Coached to Death Page 3

  “Hmm,” he said as he moved again to tour the suite. Stepping up to one of three large windows, he peered out at the street below. “Nice view,” he said after turning to look at me.

  I felt another wave of heat touch my cheeks. “You’re a bit of a flirt, Maks.”

  He smiled mischievously. “I’m more than a bit, Catherine.”

  “Yes,” I said grinning. “I can see that. What business are you in?”

  “Oh, I dabble in a few things, like imports and exports and other investments,” he said.

  “Stocks and bonds?”

  “Real estate.”

  “Really? Me too. I mean, obviously,” I added, with a roll of my eyes and a wave of my hand toward the room we were in.

  Maks nodded. “C.C. Management,” he said, indicating the LLC I’d formed when I bought the building. I’d listed it on the ad for the office suite, and I liked that he’d remembered it.

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s me.”

  Maks continued to walk around and survey the office, opening a closet door and peering inside before he asked, “Do you own other commercial real estate in the area?”

  “No,” I confessed. “Just the one property. And I only bought this place because it spoke to me.”

  Maks paused his inspection to cock his head curiously at me. “What did it say?”

  I laughed nervously. Why did I feel like everything that came out of my mouth was something silly? “Well, it didn’t actually speak words, but I discovered this place when I was searching for my own office to rent, and when I pulled up to this old building and saw how neglected it’d been and that all it needed was someone with a little vision and a lot of TLC, I couldn’t resist purchasing it outright. Real estate around here comes at a premium, but because this building required extensive capital to bring it back to its full glory, many other investors had passed up the chance to own it.”

  Maks stood in the center of the room and nodded, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I thought it looked freshly renovated. You’ve done an excellent job.”

  I dipped my chin gratefully at the compliment. I liked this man, and I really wanted him as a tenant. “So, what do you think of the space?”

  Maks didn’t answer me right away. Instead, he turned and walked purposefully toward the window again, peering out at the view. “Yes,” he said at last.

  I blinked. “Yes?” I hadn’t realized I’d asked a yes/no question. Laughing a bit, I said, “Yes, you like it, and yes, you want to rent it?”

  “Yes.”

  His simple but straightforward reply was a bit startling. I was used to being told by prospective renters that they’d have to think about it. “Great,” I said, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.

  “Is there a rental application to fill out?” Maks asked, turning back to me.

  “Absolutely. Ha, of course there is.” Fumbling around in my bag to retrieve a copy of the rental application, I handed it to him. “If you could fill out the front and back of both pages, and drop it in the mail slot of the door for suite 1A downstairs, that’d be great.”

  Maks took the papers, his gaze steady as he seemed to study me. “I’ll get this to you by tomorrow.”

  I nodded and pressed my lips together lest I appear too eager. “Perfect,” I said, then turned toward the door. He was flustering me, and I wasn’t sure what to do other than try to extricate myself. Opening the door again, I stood just inside the doorjamb, with what I hoped was a friendly but professional smile.

  Maks tucked the rental application into the inner pocket of his blazer and also moved to leave, but then he hesitated when he was about to cross the threshold. “Catherine,” he said softly.

  “Yes?” I said, equally softly. We were inches from each other, and I could smell his aftershave. It wasn’t a scent I recognized, but, Lord, did it smell divine. And for a moment, all of my attention was focused on the small hollow at the base of Maks’s throat.

  Silent seconds passed, and I realized he hadn’t said anything. Lifting my gaze, I saw that he appeared to be searching for the words he wanted to speak. “Would you like to have lunch with me?”

  I stared in slight confusion at him for a few beats; sure, we’d just been flirting, but I certainly hadn’t expected for him to ask me out so quickly after meeting me. “Um . . . ,” I said, struggling with a reply.

  Maks shook his head ruefully. “I’m sorry. That was too forward. I know we just met, but you’re a beautiful woman whose company I find charming, and you aren’t wearing a wedding band, so I’d hoped you weren’t attached.”

  “I . . . um . . . no,” I stammered.

