Riches & Rags: Things are seldom as they seem.

  I glance at my left hand, taking in the new me. Maybe diamonds aren’t a girl’s best friend after all.

  I crawl into bed and lie awake, staring into the night and listening to the pitter-patter of mice in the walls. What exactly would I do with my share of the money? Fifty million, WOW.

  I could buy a house, no—a home. A sweet home that would feel like a home; and we could make it our own, with the girls’ input.

  We could travel. We could go anywhere, have real adventures. I could teach the kids abroad, homeschool them part of the time. They could experience other cultures firsthand, learn new languages. My mind is alive with vivid images of traveling to exotic places, but also of making a difference. Help other people along the way. Do something like visit orphanages, or volunteer.

  And we could buy a boat, learn to sail. I’ve always wanted to know how to sail.

  We could do anything. My mind races with possibilities. There would be money for the girls’ education, for their weddings one day. This wouldn’t be just my money; this would be their money! And they deserve it, dammit. They deserve all the happiness and opportunity in this world. They deserve the chance to be extraordinary.

  My heart hammers away in my chest. So it’s decided then.

  I’m going after what’s rightfully ours.

  30

  “So, how is this going to work again?” Liam asks me. It’s Home Expo Day, and because we don’t have a physical booth set-up, we’re huddling together in the corner like schoolgirls.

  “Well, I think we just need to engage with people. Pretty much anyone we meet is going to be a potential client, or an ally of some sort,” I say, picking at a dried avocado glob on my pant leg—no doubt I have Rory to thank for that one.

  “Being without a booth might actually be advantageous for us. We don’t have to be all sales focused, standing behind a table all day,” Billy says, while scrolling through his phone.

  “Well, we still have to be sales focused,” I say, determined not to waste time. I want to leave here with so many leads we won’t know what to do. I glance at Liam, who is sipping his tea while taking in all the action around him. The expo is pretty impressive.

  The Vancouver Convention Centre’s twenty-thousand-square-foot exhibit floor is packed with booths, demo-tables, products, and plasma screens. People are milling about reviewing notes, testing equipment, and racing against time. I check my phone and raise my eyebrows, surprised. Only half an hour to go before attendees arrive and the fun begins.

  “Thanks for coming to help us today, Liam,” I say, beaming up at him.

  He turns to me with a broad grin. “Happy to help, love.”

  “So, should we separate, or all stay together?” Billy asks, rifling through his attaché case of pamphlets and business cards for the hundredth time.

  “Stay together!” Liam and I say at the same time.

  “It’ll seem more official if we’re all together.”

  “That’s true,” Billy says, closing the case, apparently satisfied.

  We hit the water fountains and loos. By the time we return to the floor, attendees are already pouring into the room. We’re positioned beside a kitchen-and-bath-fixture booth and a company that specializes in home office furniture. That’s definitely niche. A couple in their forties pass both booths and make their way toward us. I briefly sweep them with my eyes and note the designer Chloe bag and fresh manicure on the woman and the designer glasses and watch on her man. These people have money to burn.

  “Good morning,” I say with casual warmth, stepping forward to greet them.

  “Hello,” they answer in unison, smiling at me.

  Perfect.

  “My name is Lane, and this is Billy and Liam. We’re from Leia Design Consultants. What brings you to the show today?”

  As I speak, Billy pulls a pamphlet and business cards out from his case and passes them to Liam. The woman’s pupils dilate as she sweeps her eyes over Liam while her husband explains they are considering updating their living room and bedrooms and are here for inspiration. Bingo!

  Billy takes notes while Liam and I speak with the couple. Our chat soon turns into a bit of an interview. What are you looking for? Do you have a budget in mind?

  By the end of the fifteen-minute conversation, we have their names and phone numbers, and have assured them we’ll be in touch with a list of designers for them to meet. They leave thrilled, and we are over the moon.

  As they walk away, I turn back to the boys, and my professional smile broadens into a crazy-excited one. “Can you believe that?” I screech-whisper.

