by Nella Tyler
Looking back at me, Max’s gaze was all sympathy. “I’m not telling you not to care, Kris, but you know that first and foremost, you have to watch your own back. This is the age of the hustle, but it’s also the age of New Age Instagram posts and people reminding each other that ‘in the event of an emergency, put your own mask on first.’” I stared blankly at him. “Come on, brother; you’re telling me you don’t know the airplane thing?”
“I do,” I said slowly, my face crinkling up into a grin. It felt a bit stiff, but also wonderful. “I just wasn’t aware how hip you were. My mistake.”
“Damn right,” Max retorted. “What, a father of two and a husband can’t be up on Instagram trends?”
“Do you even have Instagram?” I asked. “Or does Simone?”
His shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. “Okay, okay. Simone does. For the restaurant.”
“I knew it!” I laughed.
“We’re getting away from the point!” Max said, throwing his hands up and looking around the room. Then he paused, staring. “Hey, I just thought of something. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.” He stood up, walking towards a corner of the office where there were bookcases and squatted down. “C’mere and take a look at this.”
Walking over, I squatted down next to him. “A safe? How long has this been here?”
“Forever. I was thinking about how Simone likes to scribble down ideas on napkins while we’re eating and I remembered your dad did the same thing. He used to stash them in here, along with his other notebooks and sketchbooks.”
“I didn’t even know he had a safe,” I said, trying not to sound resentful. My dad and I had been close, but in a lot of ways, he’d shielded me from the business as I got older. And I’d been left with the impression that when he complained about the nitty gritty of making documentaries – he’d meant the aggravation of sitting around in airports with mountains of bags, dusty dirt roads in the middle of nowhere, or running from some hungry cheetahs.
Not the niggling day to day anxiety of running a company, the constant management of relationships, the ebb and flow of worker morale, and the starkness of the blank page.
“In some ways, he could be real secretive about his ideas, especially the last couple of years. You know, companies always on the news getting hacked, or films getting leaked early.” Max mused.
“Max, I appreciate you showing me this, but I don’t even know the safe code.” I frowned.
His face fell. “Oh.” Then he sat back, thinking. “Bet he kept it somewhere. Had to of.”
I sighed, sitting down as well, and staring at the small black box. It seemed to mock me – more ideas just out of reach. “I hope so. But I could also see him not thinking of something like this, you know? I’m sure the last thing on his mind was stashing the code somewhere for me.”
Max gave me a long look. “Lukas thought of everything.”
To that, I didn’t reply, although I thought bitterly, Max, he didn’t think about how dumping his company on me might not work, how he just expected me to carry on his legacy – all without so much as a damn word of advice. What kind of person thinks that teaching a kid Muay Thai or bringing him to a Sri Lankan fishing village or to a NATO meeting is adequate preparation for life? It’s like teaching someone the Pythagorean theorem to do their taxes.
“Kris?” Max was standing up, staring down at me, and I realized I’d been glaring at the floor.
“I’m gonna head out.” Suddenly the office was stifling me, and I had the urge to bolt. Make for the hills and never come back. “See if I can find that code at my dad’s house. Better than sitting here and banging my head against the wall.”
Max looked like he wanted to tell me to stay, but he just shrugged and said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Remember what I said about the airplane mask.”
Three hours later, I’d torn my father’s place apart and hadn’t found anything. I honestly didn’t even know where a helter-skelter hoarder like my father would keep a safe code. Also,in going through his stuff, I kept getting distracted by old pictures and memories.
I wanted to go back, I realized. I wanted to be a kid again – Lukas Boldin’s kid, tagging along while his Dad made movies that wowed the world. That kid was sure of his place in the world.
The man I was now was tumbling down a rabbit hole.
My phone buzzed, and I glanced down. It was 3:30 and I saw a reminder had come up. Call Cammie Book. “Oh, fuck me,” I muttered out loud. I’d meant to call her first thing this morning.
