Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Several weeks later, Lori was feeling… decidedly less optimistic.

And far too caffeinated.

Despite this latter status, she still found herself dragging to Seastar Espresso midmorning on a Sunday, even though she'd long kept Sundays as her ‘absolutely no-work allowed no matter what' days.

She chuckled to herself, the sound exhausted and mirthless. Well, she'd known that the Burrows job would be special from the start, hadn't she?

After that first meeting with Dorothy where they'd discussed ideas, she'd expected Dorothy to add a few things to her list. What she hadn't expected that Dorothy would add new things to her list daily .

First, it had been the matter of the staging. Dorothy had grown increasingly specific about the lavish, and wildly stylistically different displays, she wanted for each of the rooms. It had started with just the styles themselves. She wanted the bedrooms done in Scandinavian style and the kitchen modeled after the modern farmhouse aesthetic. The dining room had to be minimalist, while the room that Dorothy called the parlor needed a bohemian styling.

Naturally, none of these rooms had already been fashioned in such a way previously. They all had to be redone, essentially from scratch.

Then Dorothy had started sending Lori emails. Links were one thing, as they tended to lead, at least, to the place that sold the item Dorothy referenced. But sometimes these emails were just a photograph, clearly taken on Dorothy's cell phone, with comments like "We must have this for the library!" No information about where she'd seen this item, or how Lori might procure it.

Dorothy, it seemed, not only wanted each of her rooms to be displayed like a set piece from a luxury magazine. She had very specific ideas of what these imaginary magazine spreads should look like. And she was not overly helpful when it came to practical instructions on how to get there.

Lori had been in the real estate game for a long time. She had tons of contacts in the area, people who would help her source items for stagings and at a dramatically reduced cost, trusting that Lori would return the items in pristine condition. But it was one thing to acquire a certain type of furnishing, another thing to acquire a specific item.

And it was a third thing entirely to get "that lovely Art Deco mirror I saw in that little shop in Portsmouth that time."

So. That had been… challenging.

On top of that, Dorothy had become fixated on every detail of the property's presentation. Even though the place had been, as far as Lori could see, essentially spotless on that first visit, Dorothy had insisted on hiring an army of cleaners and maintenance personnel who had been tasked with keeping every surface in the house gleaming with pristine perfection.

Which was fine because cleaning professionals were very good at their jobs. Lori knew that.

Except… Dorothy did not seem to know that. Or at least she did not trust it, as she insisted on walking through the property every day to ensure that the proper standards of cleanliness were being maintained.

And she insisted Lori accompany her.

"But you have the trained eye, darling!" Dorothy had exclaimed, aghast, when Lori had ever so gently suggested that perhaps she wasn't needed to oversee whether or not the floors had been mopped. Which they had been. Without fail. "What if you see something that I don't?"

"I don't think I have any particular insight into the cleaning side of things." Lori had ventured cautiously.

But Dorothy would hear nothing of it. "No, darling, no," she said, firm tone brooking no argument. "I need you."

Lori hadn't had a suitable argument for that, so she'd resigned herself to trudging out to the property daily to make sure that all the nonexistent dirt had been scrubbed away.

Though she supposed, if she made a concentrated effort at looking at the bright side of things, that having the house so clean was helpful when Dorothy called her late in the evening, announcing in a tone that dripped with delight, that one of her friends would be in town the following morning, and thus Lori would need to put together an exclusive, VIP showing of the house.

"The Caldwells will only be in from California for the day," Dorothy had said cheerfully. "So it really does have to be tomorrow. The morning is best, although not too early. They have a tee time."

"Are the Caldwells looking to relocate to the area?" The first time, Lori had been hopeful. Even if these visitors didn't end up with Dorothy's house, a good realtor was always looking to make new connections.

"Not that I know of," Dorothy had replied, not at all concerned by this. "But you never know!"

They'd had similar conversations several more times. The only things that had ever changed were the details. The Cunninghams were arriving from Manhattan. The Porters from Aspen. The Whitfords from Greenwich.

And while all these visibly affluent couples had oohed and aahed over Dorothy's house, none of them had asked a single one of the questions that a real prospective buyer might ask.

Lori was trying to keep looking on the bright side of things, she really was. But it was quite the challenge when she kept getting slammed with tasks that were, to put it bluntly, a waste of her time.

Which put her behind on the tasks that were a good use of her time. Which meant that her ‘no work happens no matter what' Sunday had become an ‘actually, I think I have to do some work this time' Sunday.

But at least she was going to get a latte out of it, gosh darn it, Lori told herself sternly as she walked… very well, as she stomped to Seastar Espresso.

Charity wasn't behind the counter today, which, Lori allowed, was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, she did have some details about Charity's house that she wished to discuss with the woman. She had been intending to call Charity before she left the office on Friday, but then one of Dorothy's demanding emails had come in and Lori had gotten distracted.

On the other hand, however, she didn't want to interrupt Charity's weekend time with business just because Lori's was destined to be dedicated to work.

Millie, who worked part time at Seastar Espresso, made just as great a latte as Charity did, however, so Lori decided just to be grateful for the temporary reprieve as she sat down at a small table, taking a deep inhale of the rich, creamy beverage.

