Crystal Balls (3 page)

The reality is that my homework has been done both in relation to the properties and their prospective marketing requirements and I know who and what competition I’m up against. But
someone has to win the tender and I’ve already achieved a short listing. It’s surprising that Brian Steen himself carries out the interviews – you’d think he’d have an
underdog carry out that task for him. Still, I’m delighted with the prospect of meeting him personally and nervous enough to be able to put in a personal best in terms of performance.

I am a trained actress after all!

My hair is sleek, nails are manicured and with the incentive of one-and-a-half-per-cent commission for the sale of every apartment, the stakes have never been so high. Securing
this deal has tangible benefits that include settlement of existing bank debts and, with the remaining cash, the ability to open a second office debt-free, potentially doubling my business turnover
and keeping me in the lifestyle I’ve constantly craved. The success of this contract can seriously take Harding Homes to its next level and never has there been a more crucial opportunity to
grab this with both hands and turn the dream into reality. It truly is make-or-break time and only destiny knows on which side the coin will land.

Fidgeting rather nervously, I take in the simplistic surroundings of the café bar. I have to admit that it does seem a rather strange place to do business, particularly when the other
options include my business premises, Steen’s various offices and a multitude of hotels and affluent bars eager for our trade. I find this thought a bit disconcerting as it is vital that I
understand what makes Mr Brian Steen tick. But I am confident that I will be able to figure him out. I have always considered myself a perceptive person and pride myself on my ability to tap into
people’s minds. I suppose I typify the majority of Geminis in that I can be a little spontaneous at times, particularly when I want something, and how to achieve it is irrelevant. In this
case, be it through mind-tapping, business acumen, professional flirting or razor-sharp stilettos, I care not. I intend to have him eating out of my hand at first sight.

Today’s wardrobe has been given considerable attention and I must say even I am taken aback. I haven’t looked this good in ages. There is definitely something to be said about power
dressing. Sporting my best Jaeger suit, comprising a straight skirt sitting just above the knee, coupled with a buttoned-up three-quarter-length jacket nipped in at the waist and bearing low enough
to expose a deliberate cleavage, I thank God for padded bras.
Thank you, God.
With a head-to-toe coat of natural-looking fake tan, the pale cream suit complements my just-back-from-holiday
look, and I feel feminine and sexy from the inside out. The recent addition of blonde and brown hair-tints has added warmth and colour to my complexion and, strangely, even my freckles appear more
forgiving than usual, which given how I feel towards them can only be a good thing.

My considered assessment of this place is that he has deliberately chosen a middle-of-the-road establishment. Not too flashy in order to avoid the stuffy, phoney atmosphere synonymous with those
high-class types of places, and yet not too basic, simply I imagine for reasons of common courtesy. Yes, that’s definitely it. This place is well thought out. I have to give him credit for
his analysis – perhaps I’ve been underestimating him, like I do most men.

How easy would it have been for me to be taken to JC’s, Liverpool’s most elite private members’ bar? He could have easily and deliberately chosen to remain within his own level
of comfort, not giving a damn about me. Not that I would allow myself to be distracted by wads of cash being exchanged for bottles of Bollinger and Taittinger. Of course not! The fact that
champagne happens to be my favourite drink is purely coincidental. It certainly beats tap water which was all I could afford once upon a time!

“Can I get you something to drink?”

I look up to observe a handsome young man, wearing fitted black trousers with a tight black T-shirt tucked in, accessorised with an eagle-head cowboy buckle.
Yum.
Only a guy with his firm
young torso has the ability to wear this worn, slightly faded uniform which would make anyone else appear dowdy and bland. Although the trousers do seem a bit tight though – you know, around
the . . .

“Sorry . . . did you want to order a drink?” he muses, shifting uncomfortably. Hardly surprising wearing pants at least a size too small.

Oh my God, snap out of it, Tina. Eye contact above crotch level. Quickly.

I focus my eyes on the brass-and-silver-plated buckle, pretending to have been taken by it.

