Katia's Promise (12 page)

Austin moved behind Katia and put his hand on her shoulder. He bent over and whispered in her ear. She thought she’d melt right through the floor, his touch was so gentle and affectionate. How was it possible she’d gone all these years and not thought about him? Not tried to get this feeling back? And just exactly what was this warmth and kinship she was experiencing?

With a jolt, Katia realized that long-ago love for Austin had never died. She’d just repressed it, buried it so deep it couldn’t hurt her anymore. It was killing her to be with him, trying to work with him and not blurt out what was in her heart, but she knew that would be career suicide. Jack would fire her in an instant if he ever saw the least gesture of intimacy between her and a client. She might be able to meet Austin secretly—a lunch here and there—but anything deeper would be much too dangerous.

“Sit, Katia,” he said.

“Oh, sorry.” She eased herself into the chair.

Daisy set a plate in front of each of them. “I made my cinnamon-and-clove cream sauce for the ravioli, as well,” she said. “I’ll bring over some French bread, and I have baked apples for dessert.”

Daisy placed a pitcher of water on the table and then left the room.

“You eat like this every day?” Katia asked.

“This is a special occasion. I brown bag it to the plant during the week. But Daisy likes to cook, and I have to admit my evening meals are delicious. Besides, I’m trying to soften you up,” he said, greedily shoving an entire piece of ravioli into his mouth.

Katia opened her purse and withdrew a folder that contained a copy of her proposal. “Now that I’ve seen the job site and met Hal, I want to say that I’m really impressed.”

“You’re not serious. We nearly had a disaster!”

“But you didn’t. Hal is sharp. And that keen eye of his saved you thousands of dollars. Frankly, I think I can do a bit better on my construction premium for you because of Hal.”

Putting his fork down, Austin propped his elbows on the table, folded his hands and rested his chin against them. “How much?”

“In the list of coverages I gave you, one of the first features we cover is products and completed operations. If you can keep your overall costs down—not having to tear down and reconstruct after a mistake, for example—the insurance will be cheaper, as well. On a policy that’s as comprehensive as yours, my underwriters have flexibility.”

“Flexibility, huh? That’s going to be an important factor for me, isn’t it?”

“Definitely,” she replied, daintily cutting one of her ravioli in half. “Are you planning to have a sprinkler system on all three floors? I only saw it on the first.”

“I should, right?”

“The sprinkler system will drive the fire rate down. Oh, and a high-tech security system will bring the cost of the building’s insurance down, too.”

“I was planning on a couple guys with AK-47s on night watch,” Austin joked as he speared another ravioli. “Seriously, though, I have a tech guy who’s bringing me a bid on inside and outside cameras, motion detectors and over a dozen plasma screens for the security room.”

“Can I get a copy of that contract when you sign it?”

“Sure, if it helps.”

“It does. I’ve based my figures on a noncombustible building with cement floors and cement roof. Sprinklers, fire alarms and a good security system. You’ll need worker’s comp for the staff. Liability, bodily injury and property damage. Explosion, collapse and underground coverage. Not to mention flood, earthquake, glass, system breakdown, crime coverage and even advertising liability.”

“You’ve thought of it all. Did you throw in tornado coverage?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m terrified of tornadoes. They come out of nowhere with virtually no warning, and in seconds, everything I’ve built could be destroyed.”

“Trust me, in this area I always factor in tornado coverage. Hail and lightning are in there, too,” she assured him. “Now to the cars.”

“Ah.” He sipped his water. “The cars.”

“I think I’ve changed my mind on the cars, which will save you some money. I want to change my proposal to a floater policy. This one covers the cars while on display in the museum, and when they’re transported to another facility for an event or exhibition, such as the Barrett-Jackson Auction in Scottsdale, which I know you like to do.”

Austin nodded agreeably.

“However, Austin,” she continued. “There will be no street use. No more driving the cars down Main Street on Cruise Night to show off to the tourists.”

Austin’s fork clunked as it hit his plate. “What? I love Cruise Night.”

“They’ve all seen your cars, and those that haven’t can come to the museum. Drive your Corvette with a sign advertising the museum from now on.”

He folded his arms across his chest and pouted. Katia nearly broke into laughter. He looked like he had when he was ten and didn’t get his way. Spoiled brat, she’d called him then.

“How much do I save?”

“Well, if I had my phone, which I don’t...” She playfully shoved his forearm. “I could use my calculator and tell you to the exact dollar. But roughly—thousands. Over five thousand annually.”

Austin whistled. “Okay. That’s a huge saving. No more Cruise Night. I like the idea about the Corvette. Will you drive with me and hold the sign?”

