Negotiating Tactics

One

Alex

“Doyou need me to wait, ma’am?” the driver asked, his face in a tense smile and his eyes filled with sympathy.

He brushed his hand across his light blond hair then dropped it to his side, the crisp white of his shirt stark against his dark navy pants.

His voice was low but still audible on the quiet, peaceful street. We were standing on the sidewalk, and I looked over one shoulder, then the other, and saw nothing but leaves being pushed along the clean, empty sidewalk by the breeze and well-manicured trees swaying gently.

There wasn’t another soul in sight, and unless you suffered from dendrophobia, certainly no hint of danger.

Expected in this neighborhood, but I wasn’t one to take things for granted.

Still…

It was after one in the morning, and after the night I’d had, I wasn’t in the mood to take chances.

“Would you mind?” I finally responded, lowering my gaze to meet the driver’s bright blue eyes.

I envied how alert he seemed to be.

He gave me a quick smile and nodded his head. “Of course not, ma’am. Let me grab your bag.”

He reached for the gray and neon green duffel bag which currently held what I feared was the last of my worldly belongings and pulled it out of the trunk of the luxury sedan.

My bag was probably the cheapest thing that had ever been inside of the vehicle, but that was the last thing I wanted to think about.

Instead, I fished around in my pockets, thinning my lips when I realized that I didn’t have any cash.

I looked at the driver again, prepared to apologize, but before I could speak, he gave me another smile.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. Mr. Wilder has taken care of everything. Let me get this inside for you,” he said.

“Thanks,” I responded, not sure what else to say.

I already felt bad enough that I was having to rely on Dominic, my best friend Birdie’s new husband. But I appreciated the gesture. Besides, who else would have been able to get me a driver and place to stay after midnight?

I knew it was Birdie’s doing, but I was grateful all the same.

The driver hoisted my bag onto his shoulder and started walking. I fell into step beside him, then stopped when he opened the waist-high gate that led to the front yard. We walked up the brick-lined walkway and then up the three wide steps that led to the front door of the four-story townhouse.

When I’d called Birdie, panicked, she’d calmly told me to write down an address and said she’d have a car sent over to my apartment. I hadn’t recognized the address, but that was no surprise. I knew Dominic owned numerous properties throughout the city, which was how Birdie had been able to offer the place at this late hour and on such short notice.

I hated taking handouts, but I ignored the shame that was simmering and looked up appreciatively at the building.

The townhouse had a beautiful stone facade, one that had either been immaculately cared for or had been restored to perfection.

It reminded me of my building…

Well, it wasn’t mine—not yet—but I hoped it would be one day.

I sighed with the realization that the night’s events might have put that hope out of reach.

The driver cleared his throat, and I looked over to see him standing next to me on the porch, watching me expectantly. “Oh, right. There’s no key, right?” I asked, as I smiled at him, sheepish that I’d been caught daydreaming.

He nodded. “No, ma’am. There’s a code to unlock the door, but I don’t know it,” the driver said.

“Yeah. Birdie sent it to me,” I muttered, shaking my head as I pulled my phone out of my pocket.

That I still had it was another small silver lining of the night.

My phone was my lifeline, so if it had also been destroyed, I don’t know what I would have done.

I scrolled through my text messages and found the one from Birdie with the code for the door.

Before I could turn off the screen, the phone started to vibrate.

I had a new message. I looked at the number, felt my stomach drop, and then pushed the phone back into my pocket without listening to the message. In all the madness, I must have missed the call.

And I didn’t have time for it right now.

Still, while I knew now wasn’t the time, I felt guilty.

And worried.

If he was calling at this hour, he might need something or be hurt. Plus, he’d called me more in the last couple of months than he had in years, and I had even seen him a couple of times.

I wanted to nurture that connection, and some part of me worried that if I didn’t answer, he might not ever call again.

But when the reality of my situation hit me again, I again knew I had made the right decision.

I was handling all I could, and I didn’t have the space for more right now.

After I double-checked the number, I keyed in the code and waited.

A beep, a click, and the lock decompressed.

I pushed the door open and then looked back at the driver, who was still standing on the porch.

“I really appreciate it,” I said, smiling at him.

He nodded and returned the smile.

“You’re welcome, ma’am,” he said.

He handed me the bag and then took a step back as I twisted the knob and pushed one of the heavy double doors open. The driver stood on the porch until I was inside and had closed and locked the door. I noticed a small screen next to the door, and when I touched it, the screen lit up. I watched as the driver skipped down the stairs, down the brick walkway, and back to the sleek car.

