Happy Medium: (Intermix) (26 page)

“No. I knew what she was trying to do. She was just trying to get me to let her in.”

“Not all succubi are ghosts, you know. You worked for one. She did her best to drain you dry.”

Emma blinked. “I . . . never thought of it that way.”

The old woman shook her head impatiently. “Enough. He’s the one. Do you understand? He’s yours.”

The edges of the dream began to change, becoming gray and slightly blurred. Siobhan’s back straightened. “No more time. Are you clear now?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Emma nodded, drawing the shirt around her body. “Thank you.”

Siobhan waved an imperious hand. “We’ll talk again.” And then she was gone, leaving Emma wide awake.

Emma lay still, staring up at the ceiling. Morning sunlight had begun to creep across the floor, throwing the shadows of the live oak outside the bedroom window against the wall. Ray still slept beside her, his honey-brown hair tousled on the pillow. Reflected light from the window made his morning beard glint gold.

You know exactly what to do.

Yes, she did. And it was past time to do it.
Turning point.
She ran her fingers along his cheekbone, watching him wake as she did.

He blinked a couple of times, staring up at her. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” She blew out a shaky breath. “I’m in love with you.”

He blinked a few more times, then the corners of his mouth edged up. “Good to hear. I love you too. I guess that’s what I was trying to say last night.”

“Probably.” She propped her chin on her hand, looking into his lovely dark eyes. “And because I love you, I want to be with you. No, I
deserve
to be with you.” She felt a quick jolt of electricity—
Great-grandma Siobhan is in the house
.

“Um . . . okay. No argument here.” He was still smiling although he looked a little confused.

Emma pushed the hair out of her eyes. “Okay, what I’m saying is I’ll stay with you here in San Antonio. Although at some point I’ll need to get my stuff from Houston.”

“That can be arranged.” He reached up, pulling a curl loose from behind her ear. “Nice way to wake up.”

“I thought so.” She smiled as his hand dropped to her shoulder and down, sliding along the line of her body. “I think the future’s going to be very interesting. In fact, I’m sure it is.”

Ray slid his arm around her waist, pulling her close. “I’d say that’s a very safe bet, ma’am. Let’s get started on the interesting part.”

She grinned, leaning down to run her tongue along his collarbone. “Oh yes. Let’s.”

Keep reading for a preview of MEDIUM WELL, the first book in the Ramos Family trilogy by Meg Benjamin

Available now from InterMix

“The carriage house?” Danny Ramos narrowed his eyes. “Not the main house? You want me to sell the carriage house?”

Araceli Gunter gave him a pained look, then set about rearranging the three items on top of her immaculate desk—a Montblanc pen, a real estate listing, and a picture of her family. She nudged the pen slightly closer to the picture with one perfectly manicured nail.

Stalling.

“It’s the harder sell,” Araceli explained, finally. “We need your expertise there. But the potential is tremendous, lots of design possibilities. Big Al told me specifically to give the carriage house to you. I’m going to handle the main house myself.”

Of course she’d take the main house, which had the bigger commission. Danny tried not to grind his teeth. Big Al Gutierrez owned Vintage Realty, but Araceli managed this particular office.
At the moment.
“Why sell them separately? They’re on the same piece of property.”

Araceli shook her head. She wore one of her Texas power outfits—electric blue knit with a black silk blouse, gold chains augmented by a couple of pendants. “The owner wants to subdivide. The lot’s still big enough to meet King William standards. Plus it’s twice the sale. I’ll do an open house at the Steadman place later this month, once we get it cleaned up.”

“And the carriage house, too?”

Araceli shrugged. “Perhaps later.” She moved the picture of her family over by a millimeter, not meeting his eyes again.
Definitely not good.

“Any renovations planned?” Danny raised his other eyebrow.

“Not at the moment,” she said crisply, pushing a lock of golden highlights behind one ear. “The carriage house is structurally sound. It’s been inspected. It’ll be great for an owner who wants to convert the original structure to something innovative. You’ll see what I mean when you do the walk-through this afternoon.”

“Walk-through.” Danny gritted his teeth.

“I’ll leave the key to the carriage house with Biddy.” Araceli raised her gaze to his finally, giving him one of her best professional smiles. Too bad those bright blue eyes of hers were about as warm as a couple of snow cones.

Danny contemplated wringing her neck. “Biddy.”

“It’ll be a great opportunity for her,” Araceli said airily. “She can be part of the sale from the ground up.”

Danny managed not to sigh. Biddy—real estate agent in training and administrative assistant from hell. Also Araceli’s baby sister. “What time?”

“I thought perhaps twoish. You’re not doing anything then, are you, Danny?” Araceli batted her mascaraed eyelashes.

“Showing that duplex in Tobin Hill,” Danny snapped. “I’ve got some investors from San Diego who flew in this morning.” He watched Araceli’s eyes dart back to her desktop.
Right. A setup.
She already knew about the San Diego guys.

“Can’t you reschedule?”

“They’re only here for a short time.” Danny managed to keep his expression bland.