“Austin, be serious,” she said. Katia pulled out a new sheet of paper with typed columns of figures. “I’ve shown you everything I think you should consider in this package. We’ll cover the building for four million. If it escalates to more than that, we’ll make adjustments. The twenty cars at ten million. The premium for the construction is going to run to twenty thousand. We’ll start with that, and then as the building progresses, the other coverages will come into play.” She took a deep breath. “In total, my quote for your annual policy is a hundred thousand.”

Austin’s eyes didn’t move from her face. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. “I’ve done my homework, too, Katia. I checked into everything you’re saying, and I’m very impressed at your thoroughness. I was very surprised to see a two-million-dollar liability limit in your proposal. Most agents started me out at only fifty thousand. Apparently, that was their way of keeping the bid low, which is something I appreciate.”

“Do you think my bid is too high?” she asked in a straightforward tone.

“I do. I hadn’t planned on an executive umbrella, and you included it.”

“I thought you needed it. I still do. I don’t want to cut it.”

“There’s also the small matter of coverage for debris removal after property loss. I realize that can be a costly thing around here. Trees down. Flash floods. Water in the basement. I’ve been through that kind of thing before. At the same time, I’d like to see a more aggressive approach to saving me money.”

Austin scrunched his brows together so that they almost touched. Katia recognized that expression; it meant he was about to explode. She didn’t see the telltale crimson cheeks that signaled a true angry burn. Possibly, he’d learned to tame his temper. Maybe he was simply driving a hard bargain. She had to make sure she was reading him correctly.

“Austin, am I to understand that you’re peeved at me?”

“Disappointed. I expected you, of all people, to take my finances more seriously.”

“I do take them seriously,” she replied, trying not to wince at the unexpected pang of knowing she hadn’t met his expectations.

This was a business deal like any other, yet she was responding emotionally. Again. There was something truly the matter with her, she decided.

“Austin, I don’t mind going back to the computer and revamping my proposal.”

“I think that would be wise,” he said sternly.

She swallowed hard and tried to hide her discomfort. “I’ll do my best,” she said diplomatically. “If I talk to my underwriters and promise them some credits, I could get the price down to ninety-eight.”

Austin leaned back in his chair and shot her an unyielding gaze. “Ninety.”

Katia returned his steady look with one of her own. “Austin, I’m not going to cut your coverage just to save you a dime. I know what you expect—the best. That’s what I put together for you. I can go to ninety-four.”

“Make it ninety-three five and you’ve got a deal.”

Katia could cut her commission, but it would be worth it. “You’d sign the construction coverage papers today if we agreed?”

“I would.”

She extended her hand to him. “Then, shake on it. I trust you.”

* * *

A
USTIN
PEERED
AT
Katia’s hand.
Trust
. It was a very big word, and it meant the world to him. She was going to trust him. But trusting
her
had caused him nothing but heartache. This was a business deal, though. This wasn’t his life.

He didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that the museum would be a very, very good account for any agent. Since Katia had just moved her company to Indian Lake, signing him as a client wouldn’t just be a feather in her cap, but a gold one. There were all kinds of Illinois-based companies moving to Indiana for tax reasons. Austin guessed that Katia and her crew weren’t any different.

But once he’d signed on the dotted line, would she give him another thought? Was she only in Indian Lake to score him as a client, or were her intentions something deeper? If she stayed here, he didn’t know if he could trust her...not just with his business, but with his heart.

Austin clasped her hand in his with a bit more force than he’d meant to, as if by sheer strength he could root her here permanently.

“Deal,” he said. “And after the building is completed, we’ll move forward with the other contracts.”

Katia’s face illuminated with the brightest smile he’d seen yet. “Austin, thank you. I know you’ll be pleased working with our company.”

His eyes locked on hers.

“I already am.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

K
ATIA
SAT
IN
the backseat of Sarah’s flame-red Envoy. Mrs. Beabots was next to her, Timmy and Annie were buckled into the seats behind them and Beau, Sarah’s dog, rode shotgun. Katia had made the colossal mistake of telling Mrs. Beabots that she needed decorations for the office to complement the fabulous red-and-gold damask chairs she’d found. Mrs. Beabots had assumed Katia meant fall decorations, not the silk flowers and scented candles she’d wanted to pick up at Celebrations To Go.

Now that Katia had actually signed Austin’s first contract, she should have felt that she could take a deep breath, but that was not the case. Though she’d moved her own furniture into Mrs. Beabots’s house, she was still scrambling to make the office presentable. In two days, Jack’s few pieces of furniture and the computers would arrive, and she had an appointment to interview Tom’s wife for the receptionist position. The phones and internet would be installed later that afternoon.

“You’re going to love the pumpkin house,” Annie said, leaning over the back of Katia’s seat. “Theirs is the biggest ever.”

