by Ethan Asher
"I'm not sure how believable this show is, Deanna. How can a part-time goat milker and a professional ghost hunter afford $250,000 in renovations? How can they afford anything?"
“I’m sure she’s going full-time now, Guy. And ghost hunting can actually be pretty lucrative. Have you seen Ghost Adventures? We should watch that too. Now, would you look at the bones on this house!”
I’m sure Deanna knows that most of the show isn’t based on reality, but I think she just likes the company. I don’t mind it either, and over the last week or so, the shows have grown on me, Fixer Upper especially.
“Very good bones.” Andrea fixes her gaze on me, elongating each syllable as she unrepentantly checks me out. Her eyes are playful, piercing, and a shade of blue that teeters on the edge of green. There’s no denying that Andrea’s attractive. Straight blonde hair frames her vulpine features. Her understated makeup complements her pristine complexion. The color of her dress matches her eyes and hugs her in all the right places, something that I’m sure she’s well aware of as she leans toward me.
“Charleigh’s supposed to be here too, right?” I ask.
I’d scheduled both of them to be here at the same time so I wouldn’t have to give the same tour twice. As much as I like this house, I’d rather spend my time off doing something more productive than being a tour guide. I wanted to give them a spare key during our meeting so they could do it on their time and also avoid another awkward encounter with Charleigh, but Christiana insisted I be there with them should they have any questions.
“She’s running late. Typical Charleigh,” she adds with a laugh.
The last comment garners an eyebrow raise. Charleigh was never the type to show up late to anything. Charleigh's not here because she doesn't want to be here. Specifically, not with me here. I'm sure she'll wait until we're all gone and then break in and give herself her own private tour.
“How about we start? I’ll give Charleigh a tour when she gets here.” If she gets here. Andrea holds her gaze with mine for a long beat before asking me to lead the way.
With the house empty, every step Andrea takes with her three-inch pumps is amplified. I was surprised when she stepped out of her car wearing them. Although most of the snow has melted in Whispering Pine, that's not the case for my house. It's located on one of the mountains that overlook the town, so there's still a nasty mixture of ice and snow everywhere, my driveway especially.
We stop in the middle of the great room. It’s my favorite part of the house. The cathedral ceiling, wood trusses, and large natural stone fireplace have always had a soothing effect on me. It feels like home.
"My parents started construction on the house in the mid-eighties, just before I was born."
"Did they do it themselves?" Andrea asks, whipping out a pink notebook with sparkling gold embellishments along with a purple pen with a pink poof ball on top.
“They hired contractors. Although both of them were talented in their respective fields, they knew their limitations, and constructing homes was one of them. The house took a few years to complete. They were supposed to move in before I was born, but there were some complications that extended construction for an extra year.”
“That tends to happen,” Andrea says with a laugh, placing her hand on my forearm. “But I assure you it won’t with this project. We’ll take very good care of you.”
I glance at her hand on my arm and make a noncommittal grunt. Fortunately, or unfortunately—I’m not quite sure yet—Andrea’s attention ricochets from me and to the back of the house where the large windows offer amazing views of the evergreen forests that surround Whispering Pine.
“Oh wow!” she squeals as she shuffles by me and presses her hands and face against the windows. “It’s so beautiful I want to die!”
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing my throbbing temples. “It’s a nice view.”
"Nice view?" Andrea spins around and gives me a playful thump on my shoulder. "It. Is. Gorgeous." She exaggerates each word and leaves her mouth gaping and eyes nearly bugging out as she spins back around and presses her forehead against the glass. "Your parents picked the perfect spot."
I check the time. Only five minutes have passed, but it feels like an eternity. With Andrea’s attention bouncing around like a pinball, I’m not sure how I’ll be able to keep her focused enough to finish this tour in less than an hour. Eventually, I’m able to wrangle her attention away from the back of the house and continue the tour. We spend the next half hour walking through each room, Andrea taking notes while I ignore her not-so-veiled flirtatious comments.
It’s strange how I’m not interested. She has all the makings of someone I should be interested in. She’s clearly knowledgeable based on her questions and suggestions she’s making for how to improve the layout of the house. Not to mention, she’s incredibly attractive. And she’s toned down the cutesy voice, so it’s not as grating. But I’m just off. I have been for most of the tour, fading in and out, incapable of maintaining my attention on her for more than a few minutes at a time.
When we finish the tour and head back to the front of the house, I’m finally able to pinpoint what’s up. I check my phone and see that Charleigh’s more than an hour late, and I haven’t received so much as a text.
I can't believe she'd skip out on the tour. This isn't some dinner; this is her career—something I'd expect she'd take seriously. I can understand her reluctance to meet with me in a personal setting, but if she can't put our past behind her for thirty minutes in a professional setting, then how can she expect to work on this project? If she continues down this path, I have no problem giving Andrea the reins and cutting Charleigh out.
“Are you okay?” Andrea asks, placing her hand on my arm.
“Fine,” I say, forcing a smile. Apparently, I’m wearing my mood on my face. “Let me grab your coat for you.”