  “Yes, of course,” he said, already moving past me. “I understand. Please forgive my boldness and forget I ever mentioned it.”

  “No!” I said, realizing he thought I was turning him down. Maks looked back over his shoulder, and I stepped toward him. “I mean, I’m not attached, and lunch would be . . . delightful.”

  Maks smiled. It was like the rest of him—spectacular. His whole face lit up, and I couldn’t help but smile too. “Are you free now?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said, then abruptly remembered the luncheon at Heather’s. “Oh, I mean, no. Not today. I have a . . .” I didn’t quite know how to phrase it. “I have a thing.”

  “Ah,” he said. “I have those all the time.”

  I chuckled. “You’re quite the charmer too, aren’t you?”

  Maks cocked one eyebrow and leveled his gaze at me. “I haven’t even begun to charm you, Ms. . . . what is your last name?”

  I laughed again. “It’s Cooper,” I told him.

  An odd look played across Maks’s face. “Cooper is a very common last name in this country, correct?”

  “It is,” I said. “But I’m afraid our line of Coopers is going to die out with my sister and me. There were no boys born to pass on the name. My twin sons have my ex-husband’s surname. Abby—my sister, still goes by Cooper even though she’s married, but she’s adamant about not having kids.”

  Another look passed over Maks’s face, and it was so strange, but I swore he looked truly surprised for a moment. Maybe even shocked. “You have a sister named Abby?”

  “Yes. Her given name is Abigail, but she goes by Abby.” I didn’t know why I was offering up so much information, but I couldn’t seem to stop. “She’s my younger sister by three years. She and her husband, Dutch, live in Texas.”

  Maks’s eyes widened again, and he gave his head a slight shake. He seemed to study me intently again, and then he mumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like “What’re the odds?”

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “Nothing,” he said, dialing up the wattage on that fantastic smile. “When are you free, then?”

  “I’m free tomorrow,” I said, turning briefly to lock the office door. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure if I was free or not, but I was willing to reschedule anything I might have planned for the chance to sit across from this gorgeous, interesting man and break bread.

  “I can’t do lunch tomorrow, but I could do dinner. Would that be acceptable?”

  “It would,” I said, feeling my cheeks heat up again.

  “Perfect,” Maks said as we strolled toward the stairs. “Would seven o’clock fit into your plans?”

  “It would,” I said as we started down.

  “Excellent,” he replied. Reaching inside his blazer, he produced a card and tapped the phone number on it. “Text me your address tomorrow, and I’ll pick you up.”

  We reached the landing, and Maks extended his arm in front of me to open the door to the outside. “I’ll be ready,” I told him.

  “Excellent,” he repeated. “And say hi to your sister for me.”

  With that rather cryptic sentence, Maks turned and walked away, leaving me to wonder if he was simply poking a little fun at me for the overshare or if, by some crazy coincidence, he actually knew my sister.

  Chapter 2

  When I entered my suite a
gain, Gilley was nowhere in sight, and as he’d taken my car, I had to figure out a way to get home, do a quick change, and get over to Heather’s. Luckily, just as I was considering ordering an Uber, Gilley pulled up to the office and dashed in to deliver my keys. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” he said when he came through the door. “I was at White’s Apothecary, and you know how I loves me some scented candles . . .”

  “I have a date!” I shouted.

  I must’ve startled Gil, because he jumped a little. “Wait, what?”

  “I have a date!” I repeated, lowering the volume.

  Gil looked over his shoulder toward the door, then back at me. “I’ve only been gone a half hour. How could that happen?”

  I picked up an envelope from the desk and fanned myself. “It happened,” I said. “And he’s spectacular.”

  Gilley hopped up onto his desk and crossed his legs. “Tell me everything!”

  I’d been sitting down and stood up to make a sweeping motion. “In the car. I’ve got to get home and change for Heather’s luncheon.”

  Gil scowled. “That again. Why do you have to go home and change? That outfit is fabulous.”

  “Heather’s invite said that it was a black and white attire themed luncheon.”

