over the honed granite tiles. “She is.” She felt funny talking to his mom, knowing how angry Richard was with her. “Do you have any idea why she thinks I work with him?"
"Do I have any idea why she insists on calling me ‘S'?” The executive assistant screwed the manly steel colored hardware into the cabinets. They had spent hours debating which set to buy. “Who knows? There's a reason why Richard is here and she's there."
"Only one?” Cara wiped the excess grout off with a rag, an old t-shirt she'd stained beyond repair.
"The main reason being situated between her nose and her chin.” Shirley moved onto the next door.
Cara laughed. “Mrs. Thompson does like to talk.” Difficult to imagine that she was Richard's mom.
"About everyone, including my closed-mouth boss. If it wasn't for her, I'd know next to nothing about Richard.” Cara gained some real gems of information from his mom's lips, also. Like Richard has been requesting apple pie all week. What did that mean? “She likes you, of course, says her dear son has been mooning over you."
"You mentioned she was confused.” Cara frowned down at her work. Mrs. Thompson would have to be to think Richard cared for her. That look of disgust on his face, she would never forget it. She'd let the man down.
But she wouldn't let him down about his apartment. She wouldn't about his beloved desk. She said she'd take care of both and sugar it, that's what she was going to do.
"I don't know, I saw that photo."
That front page photo. “Exactly."
"Exactly,” Shirley nodded. “If you can get a good photo out of Richard, you can do anything. I have never known a man to make such horrible faces. I have to show you his driver's license sometime."
"Is it bad?” Cara could imagine. Normal people took horrible driver's photos, but Richard...
"Let's just say, they added another line to the description and that was ‘check human, yes or no,'” Shirley chuckled. “He needs you, Cara."
"No, he doesn't.” But she needed him, she missed him. “I'm not right for him, Shirley.” Cara moved closer and closer to the counter.
"Cara, you're so right, it's unbelievable."
"Unbelievable is the right word.” Unbelievable like Shirley's theory because ... “We don't suit. He's a private person and I'm, I'm a saleswoman.” No sense fighting it any longer. Richard called it, it was who she was.
Shirley looked up from polishing the cabinet hardware. “Richard knew what you did for a living before you met, Cara."
True, but ... “I tried to sell him on the auction."
The assistant sucked air through her teeth. “He knew that, too."
Yes, Cara never hid that from him. “Then, what is his problem?"
"That's exactly it. It's his problem, not yours.” Shirley sat on the edge of the counter, allowing Cara to spread grout where her feet had been. “Confidence didn't come with the money."
"I don't care about his money.” Cara wished he didn't have a cent. That would simplify things.
"That's right. You don't care. Period."
Cara said nothing, but Shirley was wrong. She never said she didn't care about him. Never.
"If you don't care about him, then what have you been doing here all week? Spending hours on your hands and knees, on the floor? Sweating over paint colors? Haggling over furniture?"
Not sleeping at night? And when she did, dreaming of Richard? Of his smiling face and his crazy hair. Firm hands. Wide shoulders.
"Mrs. Thompson said Richard will need a pick up from the airport.” Cara abruptly changed the subject, not wanting to answer the questions.
"Cara."
"He'll probably give you a call."
A big sigh. “Okay."
"Let him know about the plants.” Cara had hired the landlord's kid to come in once a week to water them.
"I will."
"The maid service will be in on the fifteenth of every month.” Cara set that up, too. His apartment had been so dusty it was unhealthy.
"Noted."
"Don't let him change the apartment back.” This step was important for Richard. He couldn't stay stuck in the past forever.
"He won't. He might grumble about it, but it's perfect for him.” Shirley stood back, pleased with their efforts. “Plus, it'd be too much work."
Cara counted on that. If Richard truly didn't care about his place, he wouldn't care enough to put it back the way it was.
"I'll give you a list of media people.” All middle-aged males, peculiarly enough. “When he's ready to rejoin the rest of the world, they'll help him out.” As she would have done, if he was talking to her.
"Careful, Cara, your lack of caring is showing."
"I'd do this for anyone,” she grumbled.
A lie and Shirley called her on it. “My powder room needs retiling."
"I'll send someone over."
"What?” Hands fluttered to Shirley's chest. “No personal service for me?"
"Sorry, don't have time.” She really didn't. The last of the lots had closed, and demolition was underway. “Not for the next few months.” Cara welcomed the upcoming rush of activity. It would help her deal.
"Too bad about the auction."
Yes, too bad. A part of Cara expected Richard to change his mind about participating. A silly part. And that silly part cost her money, her assistant broker money. She ended up not submitting anyone to the auction, much to Wendy's disgust and her own.
Her phone buzzed, dancing across the countertop. Shirley caught it before it shimmied off the edge. “The Mayor's office, Cara.” Her eyebrows rose.
"Excuse me,” Cara apologized. “I gotta take this.” The Mayor was a difficult man to get a hold of. They had been playing phone tag all day.
Plus, she didn't want to talk about Richard anymore.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Step Six
Closing The Sale: Securing a firm commitment from the prospect to take action on the offer. Successful salesmen or women ask for this commitment.