After getting her coat from the closet, I help her into it. As I open the front door, a bitter rush of wind blows past the threshold, and Andrea gasps.
“It’s so much colder up here!” she says, burrowing her chin into her coat. “I wasn’t expecting it.” She shakes her foot at me. At least she acknowledges how impractical her footwear is. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to work with Andrea after all. Even more so now that Charleigh’s MIA.
"There's usually about a ten-degree difference this time of year. I should've mentioned that in my email," I say with an apologetic smile.
“It’s no problem.” Andrea blushes and then looks around. “Charleigh really dropped the ball, huh?”
“Any word from her?” After the initial burst of angry texts Charleigh sent to me that first week, she’s gone radio silent, only contacting me through email.
Andrea reaches into her purse and grabs her phone. "Nothing," she says, dropping it back inside. "Should I call her?"
“No, that’s alright. I’m sure she’ll show up.”
Andrea smiles sweetly at me. “I could stick around and keep you company.”
I glance down at her. “I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.”
“It’s no problem at all, really.”
She's beginning to lay it on real thick, and if I weren't so annoyed with Charleigh, I might indulge her and play along.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m okay. You should get going before you freeze to death out here.”
She laughs, playing it up, but finally relents. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a pen and a business card. After writing something on the back, she hands it to me. “I’ll get a preliminary plan over to you in a few days. My personal cell is on the back.”
“Thanks,” I say, eyeing the card warily.
“Call me if you need anything.” She steps toward me, her perfume enveloping my senses. “Anything at all. Day or night.”
I thought she was flirting with me earlier, but that was nothing compared to this open invitation. Jesus Christ.
Before I have to chance to respond, Andrea rolls on
to her toes and does that weird cheek-to-cheek kiss thing as she wraps her arms around me. After a few seconds, she finally releases me.
“See you soon,” she says as she spins, her hair fanning out like she’s in a L’Oréal commercial.
What just happened?
It takes a few moments to shake out of it. Although not exactly the most professional or appropriate behavior, I have to admire the confidence. She wobbles her way back to the car.
"I did it!" she shouts back at me as she reaches her car. Unfortunately, that quick jump with arms raised in the air causes her to go off balance and she slips, sending her to the ground.
Damn. I move toward her. “You okay?”
Before I have the chance to take more than a few steps, she rises back to her feet and waves me off. “I’m fine,” she says, wiping off the front of her coat. “I guess I should’ve saved the celebration until after I made it into the car.”
“Probably a good idea.”
A few beats later, she gets into her car and heads out. I wait for nearly fifteen minutes on the porch, but there’s still no word from Charleigh. I called her twice, but she didn’t pick up. I left her messages and texts but there was nothing more than silence from her end. A part of me is actually getting worried.
I almost call Deanna but realize it would only make her worry, which would then lead to her calling Charleigh nonstop. And then lead to Charleigh getting mad at me for no real reason at all.
I sigh and try my luck once more. She picks up on the third ring.
“Helllooooo?”
"Charleigh, where are you? It sounds like you're a mile away from your phone."
"Yes, that's the jackerthinger!" I hear say, her voice even farther away. "Do you even know how to fix—" The sound gets muffled. I'm not exactly sure, but it seems like her phone was just thrown into a lake. There's a constant hum coming over the line that I can't place. Something metallic falls. Someone curses. Charleigh screeches. I catch bits and pieces but I can't form them into a cohesive whole.
“Hello?” I ask.
There’s another muffled noise; it sounds like Charleigh is picking up the phone. “Look, I’m going to have to call you back.”
My grip tightens around my phone. “No, you’re not. You’re going to tell me why the hell you didn’t show up to our appointment. I’ve been waiting—”
“I really don’t appreciate your attitude right now,” she snaps.
“And I don’t appreciate you not honoring your commitments. You obviously have your phone. You could’ve texted or called or, well, any number of things normal human beings do when—”
Click.
She hung up on me.
“Oh… Oh ho ho no…”
It takes a few moments for me to gather my thoughts, but when I do I know exactly what to do. It’s time to fight fire with fire. I find the number in the email, click it, and let it ring.
“Florence and Foxe, this is Heather speaking. How may I direct your call?”
“Hey, Heather. This is Guy Finch. Could you connect me with Christiana, please?”
“Certainly, Mr. Finch. Give me one moment.”
A few seconds later Christiana picks up. “Mr. Finch, I hope everything is going well. What can I do for you?”
Charleigh has no idea what she just started.
9
Charleigh
Have you ever had one of those days? You know the kind I’m talking about. The kind of day where everything that can go wrong does go wrong. The kind that snowballs until there’s an inescapable avalanche heading right for you. That’s the kind of day I’m having right now.
It started with me sleeping through my alarm. No big deal. I figured that I could grab something quick to eat, get dressed, and then head out and make it to work right on time. But then I spilled orange juice all over my last clean work shirt. After a mini meltdown, I grabbed a scarf to cover it up. Not ideal but crisis averted. Until I locked my keys in my car. After waiting for an hour over the locksmith’s estimated arrival time, I found them in my purse. Of course, I didn’t learn that until after he’d already unlocked my car, so he still charged me.