  “Oh my God, Lane. If we can just keep this going all day…!” Billy cries, his eyes dancing.

  “Your service sells itself, it’s ingenious really. Trying to find a designer is daunting at best,” Liam says, scanning the room for more potential leads.

  Our morning continues with us repeating the routine—approaching attendees, striking up a conversation, and learning about what their needs are and how we can help them. Liam is a major hit with just about everyone. The women swoon, and the guys are relaxed and engaged in his presence. It’s a good thing that Liam doesn’t need our money, because having a third partner would drastically decrease our cut. But then, Liam is obviously such an asset.

  We’ve been walking around for about three hours now, building our roster of solid leads.

  “How many leads now?” I ask Billy under my breath. Liam is a few feet away, surrounded by three women who are giggling and flirting for his attention. He’s such a rock star. He continues to steer the conversation back to what the ladies are looking for, and how we can help.

  “Let’s see,” Billy says, scrolling through his notes, “we have nine, ten, eleven—twelve! Twelve solid leads that we need to follow up on, and we’ve handed out about sixty pamphlets to passersby.” He grins and squeezes my arm as I smile and shake my head in disbelief.

  Twelve solid leads! Even if only a quarter of those go through, we’re still talking about thousands of dollars! The thought of money reminds me of Micky, and my stomach leaps at the thought of the daunting road ahead. I still haven’t worked out a plan, exactly; but I have some ideas swirling.

  “Look at Liam.” Billy motions, and I turn to notice the same ladies handing him business cards and one-upping one another by each creating a greater demand for our services—though I think they might have forgotten our services only entail finding designers, and not having Liam, shirtless with a tool belt, traipsing around their homes day in, day out.

  “We definitely scored with Liam,” I murmur.

  Loud pop music starts blaring from the other direction, and we jolt. I can’t see where it’s coming from, but we have to raise our voices to hear each other.

  “They better shut that music off soon, because it’s going to ruin our chances at conversation with prospective leads,” I shout.

  “I don’t think it really matters what we say with Liam hanging around.” Billy yells back.

  “He’s the eye candy, that’s for sure.”

  “We should bring him to every meeting and every opportunity from now on. With looks like that, women will be clambering over each other to work with us.”

  “Definitely. He can be our mascot—Sex God.”

  Billy and I howl with laughter and turn, almost smacking right into Liam. I notice the loud music has stopped, and I can’t think of anything to say. I’ve never seen Liam look gobsmacked. He obviously heard everything we said because the hurt in his eyes is undeniable.

  “I should go,” he says. His voice sounds lost and desolate. He turns and stalks away, and I shoot Billy a desperate look before turning and running after Liam.

  “Liam, wait—” He continues, and I finally reach him and grab his arm. He pivots around to face me, eyes wild. “Liam, we didn’t mean anything. We were complimenting your looks, your charm,” I say, trying to hold on to his arm.

  “I’m done, Lane. This just isn’t my scene. I just can’t. ” His face is
rigid and strained, and he brushes right past me.

  “What do you mean?” I wail, striding to keep up with him. This is surreal, I’m fighting with Liam! I’ve hurt him, and I don’t even understand how.

  “Why do you think I’ve never done anything with my life before?” he asks, eyes blazing.

  What?

  “What do looks have to do with anything? And don’t blame your own shortcomings on other people,” I say, my voice rising in indignation.

  He sets his jaw and continues out the expo doors and toward the stairs.

  “Give me a break, Liam,” I shout after him. “If you haven’t done anything with your life, it’s your own bloody fault and nobody else’s.” I stand, transfixed, and watch helplessly as he mounts the stairs two at a time and disappears into the upper lobby. “Shit,” I mutter. Shit, shit, shit. Now what?

  “He’s gone?” Billy has joined me, and he rubs my shoulder for a brief second.

  I shrug him off, irritated. “I just don’t understand. How could we have hurt him this badly when we adore him so much?”

