Medium Well (9781101599648) by Meg Benjamin Page A

that. “No. She doesn’t know I’m in a band.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause she thinks I’ve moved beyond my interest in music. She doesn’t . . . she feels music isn’t much of a career.” Which was putting it mildly. If Araceli found out she had a band, she’d shift into crisis mode. She’d lay on the guilt, talk about what Mom had wanted, remind her of their deal until Biddy promised to quit.
    Not that Biddy had any intention of doing that. Ever. No matter how much Araceli griped about the future earning potential of musicians.
    Danny frowned again, leaning forward on the desk. “Maybe music isn’t a full-time career for a lot of musicians, but I’d say for you it’s a real possibility.”
    Her cheeks grew warm again and she shifted in the chair. “Thank you. We’re trying.”
    â€œSo what about—” The in-house line on the phone buzzed abruptly. He raised a hand to hold her in place and turned to pick it up. “Ramos.”
    Biddy watched his face slide into a grimace, lips tight.
    â€œRight. Okay. I’ll be right down.” Danny turned back to her again, his eyes bleak. “Your sister wants to talk to me. Looks like somebody else wants to see the carriage house.”
    ***
    Araceli wore another of her Texas power suits, in hot pink, with a cream-colored shell underneath. Danny figured if she were in Chicago, the suit would probably be black, but this was San Antonio, y’all.
    â€œI want some assurances from you,” she snapped.
    â€œWhat kind of assurances? I can’t promise we’ll sell the thing in a day. Remember the shape it’s in right now.”
    â€œThat’s not what I mean.” She paused to draw a breath. “And you know it. I want some assurances you won’t go all flaky on me, Danny.”
    His lips tightened. Being lectured by Cruella De Vil was no way to start the day. “I didn’t ‘go flaky,’ Araceli. I had the flu.”
    She waved a hand, dismissively. “Whatever. I want assurances that it won’t happen again. If you have any more problems, I’ll have to report it to Big Al. And I might have to take over the sale myself.”
    Danny gritted his teeth until his jaws began to ache. Once, he could have shrugged off any threat from Araceli—Big Al would back him up regardless. Now, since he’d taken a step toward becoming a first-class nut job, Big Al’s support wasn’t such a sure thing.
    â€œThere won’t be any problems,” he said stiffly. “I’ve never had any before. I won’t have any now.”
    Araceli nodded. “Good. I want this thing taken care of. Clark Henderson spoke to me last night at Club Girard. He wants to look around the place.”
    Danny frowned. “It’s not Henderson’s usual kind of investment.”
    â€œMaybe he’s moving in another direction. It’s not our job to figure out why he wants what he wants. Just sell him the damn carriage house.”
    â€œI’ll do my best.” Danny rubbed his jaw, trying to ease his aching muscles.
    Araceli nodded in dismissal. “Good. Give him a call. He’s expecting to hear from you.”
    â€œRight.” He turned toward the door. If he moved fast enough, he could end this conversation.
    â€œDanny?”
    He turned around reluctantly. “Yep?”
    Her eyes were like glacial ice. “Don’t screw up this time.”
    He walked back to his office, longing to put his fist through one of the cheap plasterboard walls.
Don’t screw up. Yeah, right.
    He would sell that freakin’ carriage house to freakin’ Henderson and get the biggest goddamn commission of the year. And then he would be free of the place.
Free of the carriage house.
The ache in his jaw eased marginally. If only he didn’t have to set foot there now.
    Biddy sat at the desk in her cubicle, doing whatever the