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“That’s her!” Landry announces.
“Oh, wow,” Clarissa breathes.
“She does love to make an entrance,” I observe.
Sunny is beside herself with delight as soon as she sees Landry. She tugs and pokes her all over, spinning her around in the sunlight to get a good look at her, finally pronouncing her marvelous and exquisite several times. She clucks over the bruises but doesn’t say anything. Landry just grins and takes the whole thing with a great deal of grace.
“Are those her bags?” Sunny inquires pointedly. “Is that it? Is that all?”
“This is what they gave me,” I shrug as I deposit the bag on the terrazzo walkway.
“Well I suppose we get can whatever else we need,” Sunny sniffs. “Besides, you look just like my size in 1957! Or ’58! You are going to love my gowns!”
Clarissa and Landry exchange a look of delight.
“All right! See you soon!” Sunny announces, as though she is done with us.
She tugs on Landry’s elbow and guides her toward the front door. Clarissa barely has time to hug her sister goodbye before Sunny sweeps her off into the cottage and out of sight like a fairy godmother.
Once she is gone, Clarissa seems confused but not concerned.
“Is that it? Just like that?”
“Did you expect it to be any other way?” I ask, shrugging. “Sunny just is what she is.”
“But she didn’t even approve the listing sheet,” Clarissa pouted. “I worked hard on that.”
“She already approved it,” I smile. “I showed it to her right after you finished it. She says you’re a genius.”
“Well, I guess that’s it, then,” she says, mostly to herself.
I smile, watching her piece it all together. “Yeah, you don’t have to do everything, you know,” I remark. “I can help. You can let me.”
Narrowing her eyes, she just stares at me from outside the passenger door for a few moments until a smile breaks across her face. And finally she shrugs and opens the door.
“All right then, let’s go see Cyrus.”
“Cyrus?” I ask as I return to the driver’s seat and depress the start button.
“Yes,” she nods. “We have to go get our client back.”
We make it back to Chicago in record time and Clarissa does a little bit more work on her iPad before we arrive at the offices of Cyrus Finnigan. The receptionist is clearly startled to see us, but Clarissa charms her way into an immediate meeting.
Cyrus is exactly the sort of fellow that you would expect: red-faced, with a ziggurat of ginger hair over each ear. Though he is old—possibly really old—his neck is as thick as a tractor ti
re. He wears suspenders.
Clarissa strides right up to him with her hand extended, the wide legs of her trousers brushing together. She is confident and assertive, and when Cyrus shoots me a glance to find out if I am her driver, her secretary, or what, I just shrug. This is her show.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he grumbles uncertainly as he shakes her hand.
“We heard you have been talking with Greg, Cyrus,” she scolds him gently. “I’m here to show you why that’s mistake. Mind if I use the desk?”
Cyrus shrugs helplessly as Clarissa begins her presentation. By the end of fifteen minutes, she has him eating out of her palm. After twenty minutes, he has signed a contract with us that explicitly states he won’t be doing business with Greg, or anybody else for that matter.
She really is excellent at this. I wonder if Lou fully appreciates her.
Chapter 14