This reprieve was destined, alas, to be even more short-lived that Lori had initially expected, as she'd barely gotten two sips of her drink before someone sat down across from her, startling her so much that she nearly spilled the entire drink.

"Whoa there," Hudson said, reaching out a steadying hand that never quite made contact with Lori. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Lori intended to give him a scolding look but, honestly, her heart wasn't in it.

"That's all right," she said instead. "I was just lost in my own thoughts, apparently."

The look Hudson gave her wasn't concerned, exactly. It was more mildly confused. "Are you okay, Lori?" he asked, tone gentler than Lori thought she'd ever heard it.

She dug deep to muster up some of the usual bravado she showed in front of Hudson.

"Oh yes, of course," she said, giving her hair a little toss. The baffled look didn't entirely fade from his face, but he did give her a small smile as if this was the kind of thing he expected to get from Lori.

"Of course," he agreed warmly. "You're Lori Sims."

"Darn tootin' I am," she said. That made him laugh out loud.

"Oh, gosh," he said. "I remember watching that cartoon with Claire, way back in the day."

"'Way back,'" she scoffed. "We're still young, Hudson! Why, those girls of ours were in pigtails just yesterday, right?"

"Doesn't it seem that way," he said, tone soft and wistful. When she didn't respond immediately, the moment hung a bit strangely between them. It was, Lori supposed, a bit gentler than their usual conversation.

"Anyway," she said hurriedly, eager to get back onto their usual ground. "Congrats on that Blueberry Bay sale. That was a nice house."

He too, seemed a bit more comfortable with the return to regular topics. "It was," he agreed. "And, speaking of girls in pigtails, the family that bought it has these really cute twin girls. Must be four or five. One of them lost her first tooth and the other one was very insistent that this did not mean her twin was more mature."

"Kids," Lori said with a laugh, even though she knew it was getting them back into personal territory. "Always in such a rush to grow up."

"Ain't that the truth," he commiserated. Then he nodded to her work bag, which she'd lugged to Seastar Espresso with her. "You working today? I thought Sundays were your no-questions-asked days off?"

She was surprised he knew that about her.

"I am," she reluctantly allowed. "That Burrows property is a big get but, phew, it's a doozy too."

That look of almost concern came back. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." She waved a hand. "Big property, wealthy client. You know how it goes. They want everything just so."

He nodded, although she got the sense that he didn't entirely believe her dismissive tone.

"Well," he said, "if anyone can handle a tough client, it's you. I mean, when Claire was buying her shop, you were an absolute pro."

Now she frowned, confused. "Claire was an absolute sweetheart of a client as you well know."

He laughed. "No, not her. Me. I came in there, prepared to take the whole thing by storm."

Despite herself, Lori laughed. "Yeah, well, I think Claire handled that one more than I did, if we're telling the truth. She did not take any guff from you, Mr. Boone."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe so. But I bet you've still got this."

Before she could respond and before she could deal with the way Hudson's words warmed her, Lori's phone rang on the table beside her. She groaned before she even looked at the caller ID, which made Hudson's eyebrows shoot up. Sure enough though, when she glanced at the screen, she saw that it was Dorothy.

"I have to take this," she told Hudson, trying to keep the grouchiness from her voice. "I'll see you later."

He waved her off as she put the lid back on her coffee and hoisted her still-unpacked bag over her shoulder. As soon as she stepped out onto the warm, sunny street, she answered the phone.

"Hi, Dorothy," she said. Hiding her grouchiness from Hudson had been a good practice run, she mentally allowed. It helped her stop from sounding too tired over the phone. "How can I help you?"

"Hello, darling," Dorothy trilled. "I've just had the most marvelous idea. I think we should do a photoshoot."

Lori counted silently to three before responding. "Well, Dorothy," she said in measured tones, "we already have photos available on my company's website, as well as all the major real estate sites—"

"No, no," Dorothy interrupted, causing Lori to grit her teeth. "Those are so dull, don't you think? So lifeless? " Lori had taken those photos, so no, she did not think so, as it happened, but she'd long since learned there was no point in arguing with Dorothy. "I think we should add some life into them. And my nephew, Andrew, works down in the city—New York City, that is, of course, darling. And he works with models . Models, can you believe it? And he said that it's all the rage to have those models come pose as buyers so you can take photos. And then real buyers will see the photos and know there is interest."

Lori felt a headache forming. Was this from too much caffeine or too little? She looked critically at the coffee cup in her hand as if it held the answers.

"There is actual interest," she reminded Dorothy. "So, we could take some action photos at an open house if you like."

"But what if the buyers aren't photogenic?" Dorothy cried, sounding as though she thought this was a reasonable concern. "No, I think we had best go with what Andrew advised. I've spoken to him, and he can have the models up here on Tuesday morning, although we shall have to start early, so they can return to the city—New York City again, my dear—for another photoshoot that afternoon. But the sunrise really is the most beautiful time of day, so I don't think that's really a loss."

Lori found herself struggling to listen as Dorothy went on. This, she recognized with a growing sense of dread, was going to be another long, long day.