“Yes, thank you.” I put on my best business voice just to show I am not a complete idiot. “I’ll have a sparkling water, please.” I clear my throat. “Nice
belt.”

He acknowledges this with a smile, somewhat amused at my lobster-coloured face and neck. I’ll bet he wears those pants deliberately. He must rake in the tips. I might just start
frequenting this place after investing in a purchase of green compact. I hear it does wonders for hiding blotches of colour and with that bulge just inches from my eye-line, where else is a girl
supposed to look?

My papers have been efficiently arranged on the plywood coffee table in front of me. Cleverly enough to allow my eyes to glance down at the material in the event of short-term memory loss, but
discreetly enough to hide confidential information which I know Brian would not like to be broadcast. Not at this stage anyway, but soon enough he’ll be expecting one of us applicants to
shout it from the rooftops. Literally. Let’s hope it’s me.

Looking around, I reassess my choice of table. Most of the seats are backless brown-leather stools which are fine for a short time, although for longer periods the soft leather
chocolate-coloured sofas look incredibly inviting. The problem with those is that you have to sit right back, languishing in their total comfort and running the risk of an element of complacency
setting in as you drift into a soporific state. Or you can attempt to stay alert by perching awkwardly on the edge as your knees shake from the exertion of supporting your weight, which you pretend
is light as a feather. What a choice!

Attempting to impress Brian Steen with intricate detail, I opt for the stools, placing them opposite each other so we can make clear eye contact, observe each other’s body language head on
and share our material intimately but professionally.

Oh God, I should have gone for the sofas! Too late now.

My heart thumps heavily and an intemperate dizziness hits me.

I watch him glide across the floor, moving with the natural grace and sophistication of an Arab sheikh, and in one seamless motion he is standing before me with his coat slung casually over his
arm. I’m almost breathless, and standing up in anticipation of my impressively firm handshake (another Tina trademark), takes all my energy
. You can do it. You can do it.

Brian launches his masculine hand in greeting and taking a solid grip of my, by comparison, feeble one, he locks his eyes with mine. The corners of his mouth flicker affably but it is his eyes
that carry the weight of his smile, authentic and sincere.

Refusing to be intimidated, I attempt to take control of our first encounter.

“Pleased to meet you,” we chorus.

Damn.

Brian laughs, letting go of my hand. “Great minds think alike, Miss Harding.” His eyes sparkle. What a beautiful colour! Neither green nor blue, but crystal clear in the centre and
whiter than white on the outside. Almost edible, if you’re into that sort of thing? Perhaps they could make sweets just like them, only tasting better of course. Aqua drops. I bet
they’d sell quite well.

“You could say idiots never differ, Brian,” I offer, already flirting outrageously. “Not that my assessment of you is that of an idiot of course,” I add quickly,
invisibly smacking my head against the nearest wall. “Although there are plenty of them around.”
What am I on?

Thankfully he appears distracted and I watch him deftly remove his suit jacket, placing it and his overcoat carefully over the stool I had positioned for him, right opposite me.
Great! Where
the hell does he think he’s going to sit now?

I watch as he grabs a spare stool from the table behind him, dragging it along the floor to our table, placing it inches away from me. His knees brush against mine as he sits heavily and a bolt
of reality hits me. It’s him. The man everyone wants to work with. The man with the Midas touch. The god of couture construction. And here is me. A failed actress trying to turn a small
business into a high-street brand and completely unqualified to do it, apart from a burning drive so powerful it draws bile to the back of my throat. I suddenly become aware of his masculinity,
observing the size of his smooth hands, broad chest and distinguished face, which until now had only been witnessed from a distance. Next to him I feel slight in frame and slightly meek, if
I’m honest.

Come on, Tina, you’re going to have to do better than this. You never get a second chance to make a first impression.

“I hope you don’t mind me sitting here, Tina?” he says plainly.

I shake my head, scared to speak for fear of another faux pas.

