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Fucking hell!“How long?”
“All together?” Visibly irritated by my interjection, she flashes me a glare. “Around two months.”
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fucking hell!” My hand, clutched into a fist vibrates the handrail of the railing.
Celine looks at me with wide eyes. “Then you thought it would be faster? How fast?”
“Immediately would be impossible?” I guess and suppress a sigh. “As soon as possible, then. Dayany needs the money to go underground.”
“Dayany is…” Celine performs a circle with her outstretched finger. “…the…?”
“She would have been the bordello queen,” I complete her sentence. “But her permanent fiancé got involved with—”
“I don’t even want to know all this in detail,” Celine interrupts me with a sharp tone. “I guarantee it involves some sketchy wheelings and dealings.” Her chest lifts and lowers. “The less I hear about it, the better!”
A strange feeling stirs inside me.Am I… feeling sympathetic toward her?Leaning on the railing, I stare down at the first floor. In my imagination, I could already see waiting customers sprawling on comfortable lounge sofas there. “You don’t have to,” I console her, even though my dream is about to vanish into thin air along with the imaginary figures. “The plan died.”
“…it died? Why did it?” With brisk steps, Celine hurries for the stairs.
Confused, I rush after her. “Well, dead? Not feasible? You just explained it to me!”
“I…” At the foot of the stairs, she stops so suddenly and unexpectedly that I collide with her once again. “…didn’t explain it at all.”
She didn’t?“And what about the time it takes for a loan to be approved?”
“A bank loan,” she says, looking at me as if the second word changes the term’s meaning completely.
“Are there others?” Asking, I don’t feel particularly intelligent.
She lowers her head slightly, looking at me from below. “I’m not going to assume you want me to list all the types of loans right now. Right?”
With difficulty, I suppress a growl. “No.”The one she alludes to is completely enough.
“A personal loan could be the way out for you and meet the lack of time of…”
“Dayany?” I prompt her.
“…and meet Dayany’s lack of time,” Celine finishes and starts picking up the dropped documents.
Okay. Maybe so.“But who would give me a loan of that amount?”
“Me?” Pushing up the stack of papers on the floor, she looks up at me from below.
“You?”Okay. Both in tone and the number of question marks resonating, I clearly say something wrong.
“Yes, me,” she replies coolly. “This investment…” She lets her baby blue eyes roam the interior. “…certainly piques my interest. As I explained to you earlier, given the market value of the property, you’re not taking any risk with that purchase price.”
Yes, the purchase price. Did she get it wrong again?“320,000,” I inform her. “You have that much?”
“It’s around 326,000 including the incidental costs for notary and land registration,” she corrects me. “And, no. I don’t have quite that much. But together with your 65,000 euros of equity according to the business plan we worked out, it’s more than enough.”
In my head, I write numbers on top of each other, subtracting them from each other as I learned in school. “You have 271,000 euros in the bank?”
She has pulled out her cell phone, is typing on the display, and walks over to the window front, likely in search of better network reception. “To be exact, it’s currently 318,485 euros.”
“And a winter coat for 160 euros is too expensive for you?” Anxious as I am, I voice my train of thought to her.
Visibly perplexed, she looks down at herself. “You remember the reduced purchase price of my coat?”
