Selling Sandcastle
Autor:in
Nancy Robards Thompson
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Kapitel
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Chapter One
Cassie Houston turned around in a circle and surveyed the skyline of moving boxes covering the walls of her brand-new living room.
“Where could that dress be?” she said. “You were supposed to help me stay organized, Luna.”
The corgi tilted her head to the side as if trying her best to understand the question.
Cassie wasn’t blaming the little dog, of course. Having conversations with her pup had become as natural as talking to herself. Over the years, the animal had proved to be a better listener than her ex-husband and was certainly more empathetic, which was part of the reason why he was her ex-husband.
Luna crouched with her front paws on the ground and her cute little behind up in the air. Her nub of a tail wagged as she let out a sound that registered somewhere between a yowl and a yodel.
The reaction always made Cassie smile. She bent down and scratched the sweet red sable dog behind her velvety ears.
“I know it’s not your fault, lovie, but I need to find that bag fast or I’ll be late for my first day. They’ll fire me before I even start.”
In a whirlwind of change, Cassie had moved from central Florida to the small beach town of Tinsley Cove, North Carolina, to join the cast of a scripted reality show.
On a whim, she and her sister, Gabriella, had attended an open audition for an amateur cooking competition show at Universal Studios in Orlando. It wasn’t really Cassie’s idea of a fun way to kill a Saturday, but since her divorce more than a year and a half ago, she’d been trying to keep an open mind about new experiences. Plus, Gabby, who was always up for anything, had promised to pay for lunch if Cassie would go with her. So, the two of them ventured to the theme park to try out.
Cassie had no illusions. What were the chances of a twenty-seven-year-old amateur being plucked from obscurity to be a contestant on a competition for home cooks? Especially when the line for the audition nearly stretched around the park and the best thing she’d ever made for dinner was reservations.
Even so, she was spending time with her sister. That still felt like a luxury. Cassie’s ex, Troy, had been selectively possessive, meaning that anytime she wanted to spend time with her sister, he balked. He was convinced Gabby didn’t like him. In hindsight, it was true. Troy had never been particularly cordial to Gabby, and in the last year of their marriage, he’d been downright callous. Could you blame her?
The audition line had moved surprisingly fast. When it was her turn, all she’d had to do was fill out an application, allow them to take a photograph of her and introduce herself to the camera, stating her name, her hometown and one unique fact about herself.
The unique fact had caught her by surprise. All she could think to say was that she was a shopaholic, but at the last minute she’d tossed in, “I guess you could say I’m a princess. I used to be married to the son of the Central Florida Furniture King, which makes him the Central Florida Furniture Prince?”
It had slipped out.
The minute the words had leaped from her mouth, she’d cringed, but the casting team had laughed. Dalton Hart, the honcho of Top Drawer Productions, said, “Your royal highness, it’s a pleasure to meet you. You’re a breath of fresh air.”
He was slick and self-assured in the way most Hollywood producers were—though, full disclosure, she’d never met an actual producer...from Hollywood or otherwise. In fact, she didn’t even know if Dalton and company were from Hollywood. Though his golden-streaked hair and Tom Cruise smile made him look as if he’d fallen right from the city of angels.
When he’d handed her his business card, she’d gotten her hopes up for about three seconds, but when she’d walked out of the audition, past the long line of people who were still waiting, the balloon popped and she’d landed in reality with a solid thud.
While she was trying to stay open to new adventures such as going to the open casting, her divorce had taught her to stay firmly grounded . Denying the truth when it was in front of her face didn’t change the facts.
But, hey, even if the audition ended up being a bust, it was totally worth it. She’d enjoyed a fun day with her sister. She’d spent time with someone who loved her, someone who wanted to be with her, and that was more than enough.
Imagine her surprise when, three weeks later, she got a call from a California area code. Of course, she let it sail over to voice mail. She didn’t know anyone from the West Coast, but after the caller left a message, she listened to it.
“Hi, I’m calling for Cassie Houston. This is Dalton Hart from Top Drawer Productions. We met when you auditioned for Cooking from the Hart, one of the competition shows my company produces. Unfortunately, you weren’t selected as a contestant for Cooking, but I may have another opportunity for you. Would you please give me a call as soon as possible?”
At first, she thought Gabby was playing some kind of elaborate prank on her, but then she dug out Dalton Hart’s business card...and the number matched.
He told her he was producing another reality show—not a competition, but more of a lightly scripted show centered around North Carolina luxury real estate, and he thought she would be a perfect fit.