  “He obviously has some hang-up about his looks. Or maybe it goes deeper—some inferiority complex.”

  I gaze up to the stairs, willing him to return. But I know he won’t. “I think he feels nobody takes him seriously. I know he said before that his family doesn’t. And now we let him down too.”

  We stand together in silence until it is obvious Liam is gone for good.

  Billy sighs. “Come on, Laney. You have a family to feed; let’s get back in there.”

  I nod and follow Billy back into the expo, which now seems too loud, too frantic, and too overwhelming. I just want to curl into a sad, little ball, but somehow manage to plaster on a friendly, professional face and pour all my energy into one goal—sell, sell, and sell.

  31

  I stand outside Elsa’s Coal Harbour condo and crane my neck, taking in the ominous, black glass structure that seems to stretch into the clouds. I sigh and consider leaving. I could still walk away. I don’t even know what to say, and I’m feeling vulnerable enough as it is. I don’t exactly need Elsa digging her claws into me.

  I should just go. I turn to leave and almost smack into a tall figure in a long, fur coat and oversized sunglasses. Only when she barks at me to watch my step, do I realize it’s Elsa herself. We eye each other for a beat, and then she turns and flounces off toward the front entrance, her heels clipping away on the pavement.

  “Are you really going to pretend you didn’t recognize me?” I call after her.

  She swivels around, her coat billowing behind her like a witch’s cape.

  “I have nothing to say to you.” She sneers.

  This woman is unbelievable. I march over and slip behind her and into the building. She turns and gives me an exasperated look. “Don’t waste my time, Lane.”

  “Don’t worry. This will only take a few minutes. I have something to say, and then I’ll go.”

  “I have nothing to say to you,” Elsa snaps as she jabs the elevator button with her long, lacquered fingernail.

  “So you’ve said. You don’t have to say anything. Just listen to me, for once.” I follow her into the elevator, and the doors close.

  We ride up in silence, and I try to keep my breath steady and my confidence peaked. Anyway, I’ve made it this far and there’s no turning back.

  The elevator pings, and we exit onto the gleaming marbled Penthouse floor. Elsa punches in a code, throws open the cream colored double doors, and marches into her home. Then she rips off her coat and tosses it along with her bag onto an ornate chair, and her maid, Mrs. Reynolds, scrambles over and collects them. The poor, weary maid gives me a feeble smile.

  “Come along, Lane. I don’t have all day,” Elsa barks.

  I hand Mrs. Reynolds my coat and hurry after Elsa, who is now at the far end of the corridor making her way toward the sitting room.

  Her living room is painted a cool taupe and the floor-to-ceiling windows boast breathtaking views of the Vancouver Mountains, Stanley Park, and the ocean. I stare, captivated for a second, and then turn to face Elsa, who regards me with a venomous intensity that shocks me.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, horrified. “You know,” I continue, not bothering to wait for a reply, “there was a time when you and I actually had a functional relationship. I just can’t fathom your hostility, especially after everything that’s happened.”

  “We both know the reason, Lane. Quit the innocent crap.”

  “No, I actually don’t know. Enlighten me.” I lower myself onto the white, calf-skin leather sofa and glance over at the dormant gas fireplace with yearning; it’s like an icebox in here!

  “You’re denser than I thought. Clearly, I lost all respect for you when my poor, devastated son revealed you’re having an affair!”

  “AFFAIR?!” I shriek. “He said I was having an affair?”

  I leap off the couch and pace back and forth, muttering in disbelief. He said I was having an affair? This has got to be the most outrageous thing I have ever heard. “I was always a hundred percent faithful to Micky. As for lying, and deceit—well, ask him yourself.”

  “What are you rambling about?” Elsa raises her voice and narrows her cold eyes into mine.

  “I’m saying, I was played. Micky came to me devastated too. Only not about some fabricated affair but with news that he’d lost our family fortune and was leaving me to sort things out. I had to take the girls on my own, with no money, and no support, and no job—nothing! And I’ve been working my ass off trying to move forward, trying to be a good mom, all the while still being a faithful wife.”