Araceli smoothed her hands over her varicolored hair, fluffing the feathers around her ears. “Oh well, I’m not too busy. I suppose I could meet with them instead of you.”

“It’s my deal, Araceli,” Danny growled. “I put it together, and I’ll meet with them.”

“Well, of course it’s your deal,” she muttered. “I never implied anything else.” She pursed her lips slightly, blinking at him, probably aiming to decide if she should try something else. He could almost see the moment she decided to back down.

Araceli was one hell of a manager, but Danny knew he was one hell of a salesman. The carriage house would probably have some problems, but he’d never yet seen a historic house that didn’t have anything to recommend it. After he’d figured out the story of the house, he’d find the buyer—just as he always did. He’d pulled in more sales than anyone else in the office, including Araceli, and if he moved to some other agency because of her power plays, Big Al would not be happy. Danny figured they understood each other.

“I’ll meet Biddy there at four.”

Araceli sighed. “All right. But don’t make her wait.” She turned back toward her computer screen, dismissing him.

“I’ll do my best.” He gave her his own professional smile and headed back to his office. He could hear Biddy on the phone in her cubicle as he walked toward the door.

“No, Skip, tonight’s Club 401, then Friday is Tico’s Taqueria. Didn’t you get the schedule?”

Danny shook his head. The administrative assistant from hell apparently couldn’t handle non-real-estate projects any better than she handled his. Whatever those projects might be. He had no idea what Biddy did in her off-hours. Nor did he want to know.

He rounded the corner and managed not to sigh again. Biddy wore another one of her outfits—the navy blue suit might have worked with that flowered blouse if her skirt hadn’t gotten twisted to the side and her blouse wasn’t half untucked. Her pale blond hair was jerked back into a ponytail, she didn’t wear makeup, and her glasses had slid halfway down her nose. On the possible upside, she really did look like somebody named Biddy.

She turned toward him quickly, pushing her glasses back into place. “Yes, sir?”

“I’ve got a two o’clock appointment, Biddy. We’ll go over tomorrow’s schedule later. And we’re supposed to do a walk-through at a house this afternoon.”

Biddy nodded, holding her cell to her ear. “Okay, Mr. Ramos.” She bit her lip, looking a little like a shell-shocked bunny.

Danny headed into his office, shaking his head. Given that she was Araceli’s sister, Biddy should at least have been able to figure out how to dress for success. Then again, given her clothes and her general level of competence, maybe she was adopted.

***

Biddy worked on keeping her voice calm. Skip had probably just woken up, which meant he hadn’t had any caffeine, which meant his brain hadn’t started firing on all cylinders. If she’d been in the same room with him, she’d probably have doused him with ice water. She might still have to go over to his house and do that if he didn’t start processing what she told him within the next five minutes.

She sighed. “Look, why don’t I call you later this afternoon? I’ll remind you then. Just make sure you send Gordy to Club 401 with the equipment.”

“Yeah, okay.” She could hear Skip yawning. He probably had no idea what he’d just agreed to.

“Have you written this down?” She let some of the aggravation creep into her voice.

“Aw, Biddy, c’mon!”

“I mean it, Skip. Write it down. Now.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Okay. So I wrote it down.”

“Now read it back to me.”

Another long pause. “Okay, so I didn’t write it down. Tell me again.”

Biddy drew her hand into a fist but managed not to beat the surface of her desk. “Club 401. Setup at eight,” she snapped.

She heard Skip sigh on the other end, but at least he seemed more conscious. “Okay, I did write it down that time. Honest.”

“Biddy!” her sister’s voice echoed down the hall. Biddy wondered why she hadn’t just called her on the interoffice line. She glanced down at the office phone. One line blinked.
Oh.

“Skip, I’ve got to go. Are you sure you’re set?”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll get there, Biddy. I promise.” Skip yawned again.

Biddy heard footsteps heading down the hall in her direction. Probably Araceli. “Okay, then. I’ll call you later.”

Skip’s disconnect snapped in her ear, and she tossed her cell into her purse just as the footsteps rounded the corner.

“Biddy!” Her sister’s head appeared at the top of her cubicle wall, sort of like a bad-tempered balloon. “I called you five minutes ago. Do you always take that much time to answer your phone calls?”

“Sorry, Sis.” Biddy gave her a bright smile. “I was on the other line. With a client.”

Araceli narrowed her eyes. “What client?”

Okay, tricky. Skip didn’t exactly qualify as a client. On the other hand, he counted as a commercial contact of sorts. Biddy dropped her gaze demurely. “I’d rather not say, Araceli. Mr. Ramos told me to keep his contacts confidential.”

Her sister’s carefully shaped eyebrows lowered slightly. “I’m his boss, Biddy.”

“Yes, ma’am, but I’m supposed to be working directly for him.” Biddy held her breath.

“Sometimes I think Ramos needs to be reminded who’s in charge in this office. Big Al might need a reminder himself now and then.” Araceli patted the back of her hair, frowning.

In Biddy’s opinion, Mr. Emilio hadn’t done her sister any favors with those highlights. She had a kind of platinum blond skunk thing going on.

