“This is a listing of our accounts receivable for the past two months, and as you can see, we did a record number of jobs. So many, in fact, that we didn’t have enough workers to fill them all.”
“Yes,” her mother chimed in. “We all just have to work a little harder. I don’t mind cleaning a few houses each week if it means we don’t have to turn down work.”
“Mama,” Sarah began, her tone clear that she meant business, “we have to face facts. It’s time to raise our prices, and not just a few percentage points this time. We have an established name and a credible reputation, yet our fees are on the low end of the scale for the market we service. It doesn’t add up. We could be doing half the work for twice as much and see a real rise in profits.” When her mother began to protest, Sarah politely raised her hand to signal she had more to say. Her mother inclined her head in acquiescence. “You’ve always instilled in me, Mama, that the quality of the work was more important than anything else. We offer quality work, and we should be paid for it. If we raise our prices, yes, our client list will shrink, but we’ll make just as much money and focus our time and energy into continuing to establish ourselves as the best in the business.”
Her mother frowned. “Where is this coming from, mija?”
Sarah pulled Emory’s check from her pocket. “This is from the Banning Street job.”
Her mother reached for the check and placed her glasses back on her nose. She studied it, her eyebrows rising appreciatively at the payment received. “You always do good work, Sarah, and you’re a smart girl. I’m not surprised Ms. Owen included a bit more.”
“It means more than that. When your clients inform you that you’re undercharging and insist on paying you more out of principle, it’s time to take notice. This came from a successful businesswoman, Mama, who also thinks we should raise our prices. Will you think about it?”
Her mother nodded. “Is there something else you’d like to talk to me about? Is everything okay with Graciela?”
“Grace is fine, but now that you mention it, there is something.” Sarah took a breath and decided it was just best to plow forward. “I’d like permission to expand Immaculate Home. I’ve put a business plan together that I’d like you to look over. It’s a little bit of what we’ve talked about before, but essentially, it’s a guaranteed win for us. Our clients have raved about our space reorganization, and if we take it one step further and offer full construction and customization, we can’t go wrong. I promise you, Mama, there’s money to be made. We have enough capital now to take on a designer, and I’ve talked to Roman about handling construction contracts for us. Everything’s in this folder, every last detail. I’ve even scouted some office space at the new building across the street. Mama, I’d like to head up the new sector. I know I can do it.”
Sarah handed the leather bound folder she’d purchased for her proposal to her mother. “Take your time and see what you think.”
Her mother’s eyes were guarded and she nodded very slowly as if in thought. Sarah watched patiently. Finally, after flipping casually through the folder, she offered Sarah a small but reassuring smile. “You’ve put a lot of work into this, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I have because I think it’s the right thing for us. For me.”
“Let’s do it.”
Sarah’s mouth fell open. “What? Just like that? You haven’t even read what I’ve put together. There are projections there and suggested rates and—”
Her mother waved her off and came around the front of the desk and pulled Sarah from her chair into an embrace. “We’ll get to all that. I trust you, mija, and believe you’re capable of great things. If you think this is the way to go, so do I.”
Sarah felt like doing a backflip. More than that. If there were music, she’d have broken it down right there. Her mother pulled back and looked at her. “I’m proud of you. You’re the future of this place. I’m just an old woman who’s happy to have a job.”
Sarah laughed at the silly statement. Her mother had built this company from one client twenty-five years prior. “Thank you, Mama, but I don’t know what any of us would do without you.”
*
It was dusk, Emory’s favorite time of day, and she decided to enjoy it. It had been several weeks since she’d taken a walk along the shoreline, and she chastised herself for not taking more advantage of living on the beach. She kicked her shoes off, leaving them on her back deck, and made the short walk to the water’s edge, savoring the feel of the dry sand on her skin. She rolled up the bottoms of her jeans and made her way a little further out so the tide would just graze the tops of her feet as she walked. It was getting chilly out as the sun made its descent in the sky, and she was grateful for the gray hoodie she’d put on before leaving the house.
It was a quiet evening on her favorite stretch of Mission Beach with just a few joggers and a family trying desperately to save their sand castle from the encroaching tide. She stopped and watched them for a moment. The little boy threw his body in front of the castle, his parents laughing and scrambling to help.
This was a moment for them. A real moment. And she couldn’t help the jealousy that crept in.
She’d never spent a day at the beach with her family, even though they lived so close. Her father was perpetually working, and her mother wasn’t exactly a fan of sand and water in combination. She’d come with her friends when she was older, and perhaps that’s where her love of the ocean had first surfaced.
She made a vow that she would have moments of her own someday.
At least, she hoped she would.
Emory flipped around at her typical halfway point, not too far from the tourist section of Mission Beach, which she tried to avoid. As she walked, she got the distinct impression that she was being followed. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed her suspicion, and she cursed silently under her breath, hoping her stalker would get the hint when she didn’t engage. A few minutes more and still no luck. Why didn’t he get the picture? Her walk, which she’d looked forward to, felt intruded upon, and she was growing frustrated. She turned to face him finally. He had dark hair, a seemingly cheerful disposition, and four furry legs. She wasn’t the best judge of breed, but he looked to be some sort of chocolate brown retriever. Bottom line, she’d never been much of a dog person, and today was no exception. “What can I do for you, buddy? I don’t have any food. Time to find someone else to bother.”