"Your mom's doing well?” Shirley popped open the trunk of the BMW. The ride from the airport was so smooth and quiet it almost lolled Richard to sleep.
"You'll find out for yourself. She's coming for a visit.” He lifted his suitcase out. Luxurious and practical. The car had more storage space than the Jetta.
He wasn't buying a new car.
Not unless he moved to a new neighborhood. To do that, he'd need a real estate agent. A real estate agent with blonde hair, big teeth, and the ability to bake the perfect apple pie.
But, she wasn't exactly happy with him right now.
Richard's personal thug, T-Bone, slouched against the parking floor wall near the elevator, heavy-lidded eyes sweeping over the available inventory, clearly contemplating which car would disappear next. No, no new vehicle. Even with an increased payoff, Richard suspected a BMW would be too much for the man to resist.
"Maybe you shouldn't see me up.” Shirley's car shone under the lights, a spotlighted target.
"Of course, I'm seeing you up. Wouldn't miss it for the world.” What did that mean? Miss what? “Watch your posture, Theodore.” His assistant clucked her tongue, distracting Richard. Was the hoodlum's name Theodore? Must have been. T-Bone straightened up. “You don't want to end up hunchbacked like your grandfather, do you?"
"No, Ma'am.” The bandana'd head bobbed as he held the elevator door open.
Shirley didn't blink at the punk's unusually polite behavior, continuing on with her discussion with Richard. “Your mom's coming here? You sure you want that? The press will have a field da
y."
His vocally free mom with the media, he'd have no secrets left. That was the plan. “I asked her.” Richard pressed the number for his floor.
"Ohhhh ... to meet anyone special?"
Cara, if all went well. “The Mayor, she's been bugging me for an introduction. The tie story, you know.” Ever since Cara relayed that the purple tie was a gift from the politician's own mom for his first rally appearance, it had been ‘The Mayor this’ and ‘The Mayor that', irritating the hell out of Richard.
"Cara thought it would.” Shirley not-so-subtly let him know he wasn't fooling anyone. She kept her finger on the door open button as he rolled the case out.
"Cara.” What could he say?
"Is a wonderful person,” she finished.
"Whom I treated terribly.” Richard pictured Cara's face that last morning, her normally sunny expression dim.
"Yet continues to cares for you."
"You think?” Hope unfurled in his stomach. Had Cara said something? Had she talked about him?
"Ummm, allow me.” His assistant took the keys from his hands, lips twitching, then swung the door wide open. “And yes, I think."
Richard stepped across the threshold then stopped, Shirley bumping into his back. “What the ffff...” This wasn't, it couldn't be, he checked the number on the door, that was right, and yeah, that was his high school pennant hanging framed on the wall, and, he stepped onto the hardwood floor, his science fair trophy on the mahogany shelves, but the warm tan walls and ... “I have curtains.” They blocked out the morning sun.
"Most normal people do.” Shirley grinned at him.
"And furniture.” He wiped a hand over the oak table as he moved into the kitchen.
"Adult furniture. No plywood."
He crouched, fingers in a triangle on the floor. “And tiles.” Beautiful tiles.
"Cara laid them herself.” Shirley polished her glasses with a tissue, holding them up to the art deco-type light fixture. “Spent a couple days on her hands and knees."
Cara on her hands and knees, her butt in the air, wiggling. Richard's lower body tightened at that visual.
Not good. Especially when Shirley was watching him anxiously. He concentrated on his apartment.
His home. It looked like a home now. His with some of Cara's style thrown in. His and hers. Theirs.
So much had been done. Painting. Tiling. Finding furniture. Must have taken her the entire week he was gone.
Cara. She did this for him. The woman he treated so callously. Richard frowned.
"You don't like it.” Shirley flopped down on the new couch. A leather one, similar to Cara's, with springs and everything. “How can you not like it?” she asked with disgust. “Cara said you might not, but I told her she was crazy. Crazy. Turns out that she's not the crazy one, you are."
"I'm not.” Fine, maybe he was a little crazy. He must be to treat Cara the way he had. “I love it.” I love Cara. How could he not? She spent the entire week working to make him happy. Based on a simple discussion about a desk.
The desk, he walked toward it. It looked like it had when he was a child. The leather was repaired, not brand-new, but weathered. The scratches reduced. The wood gleamed. He sank down on the reupholstered seat, placing his hands on the surface, the way he remembered his father sitting. His father, he would have liked Cara.
No, no thinking of that now. Too emotional. Richard rolled open the drawer, and rummaged through the space. Sitting under some bills was a pen case, the lid flipped, revealing a vintage Waterman.
"Cara thought it belonged with the desk,” Shirley said from over his shoulder.
It did, it was perfect. He held the pen gingerly. An antique, yet usable. A gift from Cara. Why?
Under the case was a folded piece of paper with his name on it and the writing utensil was forgotten. Cara's handwriting, his name scrawled in a flourish of big, bold letters.
If all you're to be is a check signer, then sign in style. Cara.
Richard stood, the rolling chair forcing Shirley to step back. “Where is she?” No phone calls. This, he had to say in person.
Shirley didn't ask who. She, for once, said nothing, flicking him the invite she held in her hand.