  “A what now?” Gil said, his brow creasing. “What the heck is that about?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I have no idea, but I’m not arguing. I’m wearing my black Chanel suit with a white shell.”

  “I love that suit on you,” Gilley said. “Why didn’t you wear it this morning?”

  “It’s far too severe for a first meeting with a new client. I usually only wear it to high-level business meetings. And funerals.”

  Gil offered me a crooked smile. “Then it’ll be perfect for Heather’s get-together.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Ugh, I still wish you didn’t have to go. Especially now that you have a date. We need to go shopping for a new outfit for this hottie Mctacular.”

  Grabbing my purse and ushering Gilley to the door, I said, “I have to attend. If I don’t, I’ll be forever snubbed in this town. We can go outfit shopping afterward.”

  Gilley replied, but I was momentarily distracted by the pinging of my cell phone. “Hang on,” I told him while I studied the screen. “Heather’s asking me if I’m still coming. Again. Really, that woman is so annoying.” Pausing in my rush out the door, I tapped out a quick reply and said, “There. Now she knows I’ll definitely attend. Let’s—” Before I could even finish my sentence my phone pinged again with an incoming text. I sighed loudly and lifted it to look at the screen. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “What is it?” Gilley asked.

  I showed him the phone and watched his forehead crinkle as he read the text and the attached photo of a recipe. “Heather wants you to bring punch? Enough to serve eighteen people? And she’s insisting you follow this recipe to the letter? Is she kidding? ”

  I glanced again at my watch. “And she’s letting me know just thirty minutes before the luncheon!”

  “Why doesn’t she get her own damn punch?” Gilley said, nearly as indignant as I was.

  “The grocery store is in the opposite direction from here! It’ll take me half an hour just to get there and get back home!” I said, working myself into a good panic. I didn’t know what to do. I’d barely have enough time to get home and change, let alone shop for and make up a batch of punch for eighteen people. And how was I supposed to get it from my house to hers? Yes, she was my neighbor, but I’d have to load it into the car, not spill a drop, then lug it into her house like some lackey from the catering company. “If I’m late, she’ll hold it against me. If I show up without punch, she’ll hold it against me.”

  Gilley placed a hand on my shoulder. “Hey,” he said. “I got you, boo.”

  I stood there shaking my head at him. I couldn’t imagine how he could help me. “How?”

  “First, let’s get you home. Give me the keys, I’m a faster driver.”

  I handed him the keys. “Then what?”

  “Lucky you, I went shopping yesterday, and I’ve got fresh apples at Chez Kitty. And I’m pretty sure I’ve got cloves, cinnamon, and apple cider in the pantry, which leaves only Sprite, cranberry juice, and OJ to complete the recipe, and I’m positive I can get those at that little convenience store a block from here. We can stop really quick to grab that, then race home, . . . which reminds me, do you have a punch bowl big enough to serve eighteen people at Chez Cat?”

  “I do,” I said. I’d unpacked my formal crystal just a week ago.

  “Perfect,” he said. “We can whip this punch up in no time!”

  “How are we going to get it to Heather’s, though?” I asked.

  “I’ll wrap the whole bowl in that press-and-seal wrap. It works wonders. You’ll see, we’ll be good.”

  I felt some of the tension in my shoulders loosen. “If I haven’t told you lately, Gilley Gillespie, I love you.”

  “Aww,” he said, opening the car door for me and waiting for me to scoot into the passenger seat. “That’s sweet, but we have no time for sweet. Now, get in and strap yourself down. We’re on a deadline!”

  Exactly twenty-eight minutes later, we were leaving my driveway. Gilley had sliced the apples while I mixed together the other ingredients for the punch, and then we’d wrapped the bowl very carefully in plastic wrap, and even when we tipped it, no liquid spilled out. Gilley walked with the heavy punch bowl to the car and got in, holding the bowl in his lap.

  We’d agreed that he would hold the punch all the way to Heather’s and help me to the front entrance with the Waterford crystal punch bowl. “You’re a lifesaver,” I told him, as we wound our way out of the drive and over to Heather’s.