“Yeah,” Timmy said. “My dad takes our pictures on his iPhone, then he posts them on the internet. That’s so my grandma and grandpa can see us all the time. Do you do FaceTime with your kids?”

Katia laughed. “I don’t have any children,” she said.

“Oh,” Timmy said.

Katia caught Sarah’s eye in the rearview mirror.

“Miss Katia isn’t married, Timmy,” Sarah said.

He tapped Katia on the shoulder, and Katia turned to him. “If you want a husband, my dad knows some guys.”

Katia burst into laughter, as did Sarah and Mrs. Beabots.

“I’m just fine right now, Timmy,” Katia said. “I’ll let you know if it becomes a problem.”

Annie punched Timmy in the arm. “Miss Katia is a career woman, Timmy. Maybe she doesn’t want any kids. Did you ever think of that?”

Timmy slapped both hands over his face and then drew them down slowly, rolling his eyes. “That’s so stupid. She’s very pretty. Miss Katia, you like kids, don’t you?”

“I do. Very much,” Katia replied. It was a rote answer that she’d repeated dozens of times over the past few years. Yet, in a split second, Katia felt her throat close up. Her chest constricted and a deep pressure descended on her lungs.

Not again. Not here. Not now! She didn’t have a bag. She hadn’t planned to get upset, and she didn’t want to spend the afternoon talking about her private emotional issues with two well-meaning but much too insightful children.

“See?” Timmy chortled to Annie.

Sarah slowed the Envoy. They passed a clump of towering maple and oak trees, and the pumpkin farm came into sight.

“There it is!” the kids squealed in unison, practically unbuckling their seat belts before Sarah brought the SUV to a full stop.

There was a two-story “house” made of wood scaffolding, with pumpkins lining each strut, so that the walls looked as if they were made of pumpkins. Scarecrows, corn shocks, hay bales and every conceivable pumpkin and gourd were spread out across a wide, grassy expanse. There was a horse-drawn cart that took visitors through a corn maze. Buyers pulled green wooden wagons among the rows of Cinderella pumpkins, green, white and gray pumpkins, gnarled ones, tall ones, fat ones and hundred-pound ones.

“I’ll get us a wagon,” Sarah said, holding the door for Beau as he jumped down and waited patiently for Mrs. Beabots to climb out of the SUV.

The older woman straightened her tweed jacket and smoothed her black pants. Beau walked alongside Sarah and Mrs. Beabots toward the line of carts while Timmy and Annie made a mad dash for the pumpkin house.

“Miss Katia! Take a picture of me,” Timmy yelled as he ran past.

“I think Timmy has a crush on you,” Sarah said to Katia.

Katia watched the little boy dart into the orange structure. “I’m flattered. Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” Sarah replied. “Both he and Annie are fairly outgoing, but he doesn’t get personal with most people. I apologize for him if he said anything to upset you.”

Katia touched her forehead nervously. Good. She wasn’t sweating. “It’s okay.”

Sarah grabbed a wagon handle. “Which ones do you want first, Mrs. Beabots?”

“Cinderella first. Then the white ones. They’re my favorite. I have the children bring me maple leaves, then we stencil them onto the white pumpkin and cut them out. I put silver glitter on the inside and then use a long-burning votive candle. It’s really pretty.”

Katia eyed her landlady. “And I would have figured you for a traditionalist. A real jack-o’-lantern person.”

“Too boring. Though, I will do a couple for the children this year. I thought I’d have a pumpkin-carving contest. What color pumpkin would you like, Katia?” she asked.

Katia couldn’t explain it, but ever since she’d moved back to Indian Lake the simplest questions had seemed monumental. Pumpkin carving. The last time she’d carved a real pumpkin had been with Austin. Her mother had bought two pumpkins at a farm just south of Indian Lake. She and Austin had competed for her mother’s peanut-butter cookies at the time. Austin had loved those cookies. She remembered how he’d teased her, and she’d punched his arm and smeared pumpkin guts on his cheek. He hadn’t wiped them away; he’d just laughed. He’d growled at her and pretended to be a monster, but she told him she would never be afraid of him. Katia had won the contest, of course, being more artistic than he. He’d drawn a typical jack-o’-lantern, and she’d created a pumpkin diva complete with a pair of her mother’s cheap plastic earrings.

Katia supposed that in many ways, she was much like Mrs. Beabots, thinking outside the box when it came to fun. But Katia hadn’t had much “fun” for a long time. She hadn’t played with children or ridden in a car with a dog sitting shotgun, and she hadn’t visited a pumpkin patch.

This year, the only connotation she had with Halloween was that it was the day of Jack’s arrival in Indian Lake. She hadn’t thought about decorations or peanut-butter cookies or pumpkin contests.