Scrambling to my feet, I was about to call when I stopped. Since I’d been unforgivably rude, this called for an in-person appearance. For a moment, I found myself wondering if I should stop by the florist, but then I shook my head. That was overkill.
Still, my dad had been big on gifts – always handing out mementos everywhere he went. Not lame things like rubber keychains with Bold Pictures on it, but pieces of art. Looking up, my eyes fell on a small white elephant statue that could fit in my palm.
“Perfect,” I said.
It was almost 4:15 when I got to Birmingham Realty, and I wondered if I was pushing my luck. But people were still buzzing about the office when I walked in. Two secretaries glanced up as I came over. The older woman beamed at me and I recognized her from the other day.
“Mr. Boldin, hello again,” she said. “You here for Cammie?”
“Cammie?” the other girl said in a tone of disbelief.
“Yes, I am,” I said, smiling widely. “There’s no else I would be here for.” Glancing over, I saw the other secretary color slightly.
“Right this way!” The older woman jumped to her feet. “I’m Babs. Glad I came in today. I’ve had a bit of an unpredictable schedule the last few months, that’s why we got Lettie helpin’ out – my old man’s been in and out of the hospital. So if you don’t see me and Lettie’s ignoring you, just know you can come straight on back and find your girl.”
Your girl. I liked the sound of that.
To Babs I said, “Well I’m sorry to hear that, and I hope he gets better.”
“Aren’t you sweet?” She beamed at me. “Thanks, sugar.” Then she knocked on a door and entered. It was a comfortable office, big, with a wide desk. A tall man sat behind it, and he raised an eyebrow when we walked in. “Roger, this is Mr. Boldin, Cammie’s client.”
The man’s mouth went tight, but then he smiled and said, “Yes, hello. I heard about that.”
Glancing around, I finally spotted Cammie. She was sitting a small table in the corner, cramped up against the wall, but she seemed unconcerned by it and smiled at me.
“Aw, why don’t you give them your office, Roger?” Babs suggested, and I wanted to laugh at her diabolical tone. “Conference rooms are all filled.”
Roger started but then glanced at me and nodded. “I was going to leave early today anyways.” Turning he gathered up his things and then shot Cammie a hard look. “Don’t forget to lock up.”
“I won’t!” she called out. “Have a good night.” But Roger was already gone.
“Well, I’ll just leave you two to it, then!” Babs gushed, then backed out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
“Sorry I didn’t call earlier, I was slammed at work. That’s why I came in person – to extend my apologies and beg your forgiveness.” I kept my tone light as I took her in.
During the last few days, I’d wondered if maybe I’d over-exaggerated my first impression of her. Perhaps it was sleep deprivation or the site of a friendly face that had enamored me.
But no, as Cammie stood up, smiling, it was her.
She smelled like gardenia and something else. Something inviting and unnamable. It went straight to my head and my pulse quicken. Her curls floated around her, loose and sleek. And her hazel eyes were soft, filled with sparkles of color and warmth.
She was contained, this woman, polite and sweet, but there was a stubborn tilt to her chin that said she didn’t back down easily. No, I hadn
’t over-exaggerated a damn thing.
I wanted to get to know more about her. She’d made me curious about her in a way a woman had never before.
Watching her lips move, I realized she was talking to me. “Kris?” she said, and I could tell she’d said my name more than once.
Swallowing, I quickly said, “Sorry, what? Been a long day.”
“I just asked if you wanted to sit down,” she gestured at the couch. “And whether you needed anything? Water? Tea?”
“I’m all set,” I said, not wanting her to leave the room, and sat down. “Thank you.” Digging in my pocket, I held out the elephant. “Here, I wanted you to have this. Little good luck charm.”
Her eyes went wide as she took it from me. “Oh, Kris, I can’t accept this.”
“I’d really appreciate it if you did, though,” I said. “It’s a little tradition in the Boldin family to give out mementos like this. Good karma and all that.”