Her new friend’s answer was to turn in a half dozen or so frenzied circles.
Okay, even the coldest heart couldn’t resist that display. She knelt in the sand bringing herself eye level with the culprit who sat back on his hind legs and regarded her with kind brown eyes.
“Very impressive. Four stars. But you should really go find your owner now. I don’t feel like playing. Nope.”
The dog looked back at her, offering what could only be described as an actual doggy smile that seemed to say I’m sorry to keep you, but don’t I have the most twinkly eyes? Emory laughed, unable to help herself, and offered the dog a soft pat on the head. Standing, she scanned the beach, looking for someone, anyone who this showman might belong to. There was a couple nearby watching the waves, but that was about it. She pointed to the dog questioningly, but they shook their heads. Damn. She looked around one last time, but the stretch of beach was pretty quiet. Out of options, she looked down at the dog. “Stay,” she commanded, holding her hand up and backing away. He whined softly but seemed to understand her command, remaining glued to his spot as instructed. She glanced back as she walked and there he sat, watching her move farther and farther away. She was off the hook.
She arrived home and climbed the stairs to her deck, satiated from the little bit of exercise the walk had given her. She typed in her code to let herself in just in time to hear her cell phone buzzing from where she’d left it on the counter. Her first inclination was to ignore it. The last hour had been so peaceful.
But the phone continued its incessant notificatio
n.
Deciding reluctantly that it could be work related, she grabbed for it just milliseconds before the call would be forwarded to voice mail.
“Emory Owen,” she said.
“She gave me the green light!”
Emory recognized Sarah’s voice and a smile broke across her face.
“You got the go-ahead?” She could hear Sarah laughing on the other end of the phone and her heart swelled instantly. “You’re kidding.” But she knew she wasn’t.
“I’m not. I thought the chances of her saying yes were about as plausible as a moose walking through my kitchen, but it happened. My mother, not the moose, but you know what I mean.”
Emory laughed as Sarah continued talking.
“I’m interviewing designers on Wednesday and meeting with Roman at the construction company today to finalize the details of an agreement. It’s crazy in a really good way.”
“What made her sign off on it all?”
“She said she was proud of me, that I’m capable of doing great things. And I think I am.”
“Well, of course you are. That’s what I’m telling you. You’re the real deal, Sarah, and your mom would be blind not to see that.”
“Now you’re just being nice.”
“I’m rarely nice, and today is not an exception.”
“Well, I respectfully have to disagree.”
There was a noticeable silence then, and Emory did the next thing she knew to do to prolong the exchange. “We should celebrate.” Not her best idea, but it was out of her mouth before she could rationalize it.
“We should?” Sarah answered weakly.
“Let’s go out somewhere.” Alarm bells were sounding, but what the hell. “What about Friday? I have season tickets to the Civic, and I’ve missed the last few shows that have come through town. I don’t know how you feel about theater, but it could be fun.”
There was a slight hesitation before Sarah answered. Emory felt her stomach muscles tighten with—what was that—nerves? She didn’t get nervous. Did she?
“I’d have to get a sitter, but I think my brother could take Grace for the night.”
“Great, give me your address. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
They squared away the details, and Emory congratulated Sarah once again on her great news. She couldn’t have been happier if it had been her own monumental achievement. In fact, she knew inherently this felt better. She hung up the phone and returned it to the counter, excited with the prospect of seeing Sarah, talking to Sarah, and going out with Sarah. The report that she skipped her way to the shower instead of walking was completely exaggerated, and the tale of her singing once she got there was probably just rumor.
*
Four days later, Emory stared at herself in the mirror of the women’s restroom at work, running her fingers through her hair to fluff it just a tad. She was scheduled to pick Sarah up for their celebratory night out in less than thirty minutes, which meant she had little time to spare, knowing traffic on the 805. But damn it, she hadn’t had more than five minutes to master a quick change at the office, and the results were leaving her underwhelmed. She wore an aquamarine dress and simple heels suitable for the theater, a sharp contrast from the no-nonsense navy business suit and white cuffed shirt she’d sported only moments ago. She applied just a tad of lip gloss and turned for the door where she came face-to-face with Lucy.
“Aha. There you are.”
“Very perceptive of you. What do you win?” Emory attempted to sidestep Lucy who, damn it, was blocking the door.
“Not so fast, young lady. You’ve been acting strange today, hyperactive, some might even say, and now you’ve changed into a very flattering, somewhat alluring outfit. Spill.”
“I have a commitment, if you insist on knowing, and I’m late, so if you’d be so kind as to—”
“Commitment? Is that code for sex? Because if we’re using codes now, I need to be updated.”
“Not code for anything.”