“This is unexpected,” she’d said. “The only problem is I’ve never sold real estate in North Carolina—or anywhere else, for that matter.”
“That is not a problem. I have a note here on your Cooking audition form that says you worked in furniture. Is that right?”
Sort of...
“My ex-husband’s family owns a furniture store. I did...um...interior decorating for them.”
The Central Florida Furniture King was regionally famous for its scratch-and-dent furnishings. Cassie had staged various pieces into makeshift rooms so the customers could see that even though the goods were lightly damaged, they could still work. When strategically placed, you’d never know the sofa had a big gash where a careless warehouse worker had slashed it with a box cutter or a nasty stain of unknown origin.
“Fantastic,” Dalton said. “That’s exactly what we’re looking for—someone with an eye for style who can stage a room.”
He was a bit cryptic about the details, other than he and his production team would record the pilot very soon, and it would air on primetime TV. Once they had solidified the cast and nailed down the details, the PR team would make announcements.
Over the course of a few more phone calls and one signed nondisclosure agreement, she learned accepting the offer would involve a move to Tinsley Cove, North Carolina. She’d never heard of the place, but okay...that’s what the internet was for.
It also meant she’d have to quit her job.
After she and Troy had broken up, she’d given up her position at the family’s furniture store. They didn’t exactly fire her, but it was abundantly clear that it would’ve been awkward if she’d stayed out of principle. Cassie had tried to find the silver lining. Furniture had never really been her calling. This was a chance to branch out and do something fun for a change...like work in fashion, or even sell real estate.
It was ironic when the only job she could find was in the furniture department at a department store in the mall. It paid the bills, and she promised herself she’d keep looking for something else, but funny how it felt like she’d blinked and almost two years had gone by.
This was a sign from the universe that it was time to move on...even if she would still be working with furniture.
Dalton had underscored that, until further notice, the location was top secret. He all but threatened an evil curse on her life if she blabbed and word got out.
“Yes, the nondisclosure I signed made that perfectly clear,” she’d said.
“That’s the kind of humor I’m looking for,” he’d said. “I’m counting on you to bring that kind of sassy drama. Can you do it, Cassie?”
“Of course, Dalton.”
While Cassie had never thought of herself as a drama queen, drama certainly had defined her life for the past several years.
She hadn’t gone into that with Dalton. Not even after he said, “When you introduced yourself as a princess because you’d been married to the Furniture King—” She hadn’t corrected him – Troy’s father was the king. Her ex was the crown prince-even though it was tempting to dish about the Furniture King’s outrageous television commercials, which starred her ex-husband. Troy had prided himself on being the face of his father’s company and ate it up when someone recognized him out in the wild. As if he were Brad Pitt and not a buffoon who wore a plastic crown, red onesie and a matching fake fur-trimmed velvet cape while he hopped from one piece of furniture to another and shouted, “If you don’t buy from the Central Florida Furniture King, you must be the village idiot.”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, that was the man she had promised to love until death tore the marriage asunder. Or, in their case, until she’d discovered he was a lying, cheating scumbag.
“After you made us laugh, I couldn’t forget you,” Dalton had continued. “The whole team felt the same way. You were like a breath of fresh air, but with a definite oh, no, she didn’t just say that kind of vibe. And that’s the feel we want you to bring to the Tinsley Cove show. Just be yourself, Cassie. Can you do that? Huh? Huh?”
Despite the ugly voice that screamed being yourself wasn’t good enough for Troy or his family, she heard herself squeaking, “Being myself is what I do best.”
She had to be herself. That was all she had left.
After their final conversation, everything had happened so fast. She’d only had a week to pack and move, because they needed her in Tinsley Cove ASAP.
The salary seemed generous enough, and it even included housing for three months. Filming would take about ten weeks, and then they wanted her to stick close during the postproduction process, until they were sure they had all the footage they needed. After Cassie gave a verbal confirmation that she was onboard, Dalton’s assistant had emailed her a contract, which she’d returned the next day.
She was allowed to tell her sister the premise of the show: it followed a family-owned real estate agency that sold luxury beachfront properties in North Carolina.
But she and Gabby had to keep everything on the down low until the official announcement went out to the media.
Finally, today was the day that she would get the rest of the scoop.
Her stomach fluttered as the reality that she was going to be on TV—on national television—set in.
