Jill had heard the real-estate pitch so many times she could recite it herself.
The house she and Marc shared was called a showcase home, meant to demonstrate the level of quality that buyers could expect in one of Marc’s custom builds, and it was impressive. But what agents didn’t mention during showings was almost as important. That the appliances in the kitchen were bought on close-out, dented in the back, and their warranty was nearing the end. That the dramatic curved staircase wasn’t genuine mahogany, just stained to give that impression, and the wool runner on the stairs was actually a poly-blend bought from a liquidation sale.
Agents’ exaggerations made her so uncomfortable that she’d questioned Marc about it, shortly after they’d married. Marc’s reaction had been harsh and unexpected. He had said she couldn’t possibly understand, given her background, and that she should leave the real world to him. He’d had a point, so Jill had never brought it up again.
She slowed the car as she approached the driveway. She’d planned a simple but elegant party for her husband’s fifty-first birthday, and she found herself looking forward to it. Because she wanted to get to know Marc’s friends better, she’d kept the guest list small and the setting casual. An outdoor party near the pool house, cold beer and wine on ice, and burgers on a charcoal grill might be just the icebreaker they needed to become friends. When the sun set, she’d light the tiki torches and the floating candles, and they’d all retreat to the pool house to chat.
So when she pulled into the driveway, she was a little surprised at the commotion that greeted her. A maze of box trucks and catering vans lined the driveway, though she hadn’t expected anything delivered today.
She slipped into a spot behind a truck and got out of her car.
Someone came to carry in her packages and Jill gave instructions to hang the clothes up to prevent wrinkles.
“Mrs. Goodman?” A young man jogged toward her dressed in khakis, Top-Siders, and a white polo embroidered with Marc’s company logo. “Mr. Goodman told me to keep an eye out for you. Says he wants to see you.”
“Okay. Who are you?”
“I’m Kyle. New intern,” he said as he thrust his hand forward for her to shake. “Mr. Goodman hired me to assist with the presentation tonight.” His smile revealed a neat row of perfect teeth. “One good sale and I’ll have earned next year’s tuition.”
Jill frowned in confusion. “I think you might have your dates mixed up. Mr. Goodman’s birthday party is tonight. I arranged it myself and it doesn’t include sales presentations.”
“Um… I got the call from Mr. Goodman himself, this morning. We all did,” Kyle said as he pointed to a battered white van near the garage, back doors open. “Support staff got called in too. Even Mr. Garcia.”
Standing behind the van was an older man whom Jill recognized as Manny Garcia, the best electrician in the company. Manny scowled at an assortment of tangled wire and circuits. At his feet was a bucket filled with hardware.
“He doesn’t look happy about it,” Jill remarked.
“He’s not,” Kyle agreed.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Kyle,” Jill said smoothly. “Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Goodman? I think we can straighten this out.”
Kyle gestured to the backyard. “He said to meet him out back. I think he’s supervising the tent.”
“The what?” Jill turned back to Kyle but was interrupted by Marc, striding toward them.
At fifty-one years old, Marc still had the power to make her heart flutter. Tall and lean, he was desperately handsome, and he knew it, which was part of his charm. Jill watched him approach, moving with a powerful confidence that she found intoxicating. Years of consultations with personal shoppers had taught him the type of clothing he looked best in and he rarely wavered from that formula: a neatly tailored dress shirt with the cuffs folded back exactly three inches along the forearm, dark silk trousers, and handmade leather loafers, worn without socks.
“Hello, Jilly.” He leaned in for a quick kiss. Jill noticed the ends of his hair were damp and his skin was smooth, as if he’d recently shaved. Both seemed unusual for this time of day because Marc was a creature of habit. His days started early and followed an unwavering routine: showering, shaving, and dressing the moment he got out of bed. But maybe he was excited for the party and had wanted a fresh change of clothes.
“Kyle, can you make sure Garcia has what he needs for the screens?” As Marc gestured toward the van, Jill detected a hint of Marc’s spicy cologne, also odd. The scent had usually faded by now.
“Sure, Mr. Goodman.” Kyle nodded and jogged across the driveway to the electrician.
“What’s this about a presentation?” Jill asked as she fell into step next to Marc, moving toward the backyard.
“You’ll see.”
“Marc…” Jill came to a full stop at the edge of the yard, struck by the transformation. An oversized party tent had been erected near the rose garden. Someone had rigged a DJ station on the patio of the pool house. And on the lawn near the pool, carpenters pounded together parquet sections that looked suspiciously like a
