Free Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out by Catharine Bramkamp

how we are . ” In other words, he didn’t want to be the heavy, and I didn’t blame him.
    “Petite Marie is a friend of mine, you want someone else?”  I typed back.
    “Please,” Cassandra wheedled.  “You used t o do anything for me.  We made a great couple. For a while.”  She amended.
    “We had one night.”  He pointed out.  “We were never a couple.” 
    I sipped my coffee, my ear glued to the bathroom door.  I hooked the small grape - shaped bath rug with my toes and pulled it over to cushion my chilled feet. In my mind I visualized him rolling his eyes. So far, he was saying exactly the right things : f rom my point of view.
    My phone buzzed and I jumped : “ Tiffany Cakes is far more suitable.”  Claire texted.
    Who spends time typing out the word suitable on a text message?  I glared at my phone.
    “We could change that.” I heard Cassandra purr, all predator now.
    There was a disturbing silence. I placed my hand on the door lever, ready to interrupt and reluctantly texted with my right thumb.  Emily had stopped banging and clanging in the kitchen, where was she when I needed her?
    “All right, I’ll call.” I typed in and turned off the phone.
    “Cassandra you have to stop.  It’s not fair to you. I told you, we aren’t right for each other.  A relationship needs to be between equals .” Ben’s voice had that edge that I had heard only twice, and I was delighted to hear it aimed at someone else besides me .
    “I can be your equal,” she said quickly.
    “There is someone else, and you know it.”  His voice was stern.
    “Her?”  Cassandra said dismissively. “She’s too big.”
    “Solid.” Ben immediately corrected.  “She is everything to me, and don’t forget it.”
    I absently worried my ring as I leaned on the door making sure I caught every word.
    “ I was everything to you once.” She was plaintive now.  I had never heard a women burn throu gh so many emotions and so many extremes in such a short time and so early in the morning .  She was like an actress, playing the part of the over-worked wine maker with nowhere to turn. And she managed to pack in five variations of that role in as many minutes.
    “Cassandra.”  Ben said softly and carefully.  “You are not everything to me. You are a project to me. A good project , a good friend , but a project none - the - less. ”
    “I can hate you, I can ruin you.” She offered half - heartedly.   “I even have someone else, what do you think of that?”
    “ I think that’s great, I wish you well.”
    It was not the answer she was hunting for.
    “ Y ou have wonderful blue eyes.”
    I hea r d the chair scrape on the tile and his bare feet slap against the patio tile.
    “ I’ll drop off the numbers and some names for you to call after the party this afternoon.”
    “ This afternoon may be too late. I think I do hate you.” She decided.
    “That’s fine.  Just don’t hate Patrick Sullivan, that will hurt you far more than any amount of animosity against me . ”
    Her feet beat a sad tattoo on the hard tile floor. The patio door slam med and then the front gate .  
    “Okay, you can come out now.” Ben called.
    I pushed open the bathroom door, clutching my now cold coffee.
    “Did you know I was there the whole time?”
    He grinned, “I never miss a chance to show off.”
     
    The late afternoon sun illuminated Prophesy Estates’ faux urns and pillar crowns giving them and the milling guests an almost authentic antique patina.  I had discovered the oyster bar immediately upon arrival and was reluctant to give up my place or my friendly chat with the shucker whose family had been gathering Hog Island Oysters for three generations.  I didn’t dare ask the boy if he worked wedding showers, the Furies would counter a ct that gesture in a heart - beat , or with a succinct text. They hated every one of my suggestions . I was batting 1,000.
    Ben had hired a group of students from the local college wine