“I’m not a great fan of formality – reminds me of the days when I had to beg, borrow and steal from the bank manager!” He shudders and then grins. “If I can avoid
putting someone else through that intimidation then I make it my mission.”

Cocky bugger. Me? Intimidated? Erm?

I watch him watching me, observing my determined face and clearly witnessing the sharp change in my expression.

“Unless of course you’d
prefer
to be intimidated, Miss Harding?” he mocks outrageously, cocking his head to one side. He looks at me with a mischievous glint in his
eyes.

Fascinated for a moment by his ability to be so expressive, I lose myself in his gaze. How could that face intimidate anyone? Yes, he must be in his mid-forties but he really is in immaculate
condition and forty is the new thirty after all.

His tanned, smoothly shaven skin emphasises his perfect bone structure and square jaw-line. Full lips protect a set of white teeth which must have seen the benefit of cosmetic dentistry over the
years. They look too faultless to be natural. I’m speaking from personal experience, having undergone painful episodes of pulling, filing and refitting myself.

Sitting up straight, I twist around on my stool until my entire body is facing his like for like. It’s called mirroring. I learned it at drama school.

“Mr Steen, you couldn’t possibly intimidate me,” I tease back, raising my eyebrows in a gesture of humour but never losing that vital eye contact.

“Is that so, Miss Harding? In that case I’m beat!” He winks at me. “Then let’s get straight down to business.”

While I have impressed myself with my ability to appear both fierce and flirtatious, my new positioning has made it impossible for me to see my well-devised notes.
Shit.
Second dilemma of
the day. Do I revert back to my pre-rehearsed angle giving him a side profile, albeit a pretty decent one, but potentially displaying signs of retreat, or do I continue to face him head on and wing
it?

You couldn’t have worked any harder on your preparation, Tina. It’s now or never. Wing it!

Smiling confidently but quaking inside, I nod to Brian, giving permission to commence the interview, although I am tempted to return his wink to see if, like me, he finds it patronising yet
arousing at the same time. Conscious that I have tucked and untucked my hair from behind my ear twice in the last ten seconds, I place my hands on my lap, neither aggressively nor defensively. Just
in a comfortable and relaxed position, allowing my sweaty palms to feel the benefit of the air conditioning.

Brian rests his arm on the table, leaning into its low level and slouching awkwardly.

He’s trying to relax me with his body language. I’ve got you well sussed out, Mr Steen.

“Tina, your firm has been short-listed for this development,” he begins with an assertive seriousness. “Nonetheless the competition is fierce and you’re only one of the
many agents I’m considering.”

“Naturally,” I respond.

“Let’s not waste time here, Tina. What can Harding Homes provide that no-one else can in terms of marketing these properties?”

Tina off. Actress on. And action!

“Well, Brian, people buy people before they buy into anything else. Both myself and my staff understand the importance of this basic rule and as such the reputation of Harding Homes has
gone from strength to strength, simply as a result of our behaviour. An integral part of doing business is building relationships and you and I know this doesn’t happen overnight.” I
watch him nod with interest. “It takes time, you have to sow your seed, nurture it and watch it grow.”
I’m on a roll.
“My relationships with local business-owners has
gifted me a plethora of opportunity to not only promote my own practice over the years, but to ensure that these advocates can be called upon as and when the need arises.”

Brian lifts his glass, pointing towards my barely touched water and with a shaking hand I take a few ladylike sips, basking in its ability to release my tongue from the roof of my mouth and
proudly observing the lack of lipstick marks on the glass as I set it down. Every girl should invest in a Magistick.

“These contacts you’ve built, Tina, how exactly can they help you to help me?” Brian questions bluntly.

“I was just coming to that bit,” I reply, feeling much more relaxed and in control now. “Brian, common sense has it that the potential purchasers of these upmarket apartments
must be extremely high earners with possible occupations of business-owners or those working within the media or sporting industry and looking for primary or secondary accommodation here.” I
lean forward with the excitement of my new-found confidence, eager to continue. “My network of contacts includes the best casting and PR agencies in the North West.”