My Lucky Stars

by Michele Paige Holmes

  “Yes,” Tara said. “Thank you again, for everything. I really appreciate your help, and I will mail you a check.”

  “You planning to walk to Boulder?” he asked. “I’ve taken you this far. Another thirty minutes isn’t going to—”

  “It might kill you.” Tara smiled. “Better quit while you’re ahead. Anyway, I’m going to call the rental car company. I was supposed to pick a car up in Denver. I paid for it in advance with my credit card, so they should be able to bring me one.”

  “Make sure it’s a four-wheel drive.” Ben stared past her at the snowy yard.

  Is that concern in his voice? “Good idea.”

  His face was tense as he pulled the key from the ignition.

  Tara glanced up at the house and saw the front door open, a tall, well-dressed man standing on the step. Beneath the porch light, Tara could see he was about Ben’s age, though his hair was turning to salt-and-pepper gray. See what kids do to you.

  He started down the walk and intercepted Cadie, swinging her high in the air and enfolding her in a big hug. Suddenly uncomfortable, Tara turned away.

  Ben’s eyes were still riveted to the scene, filled with a hurt Tara hadn’t seen before. A split second later the hurt vanished, replaced by shock then anger as his lips pressed into a thin line.

  “No way,” he said under his breath.

  Tara followed his gaze, though she was pretty sure she knew what had him ruffled. A petite brunette stood hesitantly behind Dallin, a hopeful smile on her face as she watched the family reunite.

  Some reunion. Tara felt her ire rising on Ben’s behalf. How unfair. How mean. How . . . fortunate I’m still here. Without stopping to examine her motives too closely, Tara leaned toward Ben, pulled him close, and crushed her lips to his once again.

  Sixteen

  Los Angeles, January

  Tara crossed her legs and bent down to adjust the leather lacing on the back of one of her Lucchese black calf boots. She loved these boots and usually felt a little thrill each time she pulled them from her closet and slipped them on. She’d loved them from the moment she first spotted them in the store window and hadn’t batted an eye at the $389 price tag. Of course the $184 leather, knee-length skirt with matching ties on the side had to be hers as well. And normally wearing them both was enough to brighten even the gloomiest winter day.

  But that was before “normal” ceased to exist. Before an annoying pig farmer messed with her mind. These days—since her Christmas holiday that wasn’t—nothing about her life felt normal at all. Today even the boots brought no pleasure.

  “Tara. Tara? I know you’re not going to let us down.” An Armani suit coat flashed briefly in her line of vision.

  “Of course not.” Tara pulled her fingers from the soft leather, sat up straight, and opened the portfolio on the table in front of her. She cleared her throat before looking at the three other people sitting at the conference room table. Her coworker Gabby flashed her a thumbs-up.

  Tara turned her attention to the man standing at the head of the table. “Over the past twelve weeks, I’ve closed sales on five properties: two condominiums, one retail property, one half-acre—”

  “I’m aware of your stats,” Jonathan, the evil one from corporate, said. “I’ve got your sheet right in front of me. And while your sales are definitely down, you’re to be commended for doing this well in such tight times. It’s people like you who’ll keep this company afloat in the coming months.”

  “Umm—thanks.” Tara tried to give Jonathan an appreciative smile before sending a confused glance at her colleagues. Jonathan wasn’t exactly known for kind words, so something had to be up. Talk about abnormal.

  “As each of you well know, the real estate market, especially here in California, is taking the biggest hit in this economy. Homes are losing their value faster than we can reduce—and sell—them. As a result, we’ve got to lose some personnel who aren’t making the grade. Prime Properties isn’t going to continue to pay prime benefits for those who can’t perform.”

  Try saying that three times fast. Prime, properties, pay, perform. Tara rolled her eyes when Jonathan wasn’t looking.

  “Tough economy or not, we need performers. And many in this office simply aren’t.”

  Here goes, Tara thought. Odd that he chose to do it that way—the compliment before the axe. Strangely enough, she found she didn’t care that she might be about to lose her job. Like the boots, somehow the high-powered world of Southern California real estate had lost its appeal too.