I watched until he drove away and then turned, putting my back to the door. The heavy wood was cool, and I closed my eyes and breathed out, trying to get my head together.

When I’d entered, the lights had flickered on, illuminating the foyer, but after I’d stood there for a few moments, I saw them dim.

The lights must have been on a timer or motion detector. I opened my eyes and saw the barely lit foyer.

The lights flashed on when I moved, and I let my duffel bag slide off my shoulder and stood to look around.

The low whistle I let out didn’t do the place justice.

Before, I’d thought Dominic’s penthouse was the nicest home I’d ever seen.

It was nothing compared to this place.

Tall ceilings, beautifully polished hardwood floors, and a dramatic front foyer, which didn’t seem possible based on the classic look outside.

That perfect mix of modern and traditional.

And exactly the feel I wanted for my building.

A smile lifted my cheeks, but that little thrill was tempered by thoughts of reality.

“None of that now, Alex,” I said to myself with a little giggle.

The first laugh I’d had in hours.

I walked to the left, staring up at the dramatic archway that separated the foyer from the rest of the home. It wasn’t an original feature, but it blended perfectly with the home and made me excited to explore.

Eventually, I hoped to find the kitchen and a nice glass of cold water, and after seeing that archway, I knew I’d enjoy the search.

Despite my shitty night, I started to feel somewhat better. After all, it was true, yes, that I’d lost my home, but there were worse places I could have ended up.

I tried to take in everything, my gaze roaming as I walked through the small sitting room and through to a larger living area, which I followed to a piano room. The next two rooms were fully furnished, though I had no idea what purpose they served. It seemed no one else did either, because the rooms felt like I’d been the first person to enter them in years.

Finally, I found the kitchen.

It was as high-end as I would have expected, with what looked to be industrial grade appliances, beautiful white countertops, and shiny white marble floors.

The kind of kitchen that was a joy to look at but would be hell to clean.

I didn’t plan on spending enough time here to do either.

I looked around the kitchen, surprised to find it fully stocked. Then I shrugged and rummaged through the refrigerator. I wasn’t hungry, so I still resisted the impulse to grab a snack, knowing artisan asiago cheese puffs wouldn’t fix the frustration that was eating at me, no matter how delicious they might look.

I also bypassed the seltzer—both flavored and unflavored, the fancy as fuck zero-calorie cola, and the bottle of rosé that was screaming my name.

Instead, I filled a heavy tumbler with water and took three long refreshing gulps.

Then I refilled the cup, even though—after the day I’d had—I fucking hated water. When I’d left my home of eight years, about thirteen thousand gallons of it had stayed behind.

Suddenly feeling tired, I rinsed out the glass, left it on the counter, and continued my exploration of the townhouse.

To think, just five hours ago, I’d been curled up in bed, settling in to read.

I’d halfway drifted off until I heard a crack and then a gush.

Trying to ignore that memory, I unzipped my duffel bag, then pulled out my laptop case.

When I was a kid, I’d always taken my schoolwork to bed, something my mother had constantly complained about. The habit had followed me into adulthood, a fact I was grateful for tonight.

My laptop had been saved, along with the four suits that I’d picked up from the dry cleaner on my way home. So, I had clean work clothes, the pajamas I was wearing, and the gardening shoes Birdie had gotten me to wear around the house. And I was pretty sure I’d left a pair of loafers in the bottom drawer of my office desk.

That, plus my tablet, was all I had left to my name.

I laughed out loud as I stared at the mostly empty bag, but the sound was grim.

It had felt like a nightmare, rushing into my living room to see Niagara Falls pouring from the ceiling.

My couch, my television, and all of my furniture, soaked.

Even the floor had started to buckle from the water.

The shock had held me in place, my mind racing because I didn’t know what to do.

Then, I’d kicked into action.

First up, I’d called the fire department, because my desktop computer and television had started to smoke.

Then, with foresight I had been surprised I still had, I grabbed the things I could salvage and maneuvered my way down the fire escape.

By the time I got down to the street, neighbors had started to gather outside, and in the hour between when I left and the firefighters gave us the all clear to go back in, it had hit me that I had probably lost everything.

It hit me again now as I walked through Dominic’s beautiful home.

I didn’t know how many properties he owned, but Birdie had assured me that no one was at this one and that I could have it for as long as I needed.

I refused to take advantage, but at least I didn’t have to find a hotel room tonight.

