“I double would,” said Christopher.
Himeko thrust her fist in the air. “Chase, did you get his number? Can I have it?”
“No. And we need to pull this meeting into hand, ASAP.”
“Oh, come on! He’s my number one sports crush! Why would you deprive me of the chance to fuck my number one sports crush?”
A muscle in Mara’s thigh twitched.
“I heard Derek Hardiman’s actually pretty skeezy,” Amir said. “Like, he’s into prostitutes and stuff.”
Himeko frowned. “Who cares? Chase, give me the number. I want to save that guy some money.”
Mara’s thigh twitched again. She pressed her fist to it. This shouldn’t be so uncomfortable. He wasn’t hers and this was far from the first time she’d sat through conversations like this. Besides, who was she to judge? She fantasised over Derek more than all of his superfans combined.
“That’s enough,” Chase said. “No one is having anything to do with Mr Football. He’s a spoiled brat. He waited for me after the auction to ask if I’d sell the place to him because it was his dream home and blah, blah.”
Christopher gaped at him. “Seriously?”
“Why would I lie, Christopher?
“Oh my god!” Tegan said. “Did you say yes? I’d have said yes.”
Pan stared up at her and Mara drew infinite comfort from her sleepy brown eyes. Everything was fine, but she needed to leave. As Chase and Ben debated the pros and cons of Derek Hardiman owing them a favour, she collected her Chanel clutch from the chair beside her and stood. She’d promised the team lunch, but she could leave Himeko her card. She and Chase could go over the Terrace Avenue deal later when she’d had time to digest that he’d met her ex-boyfriend. And that her ex-boyfriend was looking to buy his ‘dream home.’
Maybe he was engaged. Maybe he was already married. That would be like Derek, to elope and show up in a TV interview with a wife and a two-year-old. She was almost at the door when Cassidy, the receptionist, blocked her path.
“Excuse me, Ms Kennedy, I need to ask Chase something.”
“What?” Chase demanded. “And, Mara, where do you think you’re going?”
Mara stepped back into the room. “Nowhere.”
“Good. How dare you attempt to French exit our meeting. Cassidy, what is it?”
The receptionist ducked her head. “There’s, um, someone here to see you.”
“I don’t have any appointments booked.”
“No, ah….” Cassidy’s cheeks turned pink. “It’s, um, Derek Hardiman.”
The room exploded.
“He heard me!” Himeko yelled. “He wants to have free sex with me!”
“Oh my god, I need to meet him,” Ben insisted. “My mum is the biggest Hammerheads fan! I can get her his autograph!”
Mara picked up Pan. She felt oddly distant from everyone around her, an astronaut drifting into space. Chase stood. “No one is meeting Derek Hardiman. Cassidy, tell Mr Hardiman to wait five minutes.”
She ducked away as Chase rounded on his staff. “All of you go to your desks, close your doors and do your jobs!”
“But, Chaaaaase!”
“If I see a single step toward reception, you will be fired. I mean it. This isn’t an entertainment production company.”
“But he came to us,” Christopher said.
“So? I’d like to remind you he’s here to undermine the organisation Mara built to keep people like him from hoarding real estate.”
Mara flinched at the sound of her name, but everyone’s eyes were glued to Chase.
“Go!” he snarled. “And if I hear anyone coming near the conference room, you will, in all seriousness, clean out your desk. Now leave.”
The staff got to their feet, filtering out of the room like children whose Wiggles concert had been canceled. Chase waited until they were gone before turning to her. “Jesus, what a day.”
“I know.” Her voice sounded unnaturally high. “What are you going to do about…?”
She couldn’t say his name.
Chase groaned. “Normally I’d tell him to get fucked, but if he’s a big deal, I suppose I should hear what he has to say. I’d love to know how he found our address. Probably from the waitress that was hitting on him.”
“I should go,” Mara said numbly.
Chase glanced at her. “Are you okay?”
No. She felt like she was being absorbed into a giant, pillowy marshmallow. “I’m fine. I’m just gonna go.”
Only she couldn’t. Derek was at reception, blocking the only exit. She chewed her lip. “Actually, can I wait in your office?”
“Of course. I’ll come get you once Mr Football’s gone. We can get lunch.”
Mara didn’t need to be told twice. She raced away with Pan in her arms, climbing the stairs two at time. She was scared to look around, sure in some childish way that Derek was following her.
She burst into Chase’s office, her heart racing. She put Pan down and she ran to the corner and curled up on the University of Washington jumper Chase kept for her.
Mara rubbed her mouth. She believed Chase had met Derek and that he’d made his way to the HFA offices, but she couldn’t quite piece together that he was here. The boy she’d once loved. The three-inch footballer running across the TV. She moved toward the door but couldn’t hear anything over the trap music Christopher played from his desk.
All she had to do to avoid Derek was stay in Chase’s office, but she was already creeping back downstairs, prepared to turn if any of the staff doors opened. Chase’s threat appeared to have worked though—they stayed closed as she snuck by. The conference room lay at the end of the hall. Mara could see Chase sitting in his usual spot at the head of the table. She couldn’t get much closer without being spotted. Her gaze fell to the huge macho fern beside the doorway. Himeko and Ben regularly hid in it, bursting out mid-meeting to the amusement of everyone but Chase. She shouldn’t do it, though. Not in her McQueen. Not when the stakes were so high. Yet she was already on her knees, crawling fervently toward the plant.
“We sell living facilities, at cost, to people who couldn’t afford them otherwise,” Chase was saying.
“Like landlords?”
Mara’s heart shimmered like a sunlit lake. That voice. That deep, lovely voice. She crawled faster. When the fern’s thick leaves were above her, she closed her eyes and shimmied up the stem like a snake. She expected Chase, Derek, anyone, everyone to see her. Instead, she opened her eyes and found she could see directly into the conference room.
And there he was.
She thought she’d done a good job recreating him in her mind. She hadn’t. The specifics were there—dark hair, dark eyes, dark tangles of tattoos. But she’d retained none of the weight of him. The grit. She’d forgotten the gleam in his black eyes, the ironic twist of his mouth, the few freckles dotting his cheeks that lent his face a strange, almost mocking, boyishness.
The day Derek sat beside her, she’d been terrified. She didn’t know him, but he seemed the type to accidentally elbow her side or make fun of her hair. She’d refused to look at him for half the lesson, convinced she was doing them both a favour.