“So then it’s business?” Lucy took a step to her left, blocking Emory’s path. “Don’t try that again. I’m a ninja. You know this.”
Emory rolled her eyes.
“Aha. Not business at all.” Lucy studied her, smiling, enjoying this way too much. “You look all excited and dreamy. A date perhaps? Is Emory Owen going on an honest to goodness, butterflies-in-your-stomach date?”
“If I answer your very intrusive question, will you let me leave the restroom without a full-on scuffle? And please don’t forget I’m stronger than you.”
Lucy considered this. “Deal.”
“All right, I’m going to be honest with you.”
“I do prefer it to lies.”
“It might be a date; it might not be. I’m not exactly sure. Good-bye.” She patted Lucy twice on the shoulder and slipped past her, effectively escaping.
Lucy called after her down the hallway. “What does that mean? You’re not even going to give me a name?”
She walked backward, smiling. “You’re good.”
“You’re not off the hook, you know. I’m contractually required to be here Monday, and I know where you work.”
Emory turned and waved backward over her shoulder, offering nothing further.
*
Damn San Diego traffic. She was late again. Emory was beginning to think she was incapable of arriving anywhere on time. Couple that with the fact that Sarah was always early, and Emory internally cringed, secondarily taking note of the fact that it was rare that she cared. Interesting.
She double-checked the address of the apartment complex before pulling in. Her passenger was waiting outside and offered a wave and a very genuine smile as she approached the car.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. The 805 was nightmarish.”
Sarah hopped easily into the passenger seat. “No problem.”
Emory took a moment to catch her breath and took Sarah in. “So, hi.”
“Hi.”
“You look great.” An understatement. Sarah wore a simple off-red cocktail dress. Not too dressy, but just enough. “Ready to celebrate your wild success?”
Sarah grinned like a kid on her way to Disneyland, and Emory’s heart did that thing where it tugged pleasantly. “Please, let’s. I’ve always wanted to go for a night at the theater; I’ve just never gotten around to it. I’ve also always wanted to say ‘night at the theater,’ and now I have. Two birds.”
“Glad to help.”
“I’m glad you invited me.”
“Me too.” Emory stole another indulgent glance at Sarah before turning her attention to the road.
“How was the world of corporate news today?”
“Not too bad a day. We had some press releases go out for some important clients this morning and no glitches that I’ve heard about. But then again, we also had two errors on smaller accounts out of the Denver office. Unfortunately, that’s fairly normal for them. We’re working on their error rate.” She winced apologetically. “This is boring. You were probably just being polite.”
Sarah laughed. “I’ve never once thought of you as boring, you know that? Boring is one thing you can cross off the list of adjectives I use to describe you.”
“There’s a list? Now you tell me.”
“I don’t have to report everything back to you. It’s not like I work for you, you know.”
“Touché.”
Things felt easy between them and Emory relaxed, content to enjoy the evening for whatever it was. She’d be lying if she told herself she hadn’t already noticed how brightly Sarah’s eyes shone when she laughed or how her hair, when pulled partially back, was both simple and alluring.
Sarah checked her watch. They’d arrived at the theater with little time to spare before curtain, and they maneuvered the steps as quickly as they could. It was difficult for Sarah to keep pace in her I’m-trying-to-look-nice-tonight shoes. Emory seemed like she was born wearing killer pumps and took the steps like a pro. “Easy now, I don’t wear heels ten
hours a day.” But she was laughing.
Emory reached out. “Take my hand.”
So she did, finding the steps infinitely easier now.
Emory smiled. “Better?”
“Much.” Sarah liked how vibrant she felt alongside Emory and how much she got a kick out of Emory’s smile. She hadn’t seen a lot of it up until this point, but it was quite possibly the most striking thing she’d ever seen.
Once they were inside, the house manager greeted them. “Good evening, Ms. Owen. The curtain is just about to rise. Let’s get you to your seats. Right this way, ladies.” He escorted them quickly down the aisle to their fifth row seats. Sarah sighed with relief that they’d made it on time.
Then she took in the view. “These are amazing seats,” she breathed.
“I’m glad you like them. These tickets have been in my family for years. It’s a shame I don’t get to put them to use more often.”
“You really should.” Sarah’s attention drifted to the patrons around them. Most were in the midst of animated conversations. There was a serious amount of fancy jewelry, shoes, and designer bags on display. And she was pretty sure they were all real. That little annoying voice in the back of her head began its song. One of these things is not like the others.
Emory leaned in. “This show, however, I’ve been interested in checking out. I’ve met Adrienne Kenyon, the lead actress, a couple of times at various charity functions, and she’s always such a good sport about doing whatever we need. She’s supposed to be killer in this role.”
“I can’t wait,” Sarah whispered just as the house lights dimmed around them. For the next two and a half hours, Sarah was transported to another world entirely. She was captivated not only by the story that unfolded in front of her, but by all of the dazzling technical aspects of the production as well. By the end, she didn’t hesitate to jump to her feet in standing ovation. She knew she’d like the show before she came, but she was moved in a way she wasn’t prepared for.
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