  “Max, you’re staying because you’ve managed to land a big sale when supposedly no one is buying ten-million-dollar homes anymore.”

  Ever the cool one, Max continued to recline in his chair and barely gave Jonathan a nod.

  “Cynthia, you’re staying on because . . .”

  Because lechers like you can’t keep your eyes—or hands—off her. Once, this had really bothered Tara. Wasn’t she supposed to be the woman men couldn’t help noticing? When—and how—had that changed? She wasn’t sure, but it had. And I can only be thankful. Since meeting Ben, since that incredible kiss in the middle of a swirling snowstorm, the thought of another man’s hands on her was strangely unwelcome.

  “And Tara’s proven her ability to do what it takes to get a sale.” She suppressed a shudder when Jonathan placed a hand on her shoulder as he walked past.

  Tara forced a smile and tried to imagine it was Ben’s hand on her shoulder. Ben’s fingers pulling that ridiculous cap over her ears. Ben’s lips . . .

  “So you’re my dream team.” The hand left her shoulder. Jonathan’s voice droned on.

  “We’ll be closing this branch by the end of the month and relocating you to the main office. It’ll mean more commuting for everyone, but I know you’re all up to the challenge. Cynthia, since you’re so far out of the city, we’ll make some arrangements for housing closer in.”

  I’ll just bet you will, Tara thought, noting the way Cynthia was batting her eyelashes and Jonathan was staring at her—like a hungry wolf. Ben would never look at a woman that way—like she’s a piece of meat to be devoured.

  “That’s everything, then,” Jonathan continued. “I’ll leave it up to you to let the others know I want them out by tonight.”

  Others? What’s he talking about? What did I miss? Reluctantly Tara left the image of Ben standing on a Colorado mountain and focused on Jonathan snapping his briefcase shut. His Armani suit strode past one last time, and then he was gone.

  “I’m outta here too,” Max said less than ten seconds later.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Gabby reached out, trying to grab his coat as he walked past. “You can’t leave us to break the news.”

  “And hearts,” Cynthia muttered.

  “Of course I can,” Max said. He paused in the doorway. “Females are always better at this sort of thing, being the compassionate, gentler sex and all.”

  “That’s sexual harassment,” Gabby called after him.

  “Don’t you wish, sweetheart.” Max’s voice echoed down the hall.

  Gabby leaned forward over the table, head in her hands. “Great. Just great.”

  “What?” Tara finally dared ask. “What did I miss?”

  Both Cynthia and Gabby stared at her. “You sure you didn’t bump your head snowboarding or get hypothermia or something on your trip?” Gabby asked.

  “No. I’m just tired,” Tara said. “I must have fallen asleep for a minute while Jonathan was talking.”

  “Well, you didn’t miss much.” Cynthia rose from her chair, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Basically we have until this evening to clear the office of all nonperforming personnel.”

  “Which would be everyone but the three of us and Maximilian.” Gabby sighed.

  “You’re kidding?” Tara’s mind wandered up and down the rows, calculating how many people they had in the office. It was one of Prime Properties’ larger branches. “You must have misheard Jonathan,” she concluded. “There
’s no way he’d—”

  “You want it in writing? It’s right here.” Gabby tossed a folder across the table. Tara grabbed the file and opened it, quickly scanning the paper that verified Jonathan’s edict.

  “Convenient of him to leave the dirty work to us,” she said.

  “He’s left all the work to us,” Cynthia said. “We’ve got just one secretary between us, and we’ll have everyone’s listings to cover.”

  “There actually aren’t all that many listings right now,” Gabby said. “And I’d gladly take on more than that if it meant I could avoid telling someone she’s fired.”

  Tara nodded in agreement. She didn’t know the others in the office all that well, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be the one to deliver bad news.