He caught the card stock easily, scanning the words. A groundbreaking for Shelter for Mankind. The address familiar. The future. Her future. A parkette. Skipping ropes in the driveway.
That reminded him. “The auction?” He had forgotten about that, selfish bastard that he was.
"Closed on Wednesday. And no, Cara didn't have an entry.” That was supposed to be him. “A shame, as she planned to use the winnings for a family's down payment."
Not for her, she had said and it hadn't been. Not the auction, not the newspaper article, not this apartment, nothing had been for her. Richard grabbed his car keys off the counter and headed out the door.
"You know where the lot is?” Shirley yelled down the hall.
"Yeah.” He had been there already.
* * * *
He'd be home by now. At the apartment. Did he like it? What did he think of the floor? Of the color choices? Of her? Was he thinking of her?
She shouldn't be thinking of him, not right now. Cara started on another row, unfolding the lawn chairs. She had to concentrate on this event. There would be a crowd; people had been calling her all morning.
Richard would hate all this. The press, the spotlight, the questions, yes, it was a good thing they weren't together.
A good thing for him. For her, well, her heart ached. She was being silly, irrational. They had only met. Too soon to feel like this.
To fall in love.
Then why did she feel like every time she looked up, he'd be there? Why did she imagine she heard him whisper her name? Even now.
"Cara.” That was his tanned hand on the white chair back. Solid. Real. Not a figment of her imagination.
"Richard.” She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. He looked so good. A little sad. A little tired. But good.
Well, other than his hair. It was flattened, respectable. Like he had combed it this morning. She preferred it wild and crazy.
A camera whirled and Cara came to her senses. “You shouldn't be here, Richard. There's a lot of press here today.” She tugged at the chair.
He wouldn't release it. “I don't care. I need to talk to you."
He would care tomorrow when their faces were plastered over the front page again. His jaw would clench, his lips would pull back into that ugly snarl, and her heart would break. Again.
"They're kind of like your mother, Richard.” She attempted a joke. “If they sense a story."
He smiled back, his eyes holding onto the sadness. “You'll pose as my real estate agent; feed them some phony exclusive on a house I'm supposedly buying, allowing us time alone."
Cara hadn't told anyone that, not Shirley, not his mom, no one. “How did you?"
"I may be an ass, but I'm not dumb."
"I never thought you were.” He was one of the most intelligent men Cara knew. His mind, his wit, was the sexiest thing about him. Well, along with his shoulders. And his eyes. And...
"Really.” Those long fingers raked through his hair causing the ends to lift. “'Cause you sure can't tell by the way I've been acting lately."
Another click of the camera. Out of the corner of her eye, Cara saw Fred watching them, forehead furrowed in speculation. He had been asking more and more questions about Richard, increasingly dissatisfied with her vague answers.
"Cara, about what happened."
What happened. If he was going to talk about that, they needed privacy. “Not here.” Cara stopped him. “Fred.” She tilted her head in the newsman's direction. Richard's eyes narrowed and his expression darkened.
Great. All she needed now was a scene. “We'll go somewhere where we can be alone."
"Fine.” Richard smiled, but his eyes remained on Fred.
She had to move quickly. Cara motioned to her new tenant relations manager
. “Mr. Lee, take over for a second.” She pushed her clipboard into Wendy's dad's hands as she strode toward the build site, expecting Richard to follow.
Richard wasn't following. Cara glanced back to find him talking to Fred. The reporter nodded, grinning, and they shook hands. Richard returned to her side, jogging.
"What was that?” Cara bit her bottom lip. Fred smiling was a sight to worry anyone.
"Employing one of your tactics.” His fingers entwined with hers as soon as they disappeared behind the disposal bin. Like there was no question that was where his fingers should be.
And where she wanted them to be. Cara didn't pull away.
"The house hunting story won't work again.” Cara concentrated on the problem, not the feel of his skin, the musky scent of him.
"No house hunting story, the real deal.” Richard drew her close. Oh, sugar, she missed him, his touch. Why did he feel like home? “You're the real deal, Cara.” Then he was kissing her, his mouth continuing the conversation, telling her all the things her heart wanted to hear.
His thrusting tongue drove away the loneliness. His pounding heart said it beat faster only for her. His big hands cupping her rear told her they would support her.
Lies, sweet, sweet lies.
Even those vanished as he stepped back from her, breathing heavy, his hair spiked by her fingers.
"We have to talk, Cara."
Talking. More lies.
She didn't want to hear them. She couldn't. “Why?"
Cara tugged down her blazer, straightening her skirt.
"Cara,” he started, but she stopped him.
"What has changed, Richard?” Nothing. She'd go back to face the press on her own. He wouldn't follow her. Even if he did, they would swarm him and he would run, leaving her alone.
"Everything and nothing. The way I feel, that hasn't, but, me, I, I made a mistake, Cara.” He reached out to touch her. She moved away. “I won't make it again. You're too important to me. I'll do..."
"Anything?” Cara smoothed her hair back behind her ears, hardening her heart. This had to be done. They wouldn't work. “Would you give up your privacy for me? You'd have to. I can't change who I am."