  Gilley dipped his chin humbly. “Happy to help.”

  Once we arrived, we got out of the car, and I stared up at Heather’s domicile. Although Heather was my neighbor, I’d only ever really glimpsed her house from the back side, and that was a good way off given the size of our respective lots.

  Up close and personal, Heather’s house was quite a sight. Ornately grand, with charcoal-colored slate sides, severe angles, dark wood trim, and lavish stonework, it stood like a grumpy guard of the open ocean just beyond. Surrounding the behemoth mansion were ornate gardens, teaming with colorful mums and perfectly sculpted topiary. To our left was a sizable parking area where well over a dozen luxury vehicles were already parked, indicating we were hardly the first to arrive.

  “My, my,” Gilley said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “How delightfully understated.”

  “Mmm hmm, just like the owner,” I agreed, my mouth twisting in distaste. This was going to be a long afternoon.

  Carrying the punch bowl, Gilley followed me to the front door. Before I could raise my hand to depress the doorbell, however, it opened to reveal a severe-looking woman with jet-black hair, a pale complexion, and horribly overgrown eyebrows. As we stepped up to her, a clearly displeased frown formed on her thin lips, and she said, “Yes?”

  I was a tiny bit thrown by the question and the absolute absence of a polite greeting for one of the luncheon guests. But then, Heather had a reputation for being a hateful beast to people; so why would her staff be any different? Pushing a forced smile onto my lips, I said, “Hello, I’m Catherine Cooper. I’m here for the luncheon.”

  The woman’s steely eyes roved to Gilley. Lifting the punch bowl up slightly, he said, “Simply delivering the punch. I’m not staying for the party.”

  “Take it to the back,” Heather’s housekeeper said, pointing to a walkway that headed off to the left. “I’ll let you in there.”

  Gil and I had both turned to look in the direction she was pointing, and when we turned to face her again, we were both shocked that she’d already stepped back and was closing the door in our faces.

  “Wait!” I tried, but it was too late. The woman had already firmly shut the door.

  “Well, that was just rude,” Gilley said, shifti
ng the weight of the heavy bowl.

  “And infuriating,” I said, raising my hand to knock on the door.

  “Cat, don’t,” Gil said softly. “We can walk to the back and avoid making a scene after you’ve just arrived, which is probably exactly what Heather is hoping for. I bet she put her housekeeper up to that.”

  I retracted my hand, but my temper was still quietly flaring. It seemed that Heather meant to bait me from the second I set foot on her property. Gilley was right, though; it wouldn’t do me a bit of good to make a scene. “Fine,” I said through clenched teeth. “Let’s get this over with.”

  I led Gilley down the path, which was longer than it appeared, and wound my way toward the back of the house. As we turned the corner, I realized two things; first, Heather’s view of the ocean was somewhat marred by her own guest house, which was quite large in its own right. Second, the other thing obstructing what should’ve been a simply spectacular view of the ocean, given the mansion’s prime location, was my own home, which blocked much of her view from the pool and the large patio area on the left.

  I hadn’t realized until just that moment that some of the animosity Heather held for me might’ve had more to do with the building of my home in a spot that obstructed her view than for me personally. Still, I hardly felt sorry for her. I’d acquired the property fair and square, although the lot had come into my hands by a rather timely bit of good fortune.

  Not long after my divorce was finalized, I was having lunch with a business acquaintance, and the conversation drifted to what I wanted to do next. When I mentioned—almost as a joke—that I should probably move to the Hamptons, he happened to mention that he knew of a man who owned a sizable lot in East Hampton that he was getting ready to put on the market.

  I’d met with the owner of the lot—an elderly gentleman named Nigel—a day later, and I’d been struck by how charming and delightful he was. He’d flirted shamelessly with me, and I might’ve been guilty of flirting shamelessly, but harmlessly, back, and we’d struck a deal over lunch, sealing it at the title office just two weeks later.