And for these very few hours that were left before work, I could try to rest and confront tomorrow when it came.

I made my way up the stairs, the beautiful double staircase making me smile.

This was the kind of shit that I had seen on TV when I was a kid, not a place that I ever imagined myself living in.

“You don’t live here, ho,” I whispered to myself with a little giggle.

I didn’t, but I could pretend.

In fact, I was excited when I walked up the last beautifully polished stair and looked left then right.

I decided to go left first, eyeing the four doors that lined the hall as I moved.

Behind the first door was another living room, and I couldn’t help but scoff.

How many fucking places did rich people need to sit around?

Lots,if this house was anything to go by.

I spotted two other bedrooms—functional, neat, with a bathroom between them.

Nice, but these rooms didn’t quite feel like where I wanted to sleep, though if pressed, I wouldn’t be able to say why.

Instead of questioning the feeling, I walked back down the hall, my steps muffled by the carpet runner that created a walkway that spanned the length of the hall.

There were only two doors on this end of the hall, one facing the other.

I opened the door to the left and found another tastefully decorated room with a simple queen-size bed with nightstands on either side and a tall, cherrywood armoire against one wall.

Beautiful, but still not quite right.

One more to go.

I turned and walked toward the opposite door, and after I pushed it open, I took in the room.

Beautifully furnished as well with an enormous bed covered in what looked to be a billion pillows and a duvet so stark white it practically glowed. Similar cherrywood furniture, though this room only had one nightstand.

It was so similar to the other but felt…different.

I tried to put my finger on why.

Unlike the others, this room had a television mounted to the wall.

Then, I went deeper and saw that this room had a private bath. When I walked inside, I saw neatly folded navy-blue towels, a shower big enough to make me salivate, and one of those rainwater showerheads that I hated with a passion.

A faint scent of what I could only call nature lingered in the air, probably because of the unopened shampoo, shower gel, and soap that neatly lined the countertop.

My first thought would be that this room belonged to someone, but Birdie had assured me that no one would be here.

Maybe this was just the way people like Dominic kept their spare homes, ready to take guests at a moment’s notice.

Lucky me!

Because something about this room felt right.

Decision made, I started to smile and made a beeline for the shower.

My exploding ceiling had not only deposited water into my home, but it had also left a not insignificant amount of dust and drywall in my hair.

So, I showered with that woodsy bath gel, washed my hair with the shampoo, and made a mental note to buy some conditioner and other toiletries tomorrow.

When I was clean, I dried off with towels that felt like clouds and finger-combed my hair. The thick, coiled strands didn’t want to cooperate, but I managed a messy French braid, then wrapped myself in one of the towels, ignoring the leg, hip, and boob that it couldn’t cover.

As I stepped back into the bedroom, I considered what to do next and then headed toward the armoire.

My dust-covered pajamas were out, and there was nothing in my spirit that would allow me to sleep naked in an unfamiliar house.

I opened the armoire but wasn’t surprised when I found it empty. Then, I moved to the six-drawer dresser underneath the television and pulled open the top drawer.

Jackpot.

Two neat rows, one with black boxer-briefs, the other with black tank tops.

I grabbed one of each and nodded my approval when I pulled the tank top over my head. It hadn’t been built to accommodate triple Ds, but it was longer than I would have expected.

The boxer-briefs had a harder time with my extra helping of thighs, hips, and ass, but at least I was covered. Satisfied at that small victory, I climbed into the ginormous bed and sank into the comfort of the mattress.

You’ll be okay, Alex.

I told myself that, whispered it over and over in my head like a mantra.

Even still, I couldn’t ignore the challenge that lay in front of me.

I had renter’s insurance, but I doubted it would fully cover all that I’d lost. And depending on how long the repairs took, I might have to find someone else to live. Birdie would let me stay here permanently if I asked, but I wouldn’t take advantage of her kindness.

It was my job to take care of myself, and I intended to do just that.

Which meant my savings would probably be gone soon.

My stomach rolled, but I didn’t let the thought take root.

This was only a temporary setback, but I’d still get my building, even if it took a little longer than I’d planned.

“It’s just a test. Nothing we can’t handle,” I said out loud, repeating the words my mother had said to me so often.

The words I knew she’d say if I could call her now.

I could practically hear her voice and her certainty as she told me it was just a test and that she knew I could do anything I put my mind to.

And I’d do just that, master this test, and keep moving toward my dream.

I let a lazy smile cross my face and gave myself to sleep…

… and bolted upright when I heard a muffled thump downstairs.