Page 3 of Devil In A Suit

"Lara, I'm not kidding," he says. "This is serious and huge. You won't believe it even if I told you over the phone, butregardless, you need to get down here within the next thirty minutes tops. Plus, we’veordered pizza—the good kind, not thecheap stufffrom around the corner. If you're not here, I promise you it will be gone."

"Derek, I don't care about?—"

"Oh my God, just get here now," he snaps. "You can go back to your videos or whatever afterwards. Hurry up."

He hangs up then, leaving me staring at the phone in disbelief.Hewants me toleavethe videounfinished and goback to the office without even knowing why.The thought of wasting time commuting back and forthisstupid so I call my dad.

"Hey, Dad.Why is your office manager insisting that I get back to the office right now?"

"It's huge," he saysexcitedly, and once again I notice the ruckusgoing onin the background.

"What's happening?" I askcuriously.

"Just get over here right now. How far away are you?" he asks.

"Half an hour.”

"Take a cab."

"Uh,we can afford cabs?"

"We can afford it!" he booms.

My eyebrows rise. "Really? Since when?"

"Lara,take a cab," he says and hangs up the phone.

My hand falls to the side. Wow!Something big must be happening.I leave my things as they are since I will have to come back anyway, lock the apartment, and head out. It doesn't take me long to find a cab, thankfully, but with the little late morning traffic, it takes menearly twenty minutesto arrive back at our office.

Through the shop window, I see everybody gathered around the coffee table. My steps quicken because even though I’ve racked my brains during the whole journey here to imagine whatthis big mystery could be about, or why I couldn’t just be told over the phone, I came up with nothing. Maybe someone closed a deal, a huge deal, but even that is no reason to be so dramatic.

I standatthe door, bemused. The atmosphere is wild.Everyone is smiling and chatting away with plastic flutes of what seems to be champagne in hand, thoughit’sprobablyjust cider or apple juice because we most certainly can't afford real champagne.Anna spots me. Waving, she hurries over and grabs me by the hand, pulling me in.

"The pizza's almost gone, but your dad saved you acouple ofslices.They’rein the fridge with your name on it. There’s cake too."

This makes me smile. It's a small gesture, but it warms my heartbecause it is not often that my father is loving.

"Sasha's done it again," she saysas wereach the fridge, "but for real this time."

Sasha is the lead agent in my father’s company. While I am always struggling to even get a deal, she finds and closes them effortlessly.

"What do you meanfor real?" I ask as I dig my fork into the slice of cake.

"She just scored a huge client.WhenI say huge. I meanginormous, mahoosive…humongous."

My eyes pop open."She sold a house? Where?"

"No, she hasn't sold it yet," Anna replies.

Now I’m confused."Then why the celebration?"

"A Russian billionaire wants our agency to represent him.The property in question is a seafront mansion in Southampton and it has a price tag of a hundred and twenty million.We couldn’t even dream of landing a listing like this,”she almost screams.“Do you understand now why we’reallso happy and excited? Just think of thecommission.That’s liketenmillion shared between us and the seller’s agency.”

“Wow! That’s fantastic,” I cry. I’m impressed, happy and relieved, all at once. It means our agency can finally get into profit again. It was touch and go for a while there. No wonder Dad asked me to take a cab.

“Yes, it’s wonderful. Just wonderful,” Anna cries happily. “And we have Sasha to thank.”

I glance around at Sasha. She is flicking her longshinyblondehairbackand laughing.Her face is flushed with happiness.Apart of me wishes I couldbring homethe salelike her. She makes it look so easy.“I didn’t know Sashaknew any billionaires.”

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