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“Uncle Manny said this job never ends,” Colvin replied, looking at me with a grin.
“He’s right,” I admitted, “and I’m sure my cell will blow up tonight. But unless you want to come home with me and watch negotiations, we’re done for the day.”
“I could,” he said, his grin widening.
Since Colvin had started, there’d been an unspoken tension between us whenever we brushed against each other. Sometimes, I suspected he did it on purpose just to see how I’d react. Now, with his playful gaze locked on mine, I started to question my own resolve.
“Not tonight,” I shot back, my tone firm.
His smile faded slightly, and he stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “Maybe drinks this weekend?”
I laughed. “We’re working, so maybe.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “We don’t get at least one day off?”
“You said it yourself; this job never ends,” I reminded him.
He let out a slight groan as he stood up from the chair in front of my desk.
“Be prepared,” I warned as he walked out of my office. I couldn’t help but wonder if Colvin would stick around or if he’d bolt like so many others who didn’t realize that real estate was more than a nine-to-five gig. Sometimes it was six-to-ten or even midnight. I’d once gone back and forth with an agent until 2 a.m. just to close a sale.
With a sigh, I packed my laptop into my brown briefcase and hurried out of the office. With any luck, I’d finish my bath before the evening calls started pouring in. I could only hope. Outside, the warmth of the day had lessened, but it was still comfortable as the sun sank toward the horizon. Spring evenings like this were my favorite.
Once I got home, I relished the tranquility of my apartment. Tossing my briefcase onto the couch, I kicked off my heels and padded into the kitchen, enjoying the coolness of the ceramic tiles beneath my feet. The wine I’d opened yesterday was chilling in the refrigerator, and I pulled it out just as my cell phone rang. This time, I ignored it—I needed at least five minutes to relax. Maybe I’d even take a full half-hour before I returned the call.
I took my glass of wine with me into the bedroom while I undressed. I stripped down to my panties, then slipped on a pair of tiny shorts and a thin white tank top over my bare breasts. I didn’t care. I had no plans to go out, and even if I did, my breasts were firm enough that I could get away without a bra. Draining my glass, I wandered back to the kitchen for a refill. As I did, I picked up my phone to check for messages.
I glanced at my voicemail and saw Lincoln Elliot’s name flash on the screen. The name tickled the back of my mind, but I couldn’t place it. Maybe we’d crossed paths at one of those endless real estate mixers or he’d represented a client I had dealings with. Either way, it was a name that hovered just out of reach.
My stomach growled, reminding me that my diet today had been less than stellar—just a protein smoothie that tasted like it was made from cardboard and a granola bar squeezed in between client meetings and the gym. I needed something more satisfying, so I ripped open a bag of popcorn from the pantry and dialed his number.
Our conversation was anything but cordial. His annoyance was palpable, especially when he realized I was chewing popcorn into the receiver. But honestly