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“True,” I acknowledge. “But the estate sale is set to end in an hour. We’re the only people still here and the closest you’ve come to selling any of this stuff is to Barbie over here, who just tried to cheat you.”
“What do you call what you’re doing?” she demands angrily. “What’s in that closet is worth way more than seven thousand euros.”
“Maybe, but at least I’m honest about it. It’s called making a deal versus stealing, honey. You should try it sometime.”
“Maybe I should.” She turns back to the executor with narrowed eyes. “I’ll give you five hundred euros for the Chanel pieces.”
“I’ll give you eight thousand euros for it all—as long as you don’t sell her anything.” I cross my arms over my chest and prop a hip against the table as I wait for him to decide which of us he wants to appease.
It’s obvious he wants to sell to both of us—give her the vintage Chanel and then get the money from me for the rest of it. But that’s not going to happen and, as his eyes meet mine, I make sure he knows it. Then I glance at my watch in an I’m waiting kind of way.
He gets the message.
Reaching for the money I’d dropped in front of him, he says, “Eighty-five hundred euros and it’s yours.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” I all but crow. Then I turn to the woman—excuse me, the very, very, extremely pissed-off woman—and carefully divest her of the dress before her tightly squeezed fists can cause any damage to the fragile material.
“You can’t just do that!” she screeches, and I’m not sure if she’s talking to him or to me.
Probably both of us, I decide, so I respond, “We already did. Maybe if you hadn’t tried to cheat him, you’d be walking away with this gorgeous piece of vintage couture. But I guess we’ll never know now, will we?”
“There are some lovely antique perfume bottles displayed in the master bath. Perhaps you’ll find something there that suits your needs,” the executor tells her, tongue firmly in cheek. Have I mentioned yet that I’m really starting to like this guy? He drives a decent bargain and has just enough bitchiness in him to put a person in her place.
“Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t buy from you now if you begged me to!” The woman whirls around and starts to leave, making sure to knock her purse into my side as she does.
“Madam!” The word fairly bristles with indignation as he climbs to his feet. He isn’t very tall, but the three-piece suit and barely contained outrage that he’s wearing make him look more intimidating than he is. Or at least as intimidating as he can be—think baby tiger versus house cat. “You are no longer welcome here—or at any other DuBois events.”
“Like I would ever come to one of your events again,” she says as she storms off, all sour grapes and overripe indignation.
We both watch her go. Then he turns to me and asks, “Are you all right?”
“It’ll take a
lot more than a knock-off Coach bag to hurt me,” I tell him.
He snorts. “Hideous, wasn’t it?”
“Completely.”
“But not as bad as the wannabe Manolos.”
I lift a brow. “You do know your fashion, after all.”
“I do. And there wasn’t a chance she was getting out the door with those Chanel pieces at the YSL price, but I appreciate you stepping in, anyway.”
“No, you don’t,” I answer as I study him.
He laughs. “No, I don’t. She comes to every sale and tries that shit. Normally, I have to put up with it as I’ve never been in charge of a sale before. But now that I’ve been promoted, I was really looking forward to kicking her bony ass out of here.”
“Sorry to steal your thunder.”
“No worries.” He fans the cash at me. “Honestly, your way was even better. Though you owe me fifteen hundred euros.”
“Count it,” I tell him with a grin and a little wiggle of my brows. “It’s all there.”
“I thought you put down seven thousand?”
“I offered seven thousand, but I let you drive me up to eighty-five hundred.”
