122 Rules (17 page)

At some point, Bobby switched from talking about the house to boasting about the town and surrounding landscape. “You won’t find a better place for things to do. Hiking, exploring, ATVs. And the nightlife. Why, there’s so much to do, I’m not sure where to start.”

Sam couldn’t take any more blather, so he interrupted the smarmy little man. “I’ll take it.”

“I—What? Huh? Come again?”

“Here’s what I want you to do. Give me a copy of the lease. I’ll read it over and bring it back to you later in the day. After I move in, I’ll think over purchasing the place and let you know.”

The little man shook his head. “Well, just so you know, I have a couple from Florida coming to look at it this afternoon. They’re pretty serious about buying.”

Sam stared at him until Bobby started to squirm, caught in the obvious lie.

“Want me to drive you, or are you gonna follow me?” Bobby asked.

“I’ll follow you.”

* * *

They drove the five minutes to Bobby’s ramshackle un-air-conditioned office. A lazy ceiling fan, its blades black with dust, stirred the stale air. A half hour later, Sam had the thick stack of documents that, once signed, would make him the proud tenant of a run-down, two-bedroom “bungalow.” Bobby reiterated that he could not hold the place and that Sam shouldn’t risk not signing right then and there.

Right.
Besides, Sam had really only met with the man because he needed the documents. He didn’t care two bits about the house.

Sam despised the smarmy real estate agent, and he disliked the town. The citizens had a defeated, slump-shouldered air about them. They had simply given up and accepted the inevitable slide of their dilapidated city into oblivion. The place had no money and no relevant source of income. If not already broke, it would be soon, new pipeline or no new pipeline. In a few years, it would be deserted—just another abandoned ghost town in the middle of the desert.

He asked himself again: why would a smart girl like Monica move to a hellhole like this?

20

Relief from the oppressive heat washed over Sam as he entered the air-conditioned law office of Bunder and Associates. Simple, old-fashioned filing cabinets lined one of the dark, paneled walls of the small and efficient space. Other than a modest waiting area, half a dozen second-hand desks, which might have been new in 1955, took up the bulk of the floor. Not big-city prestigious but clean and well organized, the place seemed distinguished for the little town of Walberg.

Only two people occupied the office—both women. One sat behind a desk at the back of the room, sorting through files from a pile of boxes. The haphazard mountain of paperwork stacked around her looked on the verge of collapse. At any minute, the whole precarious slew appeared as though it would crush her in an avalanche of legal briefs, affidavits, and resolutions. Distinct, white chords dangled from her ears, sending tinny music drifting through the cool air.

The other woman sat behind the desk closest to the entrance and read something with such affixed attention, Sam could only surmise the document she held must be a vital and pressing piece of town legislature. He couldn’t see her face, and no nameplate adorned her desk, not that there would have been room for one among the random assemblages of papers.

Neither of them glanced his direction when he came in, but the one with the headset waved and told him to have a seat.

After several minutes, the woman at the first desk set the document aside and looked up. “How can I help you?”

Sam studied her face as he approached. Hazel eyes, freckles, dark complexion, Marilyn Monroe mole. Nailed it.

She gave him a once-over as he approached, her eyes stopping on his smile, and she reflected the one he beamed at her. She leaned over her desk as he took the opposite seat.

“I’m thinking about signing a lease on a piece of property, and I wanted someone to review the paperwork for me before I do. The real estate agent seemed a little...” Sam pursed his lips.

“Trustworthy and on the up and up?” the woman offered.

“Ummm, not
exactly
what I was thinking.”

“Smarmy?”

He grinned and pointed at her. “Exactly.”

She held his gaze. Her pupils had grown since the beginning of their conversation, blotting out a good portion of the hazel irises surrounding them. “Yes, well we only have one real estate agent in town, and as hard as it is to believe, Mr. Cooper has been known to try and take advantage from time to time. Let me see what you’ve got.”

Sam handed her the paperwork Bobby had given him that afternoon. “I’m Peter Morrell.” He extended his hand.

She stood, smoothing out her skirt as she did so. “Susan Rosenberg. Nice to meet you.”

Give her a little start, then reel her in,
Chet said.

I know what I’m doing,
Sam bit back.
This isn’t my first rodeo.

I’m just making sure you know not to blow it. The first meeting is the most crucial, and you’re not exactly Casanova.

Would you like to take over?

If only I could. Look, just pay attention and don’t eff up, and it should be a cakewalk.

“Oh, Susan! You’re the other newbie in town.”

She went rigid. She stared at him with suspicion, her mouth tightening to a slit while her eyes narrowed. Her entire body tensed as if preparing to run.

Bambi smells fire,
Chet said.

“And how exactly do you know this?” she asked. She seemed to be going for an air of nonchalance, but the rigidity of her body told a different story.

Sam pretended he hadn’t noticed the changes in her demeanor. Laughing, he said, “The first place I went to when I got to town was the coffee shop, where I met the proprietor’s fiancée, Mary Beth. It took Cupid all of about five minutes before she was trying to pair us up. I probably have far more insight about your coffee habits, marital and dating status”—he ticked off the points on his fingers—“your new house, your job, basically your entire life.” He coughed gently into his hand and feigned embarrassment. “It’s far more than I have any right to know.”

Susan visibly relaxed. Her shoulders returned to their office-bound slump, and she laughed too.

Rule # 15:

The quickest way to bond with someone is through a common enemy.