Closing her fingers around it, Cammie smiled and shook her head. “You are impossible, you know that? Fine, okay. Just don’t tell anyone; we’re not supposed to take gifts.” For another moment she hovered awkwardly by the couch, then she slowly sat down. Stiff and prim at the very edge, hands folded on her knees, and as demure as though we were at church. “Have you had a chance to think about what it is you want in a home? Location, price, anything?”
“Redmont Park,” I said immediately. “Or Homewood, Mayfair part. Mountain Brook is nice, but…” I trailed off, wondering how to explain that’s where my dad’s house currently was, and I wanted to avoid that area at all costs. “It’s just not what I want. No gated communities.” I finally added. “Well, if I can avoid them.”
Reaching behind her, Cammie snatched up a notebook and pen, scribbling down what I’d just said. “Those are both great neighborhoods. I think we should be able to find you something.”
Her voice still had a question. Price range. The digits in my bank account danced behind my eyes. In a low voice, I told her. It seemed strange to name numbers so high, but I did.
Cammie made no comment, just wrote it down, and I felt an enormous weight lift off my shoulders. I was sure numbers like that would seem obscene, that she’d recoil or give me a “must be nice to have a rich daddy look.”
But all Cammie did was thoughtfully tap her pen against her chin. “Very doable. Would you be open to also looking at any suburbs outside of Birmingham? Vestavia Hills, Hoover? Oh, and there’s a new neighborhood developing, a bit on the hip side, called Mount Laurel.”
I shrugged. “I’d prefer to stay as closer to the city as possible.”
“Of course,” Cammie murmured, writing that down.
From there she asked me questions about acreage, lawn preferences, fences, windows, roofing, and kitchens – even sewer systems. By the end of it, my head was spinning a little.
“I didn’t realize there was so much that went into buying a house,” I admitted, after telling her I had no idea if I’d prefer city plumbing. Do people honestly care about that stuff? Part of me was amused, but part of me also felt a bit like a moron. I should know this stuff, shouldn’t I?
Man, was that a familiar question.
“It’s okay. By the end, once you’ve seen houses, I think you’ll know what you prefer. Of course, you’ll probably have to make some compromises – even with your price range.” Her eyes twinkled at me.
I laughed at her gentle humor. So Cammie had noticed I was uncomfortable naming that range. She must be better at reading people than I realized. And I wondered what she thought that said about me.
Suddenly I wondered what she thought about me in general. A strange sensation filled me, like pressure pushing up on my ribs, and I shifted in the seat.
Cammie had gotten up to get her laptop and now came back with it. “I have some houses you can look at if you’d like, Kris. There’s this one in Redmont Park which is a bit bigger than you want…”
Subtly I glanced at my watch. It was almost twenty past five. “Cammie!” I exclaimed.
Jumping, she gave me a reproachful look and then hastily smiled. “Yes?”
“Sorry, I just realized the time. It’s after 5. You need to get home,” I said. “We can pick this up another time. Over dinner.” I stood up and plucked the computer from her hands, placing it down on the couch behind us. “What night would work for you?”
Gaping at me, Cammie’s hands fluttered to her hair and pushed it back. “Dinner? Kris, that’s very sweet of you but…”
Dinner is too much, I could practically hear her saying. While I hadn’t exactly asked her out on a date, the implication was there.
Smiling at her, I said, “I bet you could talk me into anything if we did go. A giant pink house or one made out of gingerbread. Think about it,” I dropped my voice an octave, along with a wink. “It would make you pretty famous around here.”
Cammie’s lips twitched, and she looked up at me. Her eyes were steady and unreadable, but I could tell she was considering it. I tried to look cool and stuck my hands in my pocket. Heart beating a little faster than usual, I wondered if I’d pushed my luck too far, if she’d decline icily, and I would wind up working with Clambrain or whatever his name was.
“Alright,” she said with a long breath.
I also let out a breath, trying not to let my smile give too much away. My heart danced in my chest. “Alright,” I echoed. “If Friday’s good, I can pick you up and you can bring the house ideas then. Pretty good trade, right?”
And Cammie, with a slight shake of her head, smiled back at me.