“So what will it be?” Mrs. Beabots urged.

“Gray,” Katia answered. “And I can bring any kind of accessories I want to decorate my pumpkin?”

“Anything you want, dear,” Mrs. Beabots said, bending over and picking up a perfect gray pumpkin. “How’s this one?”

“Excellent choice.” Katia took it from her and investigated the backside. “This will do nicely.”

Sarah chose a half a dozen pumpkins of all sizes, colors and shapes, along with a dozen small gourds she would use for centerpieces up until Thanksgiving.

“Thanksgiving?” Katia nearly shrieked. She’d barely unpacked, and it already felt as if autumn was flying past.

“That reminds me,” Mrs. Beabots said. “Sarah and I have a proposition for you.”

“Actually, we need your help,” Sarah interjected.

Katia glanced from Sarah to Mrs. Beabots. Both were looking at her with a bit too much anticipation in their eyes.

“What is it?” She was nearly afraid to ask.

“We’re chairing the Christmas Candlelight Tour this year,” Sarah said. “We were hoping we could convince you to join the committee.”

Katia narrowed her eyes. “I don’t remember this event.”

“Oh, it’s only been in the past ten or twelve years,” Mrs. Beabots explained. “The money we raise is for the Heritage Foundation, to preserve the older homes and buildings around town. The first Saturday in December, we have a home tour for residents and tourists. Various committees volunteer to decorate some of Indian Lake’s loveliest houses. The florist and tree farms donate pine garlands and wreaths. Other merchants and retailers donate silk flowers, candles and other Christmas decorations. We have live carolers and musicians around town, and some of the homeowners pass out Christmas cookies or treats,” Mrs. Beabots said proudly.

“My company is very involved in the tour,” Sarah said. “It’s great advertising for us, and our designers and assistants enjoy the competition.”

“I’m curious. Why do you need me? I’m not a designer.”

Sarah stared at the ground sheepishly, and Mrs. Beabots stepped in. “We need you to talk to Austin for us.”

Katia rolled her eyes and broke into laughter. “You two are so devious. You didn’t need to bring me all the way out here to ask me this.”

Mrs. Beabots put a hand on her thin hip. “Pumpkins are required autumn decor in Indian Lake. You have to have some in your office. It’s our responsibility as your friends to guide you, dear. This is a small town, and tongues sometimes wag. You want to be accepted and to make the right impression for your business. You have to trust me on this. I was once a businesswoman myself.” She leveled her blue eyes on Katia with an unyielding gaze. “The tour is another matter altogether. Will you do it?”

Katia held back a chuckle. This tiny woman had a personality the strength of a gale-force wind. She felt as if the queen had spoken, and there would be some serious repercussions if she didn’t join the committee.

“Austin will never agree. I don’t remember Hanna opening her house to strangers, and he’s even worse about that kind of thing than she was.”

“Not anymore, he’s not,” Sarah said. “He just hosted that presentation for his museum. For the first time in his life, Austin is about people. Even if he doesn’t know it.”

Katia was thoughtful for a moment. “There’s a lot of truth in that, Sarah.”

Mrs. Beabots laid her hand on Katia’s forearm. “He’ll listen to you. The Heritage Foundation is vital to our community. It makes us unique. Of all the people in town, Austin is probably the most concerned about preserving the past. Especially his own family’s past. We thought that if you went with us, we could persuade him. What do you say?”

“Please, Katia?” Sarah said. “The McCreary mansion is the most elegant home in town, and until Austin’s presentation a few weeks ago, hardly any of us had ever been inside. Even Maddie, who takes him cupcakes every Friday, had only been in the kitchen or just inside the front door. And Austin was her first investor! We’re not saying it’s going to be easy. Other than putting a wreath on the front door every year, Austin hasn’t decorated since his mother died. But I think we’ll raise more money than ever if we can get him to show the house.”

Katia had never looked into two more beseeching faces than her friends’ at this moment. She knew this kind of charity played right to Austin’s interests. He adored old homes, old cars and the history of it all.

Katia remembered how his mother used to decorate the house for the holidays. It had been nothing short of magnificent. Hanna used to hire extra people to hang ornaments and garlands, arrange flowers and string lights through the shrubs outside. Hanna had made Christmas seem magical, even for the maid’s daughter.

“I’ll do it. But I’m only asking Austin once. If he turns us down, then I’m done. That’s it.” She paused. “It really was beautiful back when Hanna was alive.”

Sarah’s face lit up. “Thank you! I think this can work.”

“So do I,” Mrs. Beabots agreed. “Now let’s get some suitable pumpkins for your office, dear.”

Katia pretended to be interested in the pumpkin selection, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just been railroaded by the best saleswomen she’d ever met.