TANNER

“Dan, I need you to send flowers to Sunaya.”

“It’s over then?”

My eyebrows raise and I mutter, “It never began and you know it.”

“I was joking.”

“I’m in stitches.”

He mutters, “You never laugh.”

“You’re never funny. Now about those flowers, I don’t want you delivering them yourself this time.”

“She’ll throw them in my face?”

“She would. Have the florist take that burden.”

“Oh God.” Dan’s voice shifts to grim. “I’ll warn them.”

“Warn them and tip them one hundred percent, not my usual thirty. And buy a thicker skin while you’re at it. See if they sell one in size P for pussy. Anything I need to know about?”

His tone becomes mechanical as he reads off his notes, “The Atlanta Woman’s Club has somehow discovered you’re in town. Why it’s woman and not women I don’t know. Must have been an oversight when it was established in 1895. I made sure they were legit. Beautiful old house they–”

“Get on with it, Dan,” I sigh.

“They asked you to take part in a fundraiser. I figured it would make you look good to the community if you showed up, help your standing there, you know, as an outsider. I’ve marked it in your calendar. Also, The Elite, the meeting is in Vail, Colorado again this winter. Marked it down and sent confirmation of your attendance. Oh and the team on this new project of yours is coming up with great ideas. Insurance has been locked down as soon as you give the green light. You want to hear the top interview contenders?”

“Later. Anything else, Dan? And where is my realtor…” I mutter, staring off down the quiet, upper class residential street.

“She’s late?”

“One minute, yes.”

“She’ll regret that. You’re scheduled for a massage this afternoon, but you’ve also got a haircut.”

“How did that happen?”

“You ran into the barber you used to like, and made the appointment verbally without checking with me.”

I rake a hand through my wavy hair. “Oh, I thought it was your mistake.”

“And yet it wasn’t,” he says with an audible smile.

“Fix it.”

“Which is more important?”

I dryly ask him, “Which do you think?”

“I’ll move the massage to tomorrow.”

“Smart man. I didn’t want the damn massage in the first place. Stop trying to get me to relax. Anything else?”

“Nothing I can’t handle, Tanner.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Oh and Dan, the spa charges a fee for same day changes to appointments so take that out of your pay.” At his silence I mutter, “I’m fucking with you. Get a sense of humor,” and hang up, shaking my head.

Turning around, my eyes land on a white convertible Lexus slowing down like this is its destination. The street is quiet, only the occasional chirping of unseen birds can be heard, and the electric car doesn’t disturb the peaceful setting as it parks in front of the property. I frown as the driver waves at me. That young woman is not Cora, which doesn’t make me happy in the slightest.

She pawned me off on an underling?!

The sun dances on the beauty’s high cheekbones as she unleashes her ponytail and shakes out long, brown waves. Gliding out in a knee-length dress that matches her car, she quietly shuts the door while looping an arm through a designer purse. Tipping the sunglasses atop her head she warmly smiles, whiskey colored eyes sparkling with friendliness.

I exhale with irritation. Cora thinks sending this eager young thing will close the sale?

“Mr. Hamilton?”

“Who else would I be? You, however, are not who I expected.”

She waves red fingernails. “Cora fell ill. I’m terribly sorry. But you’re in good hands with me, Mr. Hamilton. My name is Emma and I know everything about this gorgeous property that there is to know.”

It always feels odd to shake hands with a woman.

I rarely do it.

So I slide mine in my pockets rather than extend one.

Women are to be stroked not shaken.

Emma and I stare at each other, neither making a move. My eyes narrow on her youthful face, impatiently thinking that there is no way this girl can handle the complicated plans I’ve got in the works. She’s nice to look at, but beauty doesn’t equal experience. And she’s way too fucking happy.

Frowning at the sun I inform this Emma with a measured voice, “I want the head of the agency with the best reputation in Atlanta, not one of her overly smiley, fresh-faced mentees hoping to impress her boss, yet who will probably fall short of doing so. Yes, I can see right through you. There’s desperation to impress written all over your face, the way you’re standing. Despite your well-packaged presentation I can see the naïveté in your eyes and I don’t have time for children.”

Her back stiffens as she eyes me. “I’m a grown woman, Mr. Hamilton.”

With a sardonic spark in my tone I point to her cheek. “Your skin is so creamy and ripe I see baby hairs catching in the sunlight along the side of your face here. Even your name is innocent.” I motion up and down her slender body. “You were born to be this. So forgive me when I say that until you hit forty, at the earliest, nobody will take you seriously.”

Surprise flashes hot behind those already warm whiskey eyes, but she instantly masters herself and it cools. “This mansion finished construction on September 7, 1891, when James Malcolm Moody married Elizabeth Mary Louisa O’Connor of the Savannah O’Connors. Because he promised her a big family, them being Catholics, he optimistically made it twelve bedrooms. The ensuite bathrooms were built at the same time making it a historic anomaly and achievement because flushable water closets, as they were called then, were new and only the wealthy, and a handful of elite hotels, could afford to install them. Theirs was considered the most decadent home in Atlanta, as you can imagine, especially since as time travelled on, as it is wont to do, they had only two children who would later prove stubborn about having families of their own. In 1978 when the last Moody died without heirs, a cousin, Paul Blanchard, sold it to the unrelated Lowry family who renovated and restored the property, painstakingly reimagining the historical fixtures, moldings, ivory claw-foot bathtubs in all twelve bathrooms, the wallpaper in the study, library and dining hall, with a slightly more modern take to preserve what was then and blend it with today. The electrical wiring is all modern and the best that money can buy with enough volts combined with discreet solar paneling on the backside of the roof, to power the whole block. The windows have been torn out and double paned for better insulation, so even in the hottest Atlanta months it will feel cool inside without much effort. And of course there is the central air-conditioning. There are security cameras throughout of the highest grade as they were installed only last year. Because their children have moved out of Georgia, the Lowrys have relocated to Paris. They don’t need all this space and wish to retire in their native homeland. Mrs. Lowry was born Ms. Beauchamp and she misses France terribly.”

Emma adjusts her bag on her shoulder and waits for me to say something.

I clear my throat and ask, “Shall we?”