Drawn to the Flames

1Kate Hadley sat down in her boss’s desk chair and reached for his phone. Ralph Parsons, head of Parsons & Sheffield Fine Properties, had agreed to let her use his office for the crucial call; they didn’t want the other brokers listening in on the conversation. As Kate dialed Harrison Hill’s office, Ralph stood over her like an over anxious mama bear watching her cub trying to catch its first big fish. Kate looked up at him with a calming smile. “Sit down, Ralph. Everything’s going to be fine.” “How many rings?” he asked, reaching for the end of his tie. Ralph always chewed the ends of his expensive ties when he was on edge. “Put them on the speaker,” he said. Kate refused, shaking her head and placing an elegant finger on her lips. “Good afternoon, Hill Financial Advisors,” a friendly male voice said. “Can you hold for a moment, please?” “Sure, I’ll wait,” Kate said. “Damn! We wouldn’t be hurting so much if you hadn’t shown him the house ten days ago when it was still a wreck.” “He wanted to see it, Ralph, based on your raving about how it won the California Design Council award six years ago. I told him it was filthy, but he insisted.” “He’ll never want to go back. Make sure he knows we have two other listings that just came on the market.” “Relax, Ralph, okay?” Kate smiled. “I’ve got this. And stop chewing your tie.” “Sorry for the delay. How may we help you?” “This is Kathryn Hadley at Parsons & Sheffield realtors. Mr. Hill’s office, please?” “Oh, good afternoon, Ms. Hadley. One moment.” Kate looked up at Ralph and nodded. He looked relieved. “Good afternoon, Ms. Hadley. I’m Jeannie, Mr. Hill’s personal assistant. We spoke a few weeks back. He’s expecting your call, but he’s finishing up an online conference with London. Will you hold, please?” “Of course,” Kate said. She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Well?” Parsons asked. “I’m on hold, but he wants to talk to me. He’s on a conference call to London.” “Great! At least he’ll talk to you. Be sure and tell him the Olsens have lowered their asking price by a half million,” Parsons said. “Let me do the selling, Ralph, please?” “Fine, but we need to move that white elephant soon. We’ll lose our exclusive on it next month.” “I know, Ralph. You’ve only reminded me six times in the past two weeks.” “I’m sorry, honey,” her boss said. “But if you can close this ugly white whale of a house, people will be hailing you as queen of the jungle.” “And your firm as the savior of the Marin luxury property market.” He smiled. “That too, yes.” “I get it,” Kate said. “Now shoo! I need to speak to him without you hanging over my shoulder.” “It’s my office, Kate.” “And my white whale, and my client, okay? Close the door behind you, please.” As she waited, Kate reviewed her agenda. Get him to agree to see the Weinberg house first. Then the old Smith place again. Then back to the Olsen place for a trial close. As to when to tell him about the new price, that would be based on how he reacted to the house the second time around. “Ms. Hadley? It’s Jeannie.” “Yes?” “He signaled he needs a few minutes more, if that’s okay?” “Of course,” Kate replied. “Oh, Jeannie?” “Yes ma’am?” “Does he still have me down for tomorrow morning, to see the houses?” “I’m sorry, Ms. Hadley. Something came up. We had to cancel your appointment.” “I see,” Kate said, crushed. “Should I call back to reschedule, then?” she asked. “He wanted to speak to you about that himself, ma’am, if you can wait a minute or two?” “Sure,” Kate said, wanting to kill the little b***h. Damn! He’s going to tell me to forget the whole house thing. Maybe if he knew the price was down to four point five million it would get him interested again. No, she thought. Sit on that. You’ve no idea what he wants to talk to you about. “Ms. Hadley? It’s Jeannie again.” “Yes?” “I’m terribly sorry, ma’am, but we have some critical issues just now out on the trading floor. Mr. Hill had to attend to them personally. He asked if he could call you on Monday from Seattle?” “Seattle?” “Yes, he’s leaving in thirty minutes. That’s why he had to cancel your viewings.” “I see. Then he still wants to see the houses?” “I don’t know, Ms. Hadley. You’ll need to ask him directly, I’m afraid. Do you have a preferred time for him to call?” Yes, how about one day after the stock market crashes and he’s out