She would meet the family today at the first official production meeting. In the meantime, she was not to tell anyone in Tinsley Cove why she was here—not the guy at the gas station where she’d filled up her car. Not the nice server she’d met at the restaurant where she’d grabbed a quick dinner last night. Not even Sophie, the property manager who had given her the keys to the tiny bungalow she’d be living in for the next three months.
All this hush-hush, top secret vaguery would end soon.
Now, if she could only find her missing dress and not have a panic attack in the process.
Even though she had plenty of other clothes to choose from, wearing that particular floral-print Alice + Olivia today felt important.
New dress plus new job...on national television... Her heart hammered.
Stop freaking yourself out!
She cleared her throat and said out loud, “New dress plus new job equals new start.”
It had to be around here somewhere. She’d put it in a black garment bag, which was supposed to have been packed in her car.
Now, the car was empty, and the bag was nowhere to be found. The only thing that made sense was that maybe Gabby, who had graciously helped her pack, had misunderstood and had mistakenly packed it in one of the many wardrobe boxes along with the rest of her clothes.
But which one?
She tapped her chin with her finger as she turned in a circle, trying to decide where to look next. There were a lot of wardrobe boxes. A lot. Clothes were her weakness. She wasn’t embarrassed to admit it. People had worse vices, she reasoned as she pulled the packing tape off one of the boxes the movers had deposited in the living room.
Maybe bringing every piece of clothing she owned had been excessive? True, Dalton had said this was not a big-budget operation. There was no money for wardrobe and makeup, but what would Dalton do if she asked him if she could trade the housing cost for a wardrobe allowance, hair stylist and makeup artist?
She knew what he’d do—he’d laugh and tell her to channel that spirit into the show.
She sat down on the couch with a hard thud. What if the show edited her to look like a diva? Shows did that sometimes. Spirit was one thing, but diva-ness was completely not what she was about.
Oh, God. Is it too late to back out?
Cassie shook the thought away as she lifted the box’s flap and peered inside. There was no sign of the black garment bag. Only a selection of winter wear—coats, suits and dresses, none of which would be appropriate for this humid June morning. Of course, she’d hardly worn any of them in Florida, but each piece was so beautiful she hadn’t been able to resist adding them to her collection. There was always the chance that she’d travel somewhere cold.
Okay, so that was a stretch, but a girl could dream. She brushed the soft sleeve of a cashmere sweater across her cheek and heard her sister, Gabby, rubbing in the fact that Cassie should’ve had her own savings account. That she should’ve put away the money rather than squandering it on clothes. If she had, she might have a down payment for a house.
Cassie had countered that those weren’t the things a woman thinks about when she’s young and in love. It would be like betting against the marriage. But how was Gabby to know that since she’d never been married?
Cassie sighed and swiped her hand across her damp forehead. It was so warm in the house. The cashmeres made her feel like she was about to suffocate. Letting the box lid fall closed, she got up to check the thermostat again.
The missing-dress crisis wasn’t the only thing making her sweat. The temperature in the house had climbed to seventy-nine. It was two degrees warmer since she’d gotten out of the shower this morning. Now, her pink terry bathrobe was only trapping the heat. She moved the robe’s fluffy lapels back and forth trying to cool herself off, but it only moved warm air.
She thought about calling Sophie and reminding her to send someone over to have a look at the HVAC unit. Last night, while she was showing Cassie around, her landlord had mentioned that the air seemed a little stagnant. She’d promised to have someone look at it. Cassie had to trust that Sophie would follow through.
In the meantime, Cassie untied her robe and let it fall to the floor, leaving her in her bra and panties as she opened the remaining boxes in the living room.
She’d lived in Florida all her life, never making more than a cross-town move. She’d sorely underestimated the enormity of a move to a new state. She could’ve used more time to get organized.
She’d accepted the job on Monday. On Saturday, the moving truck rolled up ready to pack her belongings. Yesterday, she’d awakened at the crack of dawn and herded Luna into the car, which was packed with her most important possessions, and she’d made the nine-hour drive from Orlando to Tinsley Cove.
After Sophie, who lived next door, had handed off the keys, Cassie had directed where the movers should deposit the furniture and boxes.
When it started storming, the organized move-in turned to chaos. The movers ran in and out, tracking up the wooden floors as they deposited the soggy boxes in the first space they could find.
By the time Cassie had signed off on the move, she’d been utterly exhausted and homesick, second-guessing whether she’d made the right decision to accept this job. It felt like Mother Nature was crying all the unshed tears that Cassie had bottled up inside herself since the day Troy had blindsided her with the news that he wanted a divorce.
