Читать книгу The Last Mrs Parrish - Liv Constantine - Страница 12

Amber flipped through the pages of Vogue as she sat listening to the whiny client on the other end of the phone continuing to bitch about the $5 million house that had been sold out from under her. She hated Mondays, the day she was asked to sit in for the receptionist at lunchtime. Her boss had promised her she’d be free of it as soon as the new hire began in another month.

She’d started as a secretary in the residential division of Rollins Realty when she first moved to Bishops Harbor, and she’d hated every minute of it. Almost all of the clients were spoiled women and arrogant men, all with a hugely elevated sense of entitlement. The kind of people who never slowed their expensive cars at a four-way stop because they believed they always had the right-of-way. She’d set appointments, call them with updates, set up appraisal and inspection appointments, and still they barely acknowledged her. She did notice that they were only a little more courteous to the agents, but their lack of manners still infuriated her.

She used that first year to take evening classes in commercial real estate. She checked books out of the library on the subject and read voraciously on weekends, sometimes forgetting to eat lunch or dinner. When she felt ready, she went to the head of the commercial side of Rollins, Mark Jansen, to discuss her thoughts on a potential opportunity regarding a zoning change vote she’d read about in the paper and what a successful vote could mean for one of their clients. He was blown away by her knowledge and understanding of the market, and started stopping by her desk occasionally to chat about his side of the business. Within a few months she was sitting right outside his office, working closely with him. Between her reading and his tutelage, her knowledge and expertise increased. And to Amber’s good fortune, Mark was a great boss, a devoted family man who treated her with respect and kindness. She was right where she had planned to be from the start. It had just taken time and determination, but determination was one thing Amber had in spades.

She looked up as Jenna, the receptionist, walked in with a crumpled McDonald’s bag and a soda in her hands. No wonder she was so fat, Amber thought in disgust. How could people have so little self-control?

“Hey, girlie, thanks so much for covering. Did everything go okay?” Jenna’s smile made her face even more moonlike than normal.

Amber bristled. Girlie? “Just some moron who’s upset because someone else bought her house.”

“Oh, that was probably Mrs. Worth. She’s so disappointed. I feel bad for her.”

“Don’t waste your tears. Now she can cry on her husband’s shoulder and get the eight-million-dollar house instead.”

“Oh, Amber. You’re so funny.”

Amber shook her head in puzzlement at Jenna and walked away.

Later that night, as she sat soaking in the tub, she thought about the last two years. She’d been ready to leave it all far behind—the dry-cleaning chemicals that burned her eyes and nose, the filth from soiled clothing that clung to her hands, and the big plan that had gone awry. Just when she thought she’d finally grabbed the brass ring, everything had come crashing down. There was no question of her hanging around. When she left Missouri, she’d made sure that anyone looking for her wouldn’t find even a trace to follow.

The water was turning cooler now. Amber rose and wrapped herself in a thin terry-cloth robe as she stepped out of the bath. There’d been no old school friend to invite her to Connecticut. She’d rented the tiny furnished apartment just days after she arrived in Bishops Harbor. The dingy white walls were bare, and the floor was covered with an old-fashioned pea-green shag that had probably been there since the 1980s. The only seating was an upholstered love seat with worn arms and sagging pillows. A plastic table sat at the end of the small sofa. There was nothing on the table, not even a lamp, the single lightbulb with its fringed shade hanging from the low ceiling being the only illumination in the room. It was hardly more than a place to sleep and hang her hat, but it was only a placeholder until her plan was complete. In the end, it would all be worth it.

She quickly dried off, threw on pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt, and then sat at the small desk in front of the only window in the apartment. She pulled out her file on Nebraska and read over it once again. Daphne hadn’t asked her any more questions about her childhood, but still, it never hurt to refresh. Nebraska had been her first stop after leaving her hometown in Missouri, and it was where her luck had begun to change. She bet she knew more about Eustis, Nebraska, and its Wurst Tag sausage festival than even the oldest living resident. She scanned the pages, then put the folder back and picked up the book on international real estate she’d gotten from the library on her way home that night. It was heavy enough to make a good doorstop, and she knew it was going to take some very long nights and lots of concentration to get through it.

She smiled. Even if her place was small and cramped, she had spent so many nights longing for a room of her own when she and her three sisters were packed in the attic her father had turned into a bunkhouse of sorts. No matter how hard she’d tried, the room was always a mess, with her sisters’ clothes, shoes, and books strewn all over. It made her crazy. Amber needed order—disciplined, structured order. And now, finally, she was the master of her world. And of her fate.