“Oh, all right,” Araceli snapped, “keep his secrets. Such as they are.” She reached over the cubicle wall to drop a key on Biddy’s desk. “You’re doing a walk-through with him this afternoon at the Steadman carriage house. Be there at four.”

Biddy swallowed. Four. Maybe an hour for the walk-through, then back home, shower, change, eat something, and head out to Loop 1604 and Club 401, almost halfway to Boerne. And be there by eight.

“Biddy, did you hear me?” Her sister frowned again.

For a moment, Biddy almost refused to do it. Danny Ramos didn’t really need her for a walk-through, and she could use the time to get ready for tonight.

You owe her,
her conscience muttered.
You promised to give the job a real shot.
She managed not to sigh.

“Yes, ma’am.” She pushed her mouth up into an imitation smile. “I’ll be there.”

“This could be a good opportunity for you. You can watch Ramos get the place ready for sale and then deal with the buyers. You could learn a lot from this experience.”

“Absolutely.” Biddy managed a slightly brighter smile that might pass for enthusiasm in the right light.

Araceli’s frown didn’t diminish, but after a moment she shrugged, then turned and headed back toward her office. Biddy blew out a quick breath.
One down.

She pushed herself up from her chair, smoothing the wrinkles in her skirt. She could never quite figure out how her clothes got so mussed when all she did was sit at her desk. She must have some kind of toxic effect on polyester.

Danny Ramos’s door was closed, naturally. Biddy knocked, biting her lip, then opened the door when he answered. “Um . . .”

Ramos turned toward her, pulling on his suit coat. She had a sudden impression of broad shoulders, sandy hair, deep green eyes. She ignored the slight increase in her pulse rate. Time to stop panting over the boss. She was already in danger of becoming a cliché.

“Hi,” he said politely. “Problems?”

“No.” She swallowed. “Well, not exactly. It’s about this walk-through at the carriage house. I wondered if we could maybe do it tomorrow morning. I’m sort of . . . I mean my schedule’s a little . . . well, tight.” She blew out a quick breath.

Danny raised an eyebrow. “What does Araceli say?”

“Oh, I haven’t . . . that is . . . I didn’t . . . she doesn’t exactly know.” Biddy wondered briefly if she sounded this idiotic with anybody besides Danny Ramos. Probably not.

Ramos shook his head. “Sorry, Biddy. My schedule’s worse tomorrow than today. Four o’clock is just about the only time for me.”

Biddy managed to force her mouth back into a smile. “Oh, too bad. Well, maybe we’ll finish early.”

“Maybe.” Ramos shrugged, heading toward the elevators, apparently forgetting she was there.

Biddy sighed. He did that a lot.

***

After an hour and a half at Tobin Hill, Danny sent the Californians back to their hotel rooms. The deal was almost ready, everything over except the final grumbling. Danny grinned. They’d cave. They always did.

He pulled off his jacket, dropping it in the backseat, feeling absolutely right with the world. He loved the smell of old houses, the feel of the lives spent inside, of generations passing through. Finding the history behind them and then finding a way to describe it ranked as one of his favorite parts of the job. Every house could be sold to the right buyer. You found the house’s story, and then you found a buyer who could appreciate it. Maybe that was one of the reasons he’d collected more commissions than anybody else in Big Al’s stable. He loved the houses, and sometimes he felt like they loved him back.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of the Steadman house, parking on the street. A huge lot, even for this part of town, stretching across a block in one of the most valuable real estate areas in the city. Lots of live oaks and pecans in the side yard. And the house itself was . . . big. Which was about the best he could say for it at the moment.

Danny stood on the front walk, studying the building. Limestone, wide galleries on both lower and upper levels, wooden railings in need of paint soon, window framings ditto. A contrasting color would be a good idea. The white that was currently peeling off the wood made the place look dingy. He glanced around the lower gallery. Dust, dry leaves left over from last fall, a couple of advertising circulars. Araceli needed to do a little sweeping up.

A solid house. Maybe a little uninspiring, but solid nonetheless. A fairly easy sell.

He headed up the driveway, frowning again. The Steadman house was a nice package, but it was clearly Araceli’s baby and she didn’t share. He got to sell the carriage house—lucky him.

He rounded the curve and sighed.
Oh, yes, indeed. Lucky me.
Trying to move this baby would definitely be interesting.

The building had once been stuccoed to match the main house—looked like the same paint color, too. Over the years, however, the stucco had flaked off in spots, revealing several patches of dark red brick. Two large wooden doors took up over half of the lower floor, clearly the part that had once housed carriages, horsed and horseless. More immense live oaks, like the ones shading the main house, spread around the carriage house. Only here it didn’t look like shade so much as gloom.

He saw an entry door with some ornamental stonework on the lintel and a basket of bedraggled petunias at the left corner of the building.

Biddy sat next to it in a rusty metal lawn chair. Danny checked his watch. Four fifteen. Oh, well.

“Sorry I’m late. Why didn’t you go on inside?” He squinted up at the double-hung windows across the second story. The glass almost looked original, particularly when you took the cracks and holes into consideration. He’d put the construction date around the end of the nineteenth century.