“Nothing will give two individuals or groups of people something in common as swiftly as a shared foe. This creates a rich ground in which to plant the seeds of bonds and alliance. It forms a bridge and assists those from differing ilks and backgrounds to almost immediately coalesce into a single, unified team. This adversary can either be real or perceived, their threat great or small. No actual qualities or facts matter, only that both parties believe they may have or could potentially be wronged or manipulated by said enemy.”

—
122 Rules of Psychology

“My god, that woman is presumptuous, isn’t she?” Susan said, shaking her head. “Guess I’m not really surprised. She has been trying to match me with just about every eligible bachelor in town. Now that we have about tapped that pool, she’s been hitting up random strangers.”

“She is a fountain of information. Though, if my good friend Mr. Cooper is an example of the
eligible
bachelors, it’s no wonder you’re still single.”

“Oh, I know, right?”

“They all that bad?”

“You have no idea. So nasty.”

“On behalf of my gender, I apologize.”

Though Sam never let his eyes drift from the lady sitting across from him, he saw in his periphery that their conversation had caught the attention of the woman sorting through the files. She had popped out the ear buds and now pretended to not listen as she worked.

Susan snickered. “Well, thank you.” She turned back to the business at hand. “Let me review the documents, but you should be just fine. Bobby simply isn’t creative enough to do anything funky to the fine print of his contracts.”

“That’s a relief. When can I come back for them?”

For the first time, she glanced at the papers he’d handed her. She flipped through the first few pages, then her eyes drifted back to his. “I should be able to get to this by late afternoon. Why don’t you stop by around five? I’ll have an answer for you then.”

Sam needed to be in control of both her and the situation. Letting her dictate the time would take away some of his power. So he made a joke about people from Florida coming to want to snatch up the property, mimicking the smarmy sale man’s voice. If he could distract her, even make her laugh, she wouldn’t see the manipulation tactic. She agreed to have the papers done by three.

Sam flashed his most winning smile and left.

21

Sam pushed through the glass door of the law office of Bunder and Associates at half past four. As he entered, Susan looked up from the stack of documents, and her expression changed from one of mild curiosity to one of disapproval. The other woman from the office no longer lurked behind the wall of papers. Three’s a crowd?

She looked at her watch. “I thought we agreed on three?”

He had gone back to his hotel and showered, then sat around waiting for time to pass. He needed her to anticipate his arrival. The longer she did, and the more she wanted him to return, the more in control he would be of their conversation and, if one came about, their evening. “Sorry, traffic was a bitch.”

She stared at him for a heartbeat then grinned. As he approached her desk, he saw she had applied a little makeup. He couldn’t stand it when women wore heavy dollops of garish eye shadow and trowels of pink lipstick. But she looked refreshed and, along with her change of clothes, had a put-together appeal. And could that be? Yep, a bit of perfume too.

Lonely girl meets the new boy in town.

“Yeah, well it
is
rush hour, so next time you have an important meeting scheduled, please plan extra travel time.”

“Noted. So, I guess I missed my time slot. Can you look at your calendar and see when the next available appointment is?”

“Hmmm. Wow, I’m just not seeing anything. How about next March? Yeah, no, sorry, nothing sooner. Can I put you down for, say, three? Oh, wait. It’s you. Best make it four-thirty.”

As they continued their banter, Susan not only grinned, but a twinkle also sparked in her hazel eyes. Of all the pictures he’d seen, her high school portrait had been the only one in which she’d smiled. But in that lone photograph, the expression looked forced and placating; here, it seemed both genuine and happy.

She’s having fun, maybe for the first time in a very long time,
Chet observed.

Being on the run does tend to suck out the joy out of your life.

So does being chased by people who want to kill you.

Well,
Sam replied,
perhaps she shouldn’t be doing things that make it necessary for her to be removed from society. Then she wouldn’t have to live that way.

Sam leaned in. “Tell you what, how about I make you dinner? I couldn’t stand the thought of eating whatever roadkill the diner has on its menu. I picked up some supplies, and there’s more than enough for two.”

“So, there are some problems with that. The first is that I don’t even know you. You could be a lunatic.” She tipped her head. “A girl needs to be cautious.”

Score one for the legal chick,
Chet said.
She says she doesn’t know you, but clearly she does.

Sam chuckled. “Well, I suppose I could be a lunatic. What does your intuition tell you?”

She studied him, and the skepticism in her eyes resolved itself. Finally Susan said, “That you probably
are
crazy...but not dangerous.”

Chet sighed
. I take back the point and fine her two more for blatant stupidity and hormonal desperation. Maybe she’s not as smart as everyone says?

“What’s the other problem?” Sam asked.

“You’re looking for a place to live and thus are probably staying in a hotel. The out-of-towner accommodations in this shitty little burg leave something to be desired. And though I haven’t personally stayed at any, I’m pretty certain that none of them have kitchens. I feel quite sure that you have missed out on the rental, so no luck there. And even if you
did
have the new place, did you also pick up pots, pans, plates, and so on? You look like a smart man, so tell me, where exactly were you planning to cook? Really, Mr., ummm, what was your name again?—Morrell—what is your agenda?”

She’s on to you,
Chet informed him.

I’ve got this.

Do you? Oh, I can’t wait.

“Very well reasoned, counselor. You’ve got me. I don’t have an agenda, per se. I was just hoping that someone might let me use their kitchen. I really am a good cook, and I clean up after myself. You won’t even know I was there.”