Chapter 2
Chapter Two
LARA
"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."
All of these are uttered quietly under my breath because it irks me to hear them out loud. Yet, as I stare at my ringing phoneonthe extended tripod hanging from the top of the ceiling, there is no other way to expressmy frustration.
Iforgotto put my phone on airplane mode and now instead ofrecording me, it’sringingand interrupting meevery single time I start the timer.Maybe ifadvertisingonYouTubeworks out,I’ll be able tobuy some proper recording equipment.The call rings until it disconnects, and once again I reach up as best as I can, stretching my arm to its limit, holding tightly onto the stair railing so I won't fall, and press the record button.
I need this shot.It will make the house look so magical. I will stroll down, and the overhead shot will capture the beauty of thisapartment.Yes, it’s oldand some people will think it isshabby, butfor me, itscharm is undeniable. It is my hope that I will be able to closethe salethis month. My month so farhas been rough, but with this listing, things arestarting tolookup.
The recording starts, and with abigsmile, I begin towalk down the stairs, the steps creaking softly under my feet. But once again,my phonestartsringing, piercing the quiet.
"For fuck’s sake," I scream.
There is no one to hearso I let rip.I wait forthe phonetostop, leaving me with my frustrated image and the glaring red record button.I’m pretty sure it’s only Derek from the office.The phone stops and ten seconds pass before it starts ringing again.Surely hewon’t callmorethan three times.Silence descends andI am sure thathe has given up on me, but asI try to reach for the phone once again to start recording, yet another call comes in.My frustration boilsoverandI rip off the duct tape and answer the call.
"Are you freaking kidding me?" It is so noisy in the background, and I can't understand why.
"Derek! Stop freaking calling me; you're going to make me lose my mind."
"Why aren't you picking up?" he asks. "I've been trying to reach you."
"I'm working," I reply. "I'm freaking recording, and I need my phone, and you've been interrupting me for the past thirty minutes."
"I'm sorry, but this is a hundred times more important."
"Whatis it?" I ask, realizing for the first time hownoisythe backgroundon Derek’s end is.
"Well,something big, really big hasjust happened at the agency, and yourdad wants you back right now."
I frown. "What’s happened?"
"I can't tell you why.It's a surprise."
“Look. Stop playing games with me, Derek,and just tell me.I want to finish this video before I get back to the office.”
"Lara, I'm not kidding," he says. "This is serious and huge. You won't believe it even if I told you over the phone, but regardless, you need to get down here within the next thirty minutes tops. Plus, we’veordered pizza—the good kind, not thecheap stufffrom around the corner. If you're not here, I promise you it will be gone."
"Derek, I don't care about?—"
"Oh my God, just get here now," he snaps. "You can go back to your videos or whatever afterwards. Hurry up."
He hangs up then, leaving me staring at the phone in disbelief.Hewants me toleavethe videounfinished and goback to the office without even knowing why.The thought of wasting time commuting back and forthisstupid so I call my dad.
"Hey, Dad.Why is your office manager insisting that I get back to the office right now?"
"It's huge," he saysexcitedly, and once again I notice the ruckusgoing onin the background.
"What's happening?" I askcuriously.
"Just get over here right now. How far away are you?" he asks.
"Half an hour.”
"Take a cab."
"Uh,we can afford cabs?"
"We can afford it!" he booms.
My eyebrows rise. "Really? Since when?"
"Lara,take a cab," he says and hangs up the phone.
My hand falls to the side. Wow!Something big must be happening.I leave my things as they are since I will have to come back anyway, lock the apartment, and head out. It doesn't take me long to find a cab, thankfully, but with the little late morning traffic, it takes menearly twenty minutesto arrive back at our office.
Through the shop window, I see everybody gathered around the coffee table. My steps quicken because even though I’ve racked my brains during the whole journey here to imagine what this big mystery could be about, or why I couldn’t just be told over the phone, I came up with nothing. Maybe someone closed a deal, a huge deal, but even that is no reason to be so dramatic.
I standatthe door, bemused. The atmosphere is wild.Everyone is smiling and chatting away with plastic flutes of what seems to be champagne in hand, thoughit’sprobablyjust cider or apple juice because we most certainly can't afford real champagne.Anna spots me. Waving, she hurries over and grabs me by the hand, pulling me in.
"The pizza's almost gone, but your dad saved you acouple ofslices.They’rein the fridge with your name on it. There’s cake too."
This makes me smile. It's a small gesture, but it warms my heartbecause it is not often that my father is loving.
"Sasha's done it again," she saysas wereach the fridge, "but for real this time."
Sasha is the lead agent in my father’s company. While I am always struggling to even get a deal, she finds and closes them effortlessly.
"What do you meanfor real?" I ask as I dig my fork into the slice of cake.
"She just scored a huge client.WhenI say huge. I meanginormous, mahoosive…humongous."
My eyes pop open."She sold a house? Where?"
"No, she hasn't sold it yet," Anna replies.
Now I’m confused."Then why the celebration?"
