A Yuletide Affair. Monica Richardson
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all of your clients, or just the ones you devalue?”
“Are you telling me that you can afford a property that costs more than two hundred thousand dollars?”
“I’m telling you that you never gave me the courtesy of asking what my price range was. You assumed that I couldn’t afford the properties in your portfolio,” he mocked her. “Isn’t there a process to this? Shouldn’t there be standard questions that you ask a potential client?”
“I do have a few questions, Mr. Steel. Like, what are you doing in the Bahamas for an extended period of time? What are you running from? Do you have a woman or a baby mama in the States who’s chasing you for child support?”
“Those are really inappropriate questions,” he said.
“I apologize. I think we got off on the wrong foot.” She handed him a sheet of paper from her briefcase. “Here’s a list of properties that I thought you might be interested in. If this is not your price range, we can adjust.”
He took the list and gave it a quick review. Handed it back to her. “Actually, I brought my own list.”
He reached into the back pocket of his shorts, pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to her. She opened it. Gave it a quick scan.
“These properties are close to a million dollars!”
“Your point?”
She ignored his question. “And besides, the Madison property already has a buyer.”
“That’s the one that I’m most interested in. I saw it on your website this morning. It was the only one that had a video. You should do that with all of your properties, by the way...add a video. Excellent selling point. And your website didn’t indicate that that property was sold, by the way.”
“I just spoke with the owner this morning, and she’s waiting for me to send over the contract right now.” Why was she explaining this to him? “I already have a solid offer on it.”
“But you haven’t accepted that offer yet, right?”
“Well...”
“I would like to see the place.”
“Why would I show you a property that’s not for sale? And if I thought for one second that you could afford it, I couldn’t show it to you today anyway. It’s on Abaco—over a hundred miles from here. It would take us too long to get there by boat.”
“I don’t have anything but time.”
“It would be a complete waste of time.”
“It’s not the only property on Abaco that I’m interested in. There are others in the same general vicinity.”
“We don’t have transportation.”
“Actually, we do. Jasmine told me that your cousin Stephen owns a boat, and he often transports you between the islands. She even gave him a buzz, and asked if he was available today. He was more than happy to oblige. So what’s your excuse now?”
He was right. Their cousin Stephen was very accommodating whenever she needed use of his boat. Often if his schedule permitted, he’d drive Alyson between islands to meet with clients and show properties. But she didn’t need her sister planning her day for her, or telling Samson Steel all of her business. She’d address that with Jasmine the next time she saw her.
Sooner than she would have liked, Stephen pulled the boat to shore and tied it to the dock. He waved for them to come along. Alyson gathered herself and walked toward the boat. Samson followed closely behind.
She wasn’t sure what the day would bring, but so far she wasn’t pleased with its start.
On Sophia, Stephen’s powerboat, they traveled at a fast pace across the Atlantic Ocean. Stephen steered the boat through the clear turquoise waters. Alyson reclined on the leather seat on the port side of the boat, behind Stephen, while Samson relaxed in its bow. His back was to her, so she had an opportunity to check him out without his knowledge.
Samson and Stephen chatted about everything under the sun—whatever it was that men chatted about. Occasionally she’d tune in to the conversation, which didn’t really amount to anything more than a conversation about the ocean, deep-sea diving and the Islands of the Bahamas. Stephen was a diver, and boasted about it every chance he got. He’d go diving for fish and lobsters. Stephen told Samson about his and Alyson’s upbringing. As first cousins, they spent a great deal of time together as children and even as teens and adults. The Talbots were a close-knit clan.
When they arrived on Abaco, Stephen tied a rope from the cleat of the boat to the dock. He helped Alyson climb out of the boat first, and then helped Samson.
“I have a couple that I’m taking on a sightseeing tour,” Stephen said. “Shouldn’t take me more than an hour, Chicken.”
Chicken was a nickname that she’d never outgrown. It was a name that clearly didn’t describe her, as she was not afraid of anything. However, some of her family members saw fit to give it to her anyway, and she hated it.
“An hour? Are you kidding me?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell me you had business on Abaco before you brought me here?”
“Alyson, this is my livelihood. I always schedule other business when we come here. You know that. I have to take advantage of every opportunity to make money.”
Stephen was definitely an entrepreneur. He owned a rental shop along the beach on the Eleuthera, where he rented jet skis and surfboards by the hour. He used his powerboat to transport tourists between the islands. Though Alyson often complained, she appreciated him allowing her to tag along on his moneymaking trips. But because he was her younger cousin, she felt obligated to give him a hard time—each and every time. It was a habit that she hadn’t quite grown out of. She didn’t care about Stephen leaving her for an hour, but spending time alone with Samson was what she feared most.
“Hurry back.” She kissed her cousin’s cheek. “I need to get back to the Eleuthera before nightfall. I have an early meeting that I need to prepare for.”
“Good luck with her,” Stephen told Samson. “She’s impossible to deal with.”
“I’m not impossible! I’m just a woman who knows what she wants.”
Stephen shook his head, and then stood on the deck. Lit a cigarette. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way back.”
* * *
Madison House was one of the most alluring properties in the Abacos. Positioned at sixty-eight feet above sea level and overlooking the Sea of Abaco, the magnificent beauty boasted six bedrooms and a great room all connected by massive breezeways. Each bedroom had its own private balcony. The vaulted ceilings, Brazilian wood flooring and the glass walls were by far the main attractions. The view of the beach from the great room was stunning.
“There are no words to describe this property,” said Samson. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.”
“You like, huh?” she asked.
“It’s breathtaking.”
Samson followed her across the mahogany floors and into the kitchen with its upscale stainless-steel appliances and a dumbwaiter. French doors off the kitchen led to a porch that wrapped all the way around the property. She stepped outside and felt the tropical air against her face—breathed it in.
“I could live here.” Samson said it softly.
“Unfortunately it’s not for sale. But since you insisted on seeing it, here it is,” she told him.
“Here it is, indeed.”
They stepped back inside and took the winding staircase