on the street in his underwear, you trumped-up strumpet? she wanted to say, but didn’t. “Morning is best,” she answered with forced sweetness. “Understood. I do apologize for the inconvenience. Good afternoon, Ms. Hadley.” Mr. Parsons had expected the worst, so when he learned that Hill was planning to call Kate the following Monday, he was so relieved that he gave Kate the rest of the afternoon off. “You really expect him to call, Ralph?” She sighed. “And I thought I was the naive one around here.” “Stay positive, Katy. He called us, don’t forget, and showed up for your viewing appointment two weeks ago.” “Yeah, and after thinking it over, he’s obviously decided to keep his stunning penthouse on Nob Hill and let the Olsen place sit there until it rots.” “You need a break, honey. Get your mind off all this. Wash away the negativity. Why don’t you drop by the house on your way home, and see how the contractors are coming along? Deirdre will be back next Wednesday. She told me she’s only with us for a few days, so we need to make sure we have everything ready for her to make any last fixes.” “I understand, boss,” Kate said. “I spoke to her last night.” “Good! Andreas Nogales is at the house now. I’ll call him and tell him you’re on your way. Oh, and please tell him to pick Deirdre up at the airport on Wednesday.” He winked. “Need to make sure we take good care of our pretty architect.” Kate leered at him. “Really, Ralph, you sound like a pimp.” “Whatever it takes, babygirl,” he replied. Seeing Kate’s pained expression, he was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, Katy. It just popped out.” “Excuse me?” she said, looking pointedly at his crotch. They both chuckled. “See? I’m around you for five minutes and I’m a blathering tongue-tied old fool.” “Hush, darling.” “Can you call me from your car?” “No, Ralph. Let’s concentrate on business until we get Harrison Hill’s signature on a fat check.” “But I miss you so much, Katy,” Ralph whispered. “Just a phone call? I can take it in my private bathroom.” “Save it for Angela, Daddy.” “She’s not you.” “Not even close, no. See you tomorrow. The Lipscombs are real close on the Stelton house. Be ready with the champagne.” Kate walked to her car, regretting the snide comment about Ralph’s mistress. He didn’t deserve it. Kate was a realist. Many middle-aged men in Parsons’s position kept a woman when they’d given up on communicating and having s*x with their over-the-hill wife. Angela was twenty years Ralph’s junior, and completely pliable sexually. Good for her, and good for him. No reason for Kate to suggest otherwise. Not when Parsons was she and her daughter Sasha’s bread and butter right now, and for the foreseeable future. Kate grimaced inwardly. She knew Orson Mills wasn’t likely to offer her a partnership again anytime soon. She turned on to the approach road to the Hidden Dreams development and the Olsen house. She considered calling Andreas but didn’t want to appear too eager to see him. Their relationship was safely casual, just a simple supper and supercharged s*x every three weeks or so, with occasional bouts of mad s*x without the time-consuming food and wine perhaps twice a month. Too many texts and phone calls in between the stolen moments of torrid heat would suggest they had morphed into boyfriend/girlfriend territory, not a place either cared to live in. Theirs was a perfect arrangement for a good-looking young man who played a large field, and a cougar witch who liked dominant males and very rough, please-take-prisoners f*****g. They were protective of their private space, and liked to keep things discrete. If her daughter Sasha was at home, they could use Andreas’s spartan apartment. If his half-brother Miguel was using the apartment, they could borrow Miguel’s oversized and windowless Nogales & Sons utility van. It boasted a built-in queen mattress Miguel had suspended from the ceiling behind the cab. The mattress lowered on stout chains, which could then be used to restrain a lucky girl or young woman until it was time to stow the mattress again, along with the spent passions scattered around the van’s rear deck. They had a few other favorite private spots to get down in or on, including the leather-covered surface of old Papa Nogales’s massive desk in his office overlooking the shops and equipment yard of Nogales & Sons.