  “That’s not true,” she cries.

  “Only it is,” I say, my voice sounding detached to my own ears. “But it gets worse.” Elsa raises her eyebrows. I can’t tell if she’s genuinely surprised or playing some twisted game. “That’s right. Because I just learned from the wife of one of Micky’s business associates, that he didn’t lose any money. He’s off launching a resort in St. bloody Lucia of all places—but then, you must already know this, of course.”

  She regards me with apparent uncertainty, but I can see the bit about St. Lucia isn’t news to her ears.

  “If you don’t believe me, why do you think I’m living in someone’s attic? If he were a good guy, why would he let his wife and children sink or swim, without any regard or contact?”

  “You’re in the attic to be with your new lover, and you refuse Michael’s generosity.”

  “Oh, please.” I snort. “Is that what he actually said? And do you really believe that?”

  Elsa is silent and brooding, and I wonder what else I should say. Maybe I’ve said enough for now.

  “Anyway, everything I’ve said is true. Believe me for the sake of your grandchildren—if you even care. They deserve infinitely more kindness and respect than your son has bothered to give them.” My voice quivers and I swallow the urge to cry. “I’ll let myself out.”

  I pause for a second, but Elsa remains rigid in her seat and doesn’t lift her eyes to meet mine. I shake my head in utter disappointment, turn to leave, then stride back to the foyer, the clip of my heels echoing down the mammoth corridor.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Victoria asks as we zip along Granville Street toward the Vancouver International Airport.

  I can’t believe it myself. In just a couple of hours I’m going to be in the air on my way to St. Lucia via Chicago. I’m really doing this. “Yes, I’ll be fine.”

  “Do you have the video footage?”

  “Yes, you’ve already asked me that.”

  Victoria makes a clicking sound with her tongue, and of course it’s impossible to make out her expression because she resembles a black fly, wearing what must be the most ridiculously oversized, opaque sunglasses I think I’ve ever seen. It’s actually hard to not laugh; and I would laugh if I didn’t have a knot the size of those very sunglasses in my stomach.

  “You’r
e tense,” she remarks.

  “Obviously.”

  “Who’s looking after your kids?”

  “My dad’s busy with his wedding, but he’ll check in—”

  “You’re leaving them alone?”

  “No! You didn’t let me finish. He’ll check in, but Billy and my friend Juliet will take turns with them.”

  “How did you explain it to the girls?” Victoria whizzes into the next lane without signaling, and the car behind lays on the horn. “Learn to drive, dick-smack!” she screams out the sunroof as she barrels through a red light to the chorus of more horns. “People in this godforsaken city can’t drive!”

  I notice I’m holding my breath and clenching the armrest. I just pray we make it to the airport alive. “Uh…in answer to your question, I told Margo I was going on a business trip.”

  “Well, this is a business trip. Don’t let him smooth talk you, Lane, you know how he is.”

  “We’re beyond smooth talk, believe me.”

  “Well, if you can pull this off, I’ll be thrilled.”

  “Yeah, if things can go according to plan.”

  “They will.” Victoria runs a hand through her sleek bob. I notice she’s appraising her manicure, and I panic realizing she isn’t even watching the road.

  “Your manicure won’t be perfect for long if you don’t watch where you’re going!” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Quit backseat driving , Lane, or I’ll let you take the city bus the rest of the way.” She dissolves into peals of laughter, and I roll my eyes.

  Really, though, I should be thankful. Victoria and her husband, Paul, were instrumental with executing my plan, not to mention they paid for my airfare. I’ll pay them back, of course.

  I notice with a jolt that we’re already on the bridge connecting Vancouver to Richmond and the airport is less than five minutes away. I already miss the girls immensely. Being away for a night here or there is completely different than leaving the continent on an open-ended ticket. Let’s just hope this is quick and seamless.