She chalked it up to being hungry and tired – and hot. After grabbing a quick bite, she’d fallen into bed determined to get a good night’s sleep.
Around 4:00 a.m., she’d awakened with a start, realizing the black bag that contained her new dress hadn’t been among the things she’d unpacked from the car. She’d tossed and turned, acutely aware of the heat and humidity—and the house’s every creak, moan and sigh. Finally, she’d gotten up to search for the dress, and she’d been awake ever since.
Now, the morning dawned sunny and bright—and even hotter, if that was possible. Even so, the way the sun streamed in through the living room window seemed as if it was offering a promise that everything would be okay.
She would put on her new dress and wow everyone with her sass and style.
When Troy eventually saw the show he would eat his heart out.
Of course, before she could wow anyone, she needed to find that garment bag... It had to be in one of the boxes. Maybe Gabby remembered which one she’d put it in?
Cassie made her way into the kitchen, scooped up her phone off the marble island and dialed her sister’s number.
The phone rang three times. Just as Cassie was about to hang up, Gabby picked up and croaked, “Do you know what time it is?”
“Good morning to you, too,” Cassie said. “Yes, I’m very aware of the time, because I’m afraid I’m going to be late on my first day.”
“If you’re in such a hurry, why are you calling me?”
“Gabby, what did you do with that black garment bag that had my new Alice + Olivia dress in it?”
“What? I don’t know.”
“Remember, I asked you to put it in my car when you were carrying out my suitcases. It wasn’t in the car. Do you remember if you packed it in one of the wardrobe boxes that was going on the moving truck?”
Her sister was quiet for a moment.
“Um... I don’t remember. I’m sorry, I don’t remember you telling me to take the hanging bag to the car.”
Cassie sighed. “That’s okay. Everything was moving kind of fast.”
“I know, right?” Gabby said. “I’m sorry for the mix-up. Have a great day and call me later to let me know how everything goes, okay?”
“I will. Miss you, Gabs. Bye.”
After Cassie disconnected the call, the back of her throat ached and her eyes stung.
Even if this day wasn’t off to the most auspicious start, with a broken AC and a missing dress, she wasn’t going to let it derail her.
She had plenty of other things to wear.
In one of the boxes in her bedroom, she’d spied the pair of cropped white Kate Spade pants – the ones with the bow at the waist. She’d pair them with her sleeveless hot pink ruffle top...as long as it didn’t need to be ironed. There wasn’t time for that. Plus, she hadn’t found the iron yet.
Had she even brought the iron?
That’s why she needed to find the floral dress, but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen. She’d looked through just about every wardrobe box in the house. The only place she hadn’t looked was the garage. The movers had put most of the boxes in the house, and there had been plenty of room to pull her car into the garage, but still she thought she remembered seeing a few boxes out there.
Hand on the doorknob, Cassie thought about putting on her robe, but the windowless garage was completely private. In this heat, her robe would feel like a parka. Even the mere thought of it caused beads of perspiration to form on her forehead.
She flipped on the garage light, and the door closed behind her. The dank space smelled of damp concrete, soggy cardboard and fresh paint.
Her car took up most of the room, but a thirty-five-pound sack of Luna’s dog food sat propped against the wall next to the door, right where she’d left it. Six small boxes were pushed against the far wall on the other side of the car.
Three were labeled Books. Two were labeled Kitchen. One was labeled Miscellaneous Garage. Cassie’s heart sank when she realized they were all too small to be wardrobe boxes.
Clearly, the dress wasn’t in the garage, either. It was as if it had vanished into thin air.
She sighed. Her plan B outfit—the cropped white Kate Spade pants and an unwrinkled blouse—would have to be today’s good-luck charm.
Cassie twisted the knob of the door that led back into the house, but it didn’t budge. She tried again, this time cranking it harder and giving a little shoulder shove to the door.
It didn’t move.
“Are you kidding me?”
She pounded on the door, and Luna barked in response. Panic seared through her as she remembered too late Sophie’s warning yesterday—the door going out to the garage had an automatic locking mechanism. “It might feel like it’s unlocked when you twist the knob on the inside,” Sophie had said, “but make sure the lock is vertical before you step out. If it closes with the turn button parallel to the floor, you’ll lock yourself out. It needs to be pointing up and down or you’ll need a key to let yourself in.”
Cassie’s hands flew to her mouth, and she cursed under her breath.
She had locked herself out.