Chapter 10
Cammie
Thursday before the date found me unusually impatient to get out of Birmingham Realty. I swear the clocks were dragging their heels on purpose. But finally, five o’clock came, and I rushed to Anna’s house. When she opened the door, I gave her an enormous hug, never more grateful for a mutual love of public green spaces in my life. And Anna, of course.
“You’re in a tizzy,” she observed as I let her go. Following her into the house, she wiggled her eyebrows at me over her shoulder. “Pre-date jitters?”
“More like earthquakes,” I said. “It’s one thing to be in the office with him, but out to dinner? Most likely candlelit?” I shook my head. “It’s like he just changed the rules.”
“This guy has serious game,” Anna said as we entered her kitchen and she turned to smile at me, leaning against the counter. “He’s quick on his feet. Already knows how to get to you.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, going to her fridge and getting myself a glass of iced tea.
“He didn’t let you say no. He must have known you are a notorious workaholic and that the only way he was going to spend any time with Cammie Book is by delicately twisting her arm.” Anna beamed. “That’s pretty sexy, I must say.” She pretended to fan herself.
Choking a little on my tea, I shook my head at her, “I think you might be reading into this.”
“Please, darling, I know men. This one is a keeper. Where’s he taking you?”
I opened my mouth then closed it. “I don’t know,” I admitted, surprised.
That was a first for me. I liked planning things out, tidy lists in my date book, and color-coded reminders in my phone. I’d never not known where I was going on a first date.
Then I winced. Not a first date. Business date. Geez, Anna was starting to get to me.
Anna clapped her hands in glee. “Oh, he’s good. I wish I could be there.”
“Don’t you dare!” I exclaimed, picturing Anna in a hat and trench coat peeping over a menu from a table in the corner. Sending us bottles of wine and chocolate-dipped strawberries.
“Honey, you don’t know where you’re going, how am I supposed to know? I was kidding.” She stuck her tongue out at me. “So, see, he saved you there too. Clever boy.”
Placing my glass down on the counter, I was about to retort when Anna seized my hand. Holding my fingers up to her eyes, she looked up at me and shook
her head.
“Lord have mercy. Preserve me from a chipped mani, that’s what,” she said.
“Um, excuse me – let me go, please,” I said, trying to tug my hand away.
Anna waved my hand around. “Cammie, look at your nails! They’re chipped and peeling; oh this is a tragedy. We need to get this remedied right away.”
“What?” I asked. “But Anna, it’s not–”
“I can’t let you go out looking that!” Shaking her blonde head, she seemed genuinely agitated. “Come on, I have a friend who does nails. Let’s go.”
Which is how we found ourselves outside a closed nail salon, Anna joyfully hammering on the door and calling for someone named Kelly Sue. Eventually, a curvy woman with a pile of dark hair came to the door and unlocked it for us.
“Nail emergency?” she gushed, her rosy cheeks going even pinker. “Come on in, dolls.”
“Thank you,” I said as we trailed in. “I’m sorry if we are inconveniencing you.”
Anna laughed. “Didn’t I tell you, Kelly Sue? Cammie is as sweet as a Georgia peach and far more unassuming.”
Kelly Sue twinkled at us as she sat down at a round table and beckoned me over. “Oh, sure. I can always tell an Alabama girl born and raised from a Georgia girl.” Her accent was as thick as honey, and she shared Anna’s liveliness for girly things. “I think we should do a nice coral color, set off those nice golden tones in your skin and eyes, Cammie.”
“Okay,” I said, letting Kelly Sue buff my nails with a blue square. She then proceeded to file them and dip them in a bowl. Meanwhile, Anna chattered on in my ear about the date, her mind racing forward, until finally, firmly, but gently, I pointed out, once again, “Anna Dewitt, how many times I gotta tell you? This is a business date. No pleasure.”
Kelly Sue, who was absorbed in painting the second coat on my nails, said absently, “All work and no play… Ain’t no way to live, I’ll tell you that.”
