The Texas Christmas Gift. Cathy Thacker Gillen
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“Have you had time to answer the questionnaire I emailed you?”
He shook his head and lowered himself into a chair in front of her desk. “We don’t need to bother with that.”
Of course they didn’t, Eve thought with mounting frustration. She settled into her ergonomically designed swivel chair.
“I know exactly what I’m looking for,” he stated amiably.
Eve picked up her notepad and pen. “Then suppose you tell me.”
“I want a home in Highland Park, preferably on or near Crescent Avenue. I’d like to pay between seven and eight million for it. It must have at least three bedrooms and two baths. There’ll be no need for bank financing, as I plan to pay cash.” He paused, allowing her to catch up. “I’d also like to close next week and take possession immediately.”
Eve finished writing and looked into the most gorgeous eyes she had ever seen. “I gather this is just an investment?”
“Much more, actually.” His sensual lips lifted into an easy grin. “I plan to live there with my daughter.” Affection laced his low voice. “So if you could just find something and let me know...” He glanced at his phone again, which was chiming quietly, then rose as if to leave.
Eve stood and moved around her desk. Because of the eight-inch difference in their heights, which was modified only slightly by her three-inch heels, she had to tilt her head to look up at him. “When will you be available to look at properties?” she asked, knowing from experience that he was going to be one of those demanding clients who didn’t want to waste an instant.
Derek grimaced. He shoved back the edges of his suit jacket, the impatient action briefly diverting her gaze to his flat abs and lean hips. “I only want to look at one.”
Lifting her chin, Eve studied him for a long beat. She couldn’t help wondering if the sexy venture capitalist was this way with everyone he hired. Or just the nonessential personnel? “You expect me to choose your home?” she asked drily.
He glanced at his watch as his phone chimed again, his deep blue eyes narrowing. “Yes.”
Wanting to make this work—but only to a point—Eve held up a palm. “Then I’m going to need a lot more information.”
Derek frowned. He might be only thirty-four, if the information she had found on Google prior to meeting him was correct, but he was all autocratic executive. “I’m too busy for that right now.”
Which left her no choice. She walked him to the door and opened it wide. “Then,” she said, just as imperiously, not about to make herself miserable—especially at this time of year—by working with a man who was far too big for his britches, “you’ll have to find yourself another Realtor.”
Derek stared in amazement. “You’re firing me as a client?”
Eve nodded and ushered him out. Then she smiled one last time. “Consider it my Christmas present to myself.”
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER, as she entered the conference room for the Friday afternoon staff meeting, Eve was still trying to figure out how to tell her mother what she’d done.
The two other sales agents, Vanessa and Astrid, were already there. Eve’s mom—the owner of the company—was seated at the head of the table. As always, Marjorie Loughlin was beautifully dressed, today in a red wool suit and heels, her short silvery-blond hair perfectly coiffed. Despite the artful application of makeup, Eve couldn’t help but notice her mother looked tired. But maybe that was to be expected. Like the rest of the staff of the all-female realty firm she had founded, Marjorie put in long hours.
“I have great news,” she said. “We are still ahead of Sibley & Smith Realty in annual sales by several million dollars.” She paused and massaged her left shoulder. “And you all know what that means.”
“More exclusive, top-dollar listings and sales,” Astrid declared, already pulling out her calculator.
Vanessa winked. “Not to mention that new Mercedes convertible I’ve been coveting.”
Marjorie dabbed a bead of sweat from her hairline. “Luckily, we all have clients wanting to close on homes before the end of the year.” Briefly, she went over the list of Astrid’s and Vanessa’s clients, as well as her own. Then she turned to Eve, addressing the properties and clients of primary concern. “There’s Flash Lefleur’s condo—which we really need to get sold before the listing expires—and Derek McCabe.”
“Right.” Eve steeled herself for her mother’s disapproval as she prepared to talk about the latter. “About that...”
Marjorie’s hand went to the left side of her neck. “Don’t tell me there’s a problem there.”
Except for the fact I fired him? Not a one.
Eve noted her mother was pressing her hand against the bottom of her jaw. “Mom, are you all right...?”
Marjorie winced, as if in pain.
Something was wrong! Eve rushed toward her in alarm. “Mom!”
Her skin a peculiar ashen gray, Marjorie swayed slightly. “I feel a little dizzy,” she said, then slumped in her chair in a dead faint.
* * *
ONE HARROWING AMBULANCE ride,admission to the hospital and balloon angioplasty later, Marjorie was finally declared stable and moved to a room in the cardiac care unit. Once she was settled, the doctor came in to go over the results of all the tests, as well as the emergency surgical procedure. “You were lucky. It was only a mild heart attack,” the cardiologist announced.
“Impossible,” Marjorie declared, still looking awfully pale and anxious, despite the medicines they had given her to help her relax. “I’m in perfect health. It was indigestion. A lunch gone wrong. That was all.”
The doctor turned to Eve. “Is your mother always this difficult?”
“Yes,” she said.
“No,” Marjorie stated at the same moment.
Dr. Jackson smiled and shook his head in silent remonstration, obviously having dealt with similar situations before. He turned back to his patient. “We’re going to keep you in the hospital, as a precaution, for forty-eight hours, Mrs. Loughlin. After that, I’d like you to go to the cardiac rehab unit, in the annex across the street, for another month, for further evaluation and treatment.”
“That’s impossible!” Marjorie folded her arms belligerently. “I have work to do.”
Clearly unintimidated, the physician countered, “It’s absolutely necessary, Mrs. Loughlin. You need to rest and rebuild your strength, and above all else, rethink how you’ve been living your life.”
Marjorie sent Eve a look, begging her to intervene.
“I agree with the doctor,” Eve said as the physician slipped from the room, wisely leaving the persuasion to a family member.
“But the annual sales award...”
“I’ll see we still get it,” Eve promised gently.
Still, Marjorie fretted. “I have a new client, that Houston oilman, Red Bloom, coming in soon to see the Santiago Florres‒designed home.”
Eve smiled. “Not to worry, Mom. I’ll take care of that, too.”
“You have Derek McCabe....”
Eve had had plenty of time to regret her foolhardiness. “I’ll handle his sale, too,” she reassured her mother. At least I hope I will.
“You’re sure?” Marjorie started to relax, as the meds finally kicked in.
She nodded. Her mother had done so much for her over the years. It was now her turn to be the caretaker. “Just rest now.” She bent and kissed Marjorie’s