  “We don’t have to tell anyone anything.” Cynthia leaned over the table and took the folder. “I’ll just make copies of Jonathan’s memo and hand them out to everyone. Easy as pie.” She smiled broadly and gave a little shake of her hips as she headed toward the conference room door.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Gabby said. “I think Jonathan wanted us to actually speak with—”

  “You want to tell them in person? Go ahead. Here comes Herb now.” Cynthia leaned out the doorway. “Oh, Herb. Could you come here for a second?”

  Though Tara couldn’t see Herb, she could imagine his reaction to Cynthia’s request. Where many men in the office were only too eager for her company or attention, Herb went to extremes to avoid her. More than a few times, Tara had seen him start to enter the break room then head back out when he realized Cynthia was there.

  Or was it because I was there? The thought bothered Tara, and she wondered why she hadn’t considered the possibility before. There’d been a time or two when both she and Herb needed to go to corporate, and always he’d deferred the office car to her, telling her he’d take his own vehicle so he could pick up his kids—or run some other errand—afterward. Until now she’d never considered that he might be avoiding her too.

  “I am so not doing this. No way.” Gabby sent Tara a stubborn look.

  “That’s not fair,” Tara said. “You guys aren’t gonna dump all of this on me.”

  “Technically, he is on your team,” Gabby said just as Herb appeared in the doorway. He shuffled into the room, eyes darting back and forth suspiciously. Cynthia stood behind him, fanning the folder in front of her face.

  “What do you ladies need?” Herb asked. He reached up, scratching his nearly bald head, disturbing the few remaining hairs combed strategically across the top. When his pathetic hairstyle was sufficiently destroyed, he started on his too-wide, too-short tie, tugging at the sloppy knot.

  Seeing he was uneasy, Tara tried to sound friendly, hoping she could somehow soften the you’ve-lost-your-job speech. “Come in for a sec, Herb.” She pulled the chair next to her out and motioned for him to sit down.

  “I really don’t have time, ladies.”

  Unfortunately, you do. In fact, you’re going to have a lot of free time. Tara glanced around the room, hoping someone else would speak up. But Gabby pursed her lips, shook her head back and forth then looked down. Cynthia stood in the doorway, still holding the folder. She shrugged and gave Tara a falsely bright smile. Herb hadn’t moved from his original spot, two feet inside the room.

  Tara silently cursed Jonathan and Max, Cynthia and Gabby. And anyone else who had contributed to this sudden predicament. Best to just get it over with.

  “Here’s the thing, Herb,” she began. “Jonathan was just here, and he wasn’t pleased with the sales coming out of our office. He wasn’t pleased with any of the team stats and pointed out that the only ones who’ve really done much of anything this past quarter are Gabby, Max, and me.” She purposely excluded Cynthia. The only thing she’d done was swing her hips the right way.

  “Go on,” Herb said.

  Tara met his gaze and noticed the corners of his eyes were crinkling. She could tell his unease was starting to melt into worry. She paused, racking her brain for anything she knew about him, any way she might let him down easier. His desk was only a few away from hers, and when she’d first come to work here, he’d been very welcoming—in a fatherly sort of way. She thought back over the past couple of years, remembering snatches of conversations she’d overheard, conversations she hadn’t taken the least bit of interest in.

  He was married. She knew that much. And the photos she’d seen crammed on his desk reminded her that he had a couple of kids.

  That realization hurt her chest in a funny sort of way. What if it was Cadie and Sam’s dad who was about to lose his job? The thought surprised her. Hadn’t she been thrilled to get away from them? And what would it matter to her if their dad did lose his job? Why should she care about Cadie getting sparkly shoes for Christmas, or Herb—and whatever his kids needed? But something akin to guilt began to nag at her.

  She remembered suddenly that one of his kids had braces, and the other had some skull condition. What if it was serious—life threatening? Tara’s dread rose a notch. Herb wasn’t just about to lose his paycheck. He’d be losing his medical insurance too.

  “How’s your daughter with the skull problem?” she asked against her better judgment, giving in to her sudden need to know what losing this job was going to do to his family.

  “Melanie doesn’t have a skull problem.” Herb’s head tilted slightly, and he gave her a strange look. “She’s got scoliosis. She wears a brace that’s helping to straighten her spine.”

