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“Let’s look at you, then,” Sasha says from the doorway.
I turn from the box of canapes that I’m carefully transferring onto a black lacquer tray and find Sasha looking breathtakingly beautiful. But when she comes forward, a slight frown is on her forehead. Her eyes critically inspect me from top to bottom.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, touching my new bangs uncertainly. The hairdresser said I have the perfect heart-shaped face for bangs, but I’m not used to having a bunch of hair on my forehead.
Sasha takes a deep breath. “I didn’t expect to see you in such a revealing outfit. I thought you were going for clean and presentable.”
My eyes widen with surprise. Sasha is dressed in a red dress that can only be described as sexy, with a plunging neckline and most of her long slim legs on show too. She actually looks like she is on her way to a party or a club. I choose my words carefully. “Olga, the shop assistant at the boutique you recommended, helped me choose this suit. She seemed to knowyou well and she told me this outfit is what you yourself would have chosen for an important showing.”
“Well, it looks a bit different on you,” she says cattily. “Never mind. Perhaps you can button up your jacket.”
I don’t agree that my top is too revealing and I’m not at all happy about the condescending way she is looking at me, but I bite back the sarcastic retort bubbling in my throat and silently button my jacket. This deal is too important to poison the air with a petty argument.
But Sasha is not finished. She comes closer and plucks a single strand of dog hair off my jacket. Shaking her head with disapproval, she puts it into my hand. I force a smile and let my fingers close over the offending hair, before stuffing it into my jacket pocket. I couldn’t resist taking Mrs. Winterman’s impossibly cute German Shepherd puppy into my arms when we shared the elevator earlier, and I really thought I’d brushed myself until I was fur free, but apparently, I hadn’t been successful.
“You’ll be serving the hors d'œuvres. Show me your nails,” she demands bossily.
I hold out my hands obediently, and she nods. “That’s fine.” Her eyes move upwards to meet mine. “Are you nervous?"
"Enough to shit my pants."
A small smirk tugs at her lovely mouth. "Don’t worry you'll be fine. All you have to do is smile sweetly and let me do all the talking.”
“Yup, I can definitely do that. Aren’t you even a bit nervous?” I ask curiously.
“Not at all.” She shrugs carelessly. “High-profile clients are usually the easiest to deal with. No fussy demands or protracted price negotiations. Ivan Ivanovich will probably spend ten to thirty minutes before deciding. His staff have already given him a rundown of why a property like this would be a good assetto acquire. Basically, he's just here to check out the aesthetic element and give the final stamp of approval."
I nod. "I put the champagne on ice an hour ago so it’s ready to drink as soon as he comes in. After that, I’ll get busy with serving the refreshments and stay out of the way so you can focus on doing what you do best."
Her gaze runs down my body. "Sure.”
Sasha is deliberately being rude and I don’t know why, but now is not the time to air grievances. “Right. I better return to my canapes.”
“Ah… to be so rich that you could afford to buy a place like this,” she murmurs and begins to elegantly twirl around the opulent room.
I watch the pretty picture she makes and say nothing.
She stops and looks at me with a wistful expression. “Do you ever dream of owning a place like this, Lara?”
I stare at her with astonishment. “No. Never. What would I do with 24000 square feet and three floors?” I shake my head. “I dream of old houses with cozy rooms full of charm and character.”
“Really? I do. I’ve been seriously considering retiring from real estate altogether and just wooing one of my clients. I've just never been able to catch anyone at this level… yet."
I cock my head at her words. "Does this mean?"
She smiles a secret, rapt smile. "Darling, I didn't wake up at 6 a.m. to get my hair and makeup done and squeeze into this dress just to sell a house. Neither am I?—"
She stops abruptly when a black SUV appears in the parking court outside, followed by a gleaming Rolls Royce. Behind it, is another black SUV still on the driveway. My eyes widen. I had expected some show of money, of course, but jeez.
This is more like a James Bond entrance.
For a few seconds, we are both frozen, and then Sasha wriggles her shoulders before straightening her spine. “Showtime,” she says with a hard smile and heads towards the front door. I too straighten my back, even though I know he can't see me. We have to be on out very best. I hang around next to the champagne bucket, wondering if I should pop the cork now.
From the tall windows, I see no movement from the Rolls Royce, but two big burly men in black suits jump out of the first SUV. They have Bluetooth buds in their ears and wear mirrored sunglasses. Their bodies are alert and look all around them warily as if they are trained special forces soldiers. Good lord! Two more large men get out of the second SUV. They split and start walking into the grounds. The first two come up to the front door.
Sasha opens the front door and I hear her speaking with them. I can't make out what they are saying from where I am standing, but the conversation seems curt and cold. A few minutes later Sasha starts walking in my direction, a sullen expression on her face. I know she is looking for me, but I can't understand why.
"Lara?" she calls impatiently.