Usually, these types of days only happen once in a while, but I've been having them every single day for the past week. Every single day since I learned I'd be working with Guy Finch.
So here I am, sitting in my car, trying my best to stop another breakdown because I know the worst is yet to come. And I’ve known that since yesterday evening when Christiana put an urgent meeting on my calendar for this morning. There’s no agenda, no hint at what this meeting could be about. But given the events of yesterday, I know exactly what it’s about.
I’m about to be fired. And it’s all my fault.
I shouldn’t have hung up on Guy, but I was pissed. I’d spent half an hour trying to fix my flat tire by myself because no one would stop to help me. I couldn’t call anyone because my phone decided that it was the perfect moment in time to update itself for half an hour. I tossed it back into my car but it slid underneath my seat and vanished. When I finally did hear my phone ringing, the two scrawny high school freshmen I’d wrangled into helping me had just kicked over the container holding all of the nuts for my tire.
To say I wasn’t in the right frame of mind is an understatement.
And now I have only myself to blame because there's only one reason why Christiana would call this meeting. I'm sure Guy told her that I didn't show up for the walk-through and that when he called to check in, I lashed out at him and hung up. And as much as I can't stand Guy, he had every right to do it.
Welp, no reason to delay the inevitable for any longer.
The thirty yards from my car to the doors of the office feel more like a mile. The world feels like it's at a standstill. All my senses are dull, as though they're lending their energy to amplify the single thought that's running through my mind: I'm about to lose my job. I've worked hard to get to where I am, but I threw it away for a petty grudge.
Heather greets me when I open the doors, and then lets me know that Christiana is expecting me. I don’t even take the time to take off my coat and purse at my desk because I’m sure I’ll be leaving the office again shortly, this time with a box of all my belongings.
Christiana is sitting behind her desk. She waves for me to come in before I even have the chance to knock. Her face is impassive, but I know she’s probably livid underneath it. You see, there’s nothing Christiana holds higher in this world than reputation, and I sealed my fate when I acted the way I did. There’s no way Christiana doesn’t see my actions as a reflection of her firm. She trusted me, and I failed her.
“Good morning, Charleigh. Please have a seat next to Andrea.”
I didn't even notice Andrea was in the room too. Great, I've always wanted an audience during my termination. I turn to look at her as I sit down. Her hands are folded neatly on her lap, and she's wearing the biggest smile on her face.
I swallow but my throat is dry. I can't stop thinking about how I'm going to pay my bills. How I'll be living off ramen from now on—if I'm lucky. How I'll be homeless by the end of the month.
Christiana's chair creaks as she leans forward, her hands clasped in front of her. Although she's hardly an inch or two above five feet, Christiana is the most imposing woman I've ever met. She selects every word carefully and doesn't pull any punches. When she talks, you listen, and right now, she has every ounce of my attention.
Her eyes home in on me and I immediately feel a sense of impending doom cascade over me. It's like a cold, sopping wet blanket is wrapped around me, weighing me down. "Charleigh, Mr. Finch called me yesterday and—"
“I’m so sorry,” I blurt out without even thinking.
Shit.
My eyes bug out as I start to mumble incoherently. “Ah-bwah-so-wah-uh-uh.” No matter the situation, I always seem to make everything worse. And the longer I fumble, the deeper Christiana’s apparent confusion gets.
Eventually, I collect myself. “I
’ll empty out my desk,” I say, standing up.
Christiana holds up a hand. “Charleigh, hold on a second. What are you talking about?”
“You’re firing me, right?”
Christiana’s head jerks back as she shakes it. “Fire you, Charleigh? What are you talking about? Before you interrupted me I was going to tell you that Mr. Finch wants you to take the lead on this project.”
What the firetruck? Cue my awkward, choppy laugh.
“No…" I sit back down and stare at Christiana like a modern art painting: what is this?
“Well, I’m not quite sure what prompted this outburst, and I’m not interested to find out. Just know—”
“I can tell you what—” Andrea interrupts Christiana but backs down when she finds a death stare being leveled at her.
Christiana turns her gaze toward me. "As I was saying, Mr. Finch was impressed by you during the walk-through and shared his desire to have you as the lead designer for this project."
Every bit of air is sucked out of my lungs. What in the world was Guy doing? I wasn’t at the walk-through. Andrea knows this. And a quick sidelong glance at her lets me know that she is absolutely seething at this news.
“I told him that I believe it’s a little premature at this point, as we haven’t seen either of your designs. He was adamant, but I’d still like to see both of your project proposals before we move forward. Yes?”
Both of us nod, dumbstruck by the news.
“Good, have your plans to me by the end of this week.”
I should be happy about this. This is exactly what I wanted: my very own project to prove to Christiana I’m capable of moving into the lead designer role Lana vacated. But I’m not. I’m annoyed that Guy would put me in this position. He’s toying with me, flaunting his power. This is just like when we were kids, but this time, I’m not going to back down.