  “Ah . . . that’s right.” Tara nodded her head up and down. Braces, skull problems—I was close. She thought it pretty amazing she’d remembered that much.

  “I’ve got a lot of work to do,” Herb reminded them.

  “Going to make copies.” Cynthia waved the folder in the air and walked down the hall.

  Gabby continued to look down at her hands, folded together on the table in front of her.

  Tara sat up straighter and took a deep breath, ready to continue now that she realized the news she was about to deliver wasn’t going to kill a kid.

  “Herb, how many sales have you made this last quarter?”

  “None of my listings have sold, but I got one and a half percent off a townhouse sale in—”

  “As Jonathan just noted in our meeting, one and a half percent off someone else’s listing doesn’t do much for the company. Did you know that during the same amount of time, I’ve been able to close on five listings? That’s five different commissions that have come back to this office—to pay your benefits.”

  Herb shrugged. “Everyone has good and bad months.”

  “Maybe so,” Tara said. “But some people’s worst months are consistently better than your best.” He’s making this so easy. Poor, pathetic, middle-aged man. “Those five sales I had didn’t just fall into my lap. I had to work for them. Long hours—long after you’d gone home most of the time. I had to invest the time into getting to know my clients’ needs and wants.”

  Gabby snorted. Tara glared at her across the table, but Gabby only arched an eyebrow, challenging her. See if I share any more of my secrets with you, Tara thought. That Gabby’s own sales remained high, that she was one of those selected by Jonathan to stay, was largely due to the things she’d learned from Tara.

  And they were all good, Tara rationalized. I haven’t done anything wrong, haven’t broken any laws—technically speaking. She’d only made suggestions and hinted at things that might or might not have been true. Sure, there was something in the Realtor’s creed that mentioned honesty with all clients, but her own mother had taught her that a little white lie wasn’t really bad, so long as no one got hurt. And no one ever did. They got properties. The ones they wanted. The ones they might have believed they were going to lose if they didn’t bid a bit higher or act quicker. But in the end everyone was always happy. No one was complaining when she handed out a celebratory bottle of champagne, along with keys or a big, fat check. And the end result was all
that mattered.

  She’d first discovered her gift of persuasion years ago when trying to help her friend Jane close one of her own listings. Tara’s little trick had gotten her a lecture from Jane—the ingratitude—whereas Jane had ended up with a great house and a handsome husband. And it had all started with a little fib. But still, Jane had been upset with her. Some people just didn’t get it.

  Like poor Herb.

  Tara leaned back in her chair, studying him. “What do you think it would take for you to have sales like I do?” she asked, fully expecting to render him speechless. And then, when he couldn’t answer, she’d have her way out. After all, how would he be able to argue with being let go when he’d just admitted to being an underachiever?

  “Well,” Herb said thoughtfully as his eyes met hers. “I suppose I could ignore my wife and children for several months. I could flirt with clients. I could fudge a little on the stats. But I don’t imagine wearing short, tight leather skirts would help me the same way it seems to work for you.”

  Gabby laughed then tried to cover it with a fake cough. Tara didn’t bother looking at her but stared at Herb, shocked at what she’d just heard. He brought a hand to his chin as if further considering.

  “I could kiss up to the boss. Work absurd hours, have this—” He held his hand out, indicating the posh conference room “—be my only life.”

  Dead silence met his comment for a full ten seconds, then Tara found her voice.

  “That’s enough. You’re fired.”

  “I figured as much,” Herb said calmly and turned to leave.

  Tara stood, her eyes shooting daggers his direction. “Why’d you want to be a Realtor anyway? You’re a lousy salesman.” She tried to think of another insult that would hurt as much as the ones he’d so passively flung at her.

  “I didn’t.” Herb paused long enough to send a look full of sympathy her way. “I wanted to be a good dad, and I figured real estate would be a flexible job for that. Until now it has been. It’s been enough to pay the bills, and I haven’t missed any ball games.”