"A Russian billionaire wants our agency to represent him.The property in question is a seafront mansion in Southampton and it has a price tag of a hundred and twenty million.We couldn’t even dream of landing a listing like this,”she almost screams.“Do you understand now why we’reallso happy and excited? Just think of the commission.That’s liketenmillion shared between us and the seller’s agency.”
“Wow! That’s fantastic,” I cry. I’m impressed, happy and relieved, all at once. It means our agency can finally get into profit again. It was touch and go for a while there. No wonder Dad asked me to take a cab.
“Yes, it’s wonderful. Just wonderful,” Anna cries happily. “And we have Sasha to thank.”
I glance around at Sasha. She is flicking her longshinyblondehairbackand laughing.Her face is flushed with happiness.Apart of me wishes I couldbring homethe salelike her. She makes it look so easy.“I didn’t know Sashaknew any billionaires.”
“Apparently, she doesn’t know the billionaire.”
My head snaps back.“What?”
Anna shrugs.“Whyelsewould they ask our agency to handle that kind of property? It’s completely out of our league…unlessit was a direct recommendationfrom one of Sasha's high-end clients,or even from one of her friends in the bigger agencies. It makes sense. She’s Russian, he’s Russian."
Ireach for the plate of pizza."Who careswhy the job came to our agency?We really need this."
"Yes, we do.It’s not going to be easy.I hear billionairesare a pain to deal with.I just hopeand prayshe'll be able to pull it off."
"She will," I reply. "We'll all help her as much as we can."
"Lara!" I hear a call from across the room and seemy father. Helookseven more giddy than everyone present. It has been months since I have seen him look anything even remotely close tohappy, let alone this almost unhingedjoy. Just earlier that morning, I had been concerned he wouldn'tevencome to workbecause helooked soblue anddejected.Nowhe is positively beamingand who can blame him? This is the light at the end of the tunnel for us.Irunoverto himand accept his bear hug.
“Oh, Dad,” I whisper.
"You've heard?" he asks.
I nod and grin at him. "Yes, Dad, I've heard. I’ve heard.”
"Okay, we're about tomake thecall now.Tofind outmore details."He turns to theother staff. "Everyone, gather round and quiet down. Sasha, are you ready to make the call?"
"Yes, Mr. Fitzpatrick," Sasha replies.
I send her a happy smile.
Everyone gathers around and quiets down, and Sashatakes her seat with Joshua behindher shoulders for moral support. She says a quick, quiet prayer and then puts the phone on speaker.
It instantly begins to ring. Itoccursto mesuddenlythat we have celebratedevenbefore the negotiation call has even been made, but it is endearing nonetheless.
"Greta Schmidt speaking?" a woman answers. She has a cool professional voice and a strong German accent.
"Hello, this is Sasha Kuznetsov. I am from Fitzpatrick & Co. We were contacted earlier about a Park Avenue listing and given your number as a contact…"
"Ah, yes…I am Mr. Ivanovich’s PA, and you will be dealing with me on this matter. He would like to schedule an appointment to view the property in question in the next two days."
"Next two days?” Sasha repeats and winces because she knows it will take time to connect with the seller’s agent and stage the house properly to show it at its best.
At this response, the lady goes briefly silent, and my heart jumps. As I look around, I can see the nervousness in everyone's eyes. Sasha most definitely doesn't miss this either.
“Is that not possible?”Greta Schmidt’s voice is cold and disapproving.
“Of course, it is possible,”Sasha says quickly.“It willbe ready. I'm at your service.When wouldMr. Ivanovich like to see it?Anytime at all. Even now.”
Greta allows herself a small almost mocking laugh. “There are two spaces in Mr. Ivanovich's calendar. How does tomorrow sound?"
Sasha’s eyes glitter with excitement. "Tomorrow is wonderful.”
“What time?”
“3.00 p.m. sharp. Please do not keep Mr. Ivanovich waiting.”
“We'll be ready."
"Good.”
"Thank you," she says, and just like that, the call comes to an end. For a long minute, no one speaks or even moves, and then once again the entire office erupts into chaos—smiles, celebrations, and congratulations. Irush headlonginto my father'schest.
Suddenly the phone begins to ring again. We almost miss it, but Derek is alert enough toyell for us to be quiet. Sasha scrambles for her phone and picks it up, clearly out of breath with excitement.
"Hello," she says.
"The girl,”Greta Schmidt’s voicesays crisply,“the one that makes your advertisements and social media posts?" shesays, and all eyes turn to me. I wasn't ready for all that attention becauseI’m doing what I never do at work. I’mleaning in a very unprofessional way against my father.Iquicklystep away from him and stand on my own.
"What about her?" Sasha asks as she picks up the receiver and takes the call off the speakers. I watch the light die from her eyes.
"What's happening?" my father whispers, but no one has any response.
"Holy shit," I whisper hoarsely. Maybe they saw my unprofessional, cheaply made videos, and decided we were a joke. "Have I just cost us this listing?"
"That can't be," my father whispers back, but his entire demeanor has changed. He even looks a bit white around the mouth.
Sasha ends the call.
"What did she say?" everyone asks breathlessly.
Sasha manages a smile, but I can see the terrible disappointment in her lovely eyes as she turns to face me.
"They want you to do the viewing, Lara. Not me," she says softly.