In Death 29 - Kindred in Death

and her client—would soon be Drew Pittering’s neighborhood.
    Like the kitchen, the people walking below were up-to-date. Neo-Bohemian was the tone here, the pace. Artists displaying their wares on the sidewalk, people sipping coffee drinks and having intense conversations outside of cafés and bistros. Too-iced-to-care boutiques squeezed in beside edgy little galleries.
    It suited him so well. Commission aside, she worked hard to suit the client to the property, and vice versa. Before she hit thirty, she intended to have her own business. She’d already chosen the name. Urban Views.
    Four years left in her goal, she mused. And she just knew she’d make it.
    If Drew took the bite here, she’d be on her way.
    He was running a little late, she realized. But then, client was king. She took a breath, then pulled out her ’link. She was going to be optimistic, think positive—and make reservations for her and Tony at their favorite restaurant to celebrate the sale.
    It wasn’t jinxing it, she told herself. It was anticipating it. Visualizing it. Tonight, they were going to drink champagne and toast the future.
    Once done, she ran back through her appointment book to make certain she had the rest of her week—her last week as a single woman—in order. Final fitting, final consult with the caterer and planner, the full day of spa and salon treatments for herself and her wedding party.
    Check, check, check.
    When her ’link beeped, she checked the display and had one moment of concern. “Please don’t be calling to cancel,” she muttered, then answered with a cheerful tone. “Hello, Drew! I’m standing here looking out your front window. It’s a very frosty view.”
    “Sorry, sorry, I’m running late. I got caught up with the work and lost track. But I’m nearly there. Heading down the block now.”
    “That’s mag.” Relief had her barely resisting a dance. “I’ll clear you in so you can come right up. You have the address.”
    “Right here. I love this neighborhood, Karlene. It’s just what I want.”
    “Wait until you see the space.” She walked over to shut down security for him. “I swear, if you don’t snap this up, I’m buying it myself.”
    “Just tell me nobody else is looking at it yet. I’ve got a good feeling.”
    “I contacted you first, as promised. Nobody’s due to see it until tomorrow as I told you. We’ve got a jump on it.”
    “Perfect. I’m on my way up. Hey, love the elevator. Ten seconds.”
    She laughed, closed the ’link. And greeted him with a stunning smile.
    “Really sorry I kept you waiting,” he said as he came in. “But I brought a makeup gift.” He offered her one of the two go-cups of coffee he had in a takeout bag.
    “You’re forgiven.” She toasted him with the cup. “Where should we start?”
    “Let me just stand here a minute.” He shifted the bag on his shoulder, looked around the open living area. “This is . . . look at the light in here.”
    “That’s what made me think of you, straight off. So much natural light. Tailor-made for an artist. You could use this whole space for your work. But if you actually wanted to use it for living, for entertaining, the second bedroom has the same exposure, and skylights.”
    “Privacy screens? I don’t like to feel anyone watching me while I work.”
    “Of course.” She held up a finger. “Computer, engage privacy screens, all windows.”
    With a quiet hum, the clear screens lowered. “As you can see, they’re top-grade. They don’t affect the light. You can darken them if you want to cut the sun.”
    “Perfect.” He smiled at her. Young, charming, attractive. “Absolutely perfect. How’s the coffee?”
    “The same.” She took another sip. “To move to location for a minute, you’ve got it all. Restaurants, galleries, clubs—and mag coffee shops as you’ve already discovered.”
    “It’s where I want to be.” He stepped away from the elevators, wandering now behind the screened windows.
    “The furniture’s staged to give you a feeling, an idea of one use of the space. The fact is, Drew, you could do anything with this area. Work, play, a combination. I know you said you didn’t cook, but you have to see the kitchen. It’s perfect, ultra and efficient. Maybe a girlfriend would enjoy using it.”
    He grinned, wagged his finger.
    “I know, no girls right now,” she said with a laugh. “Art first. But artists can entertain like minds, right? And have to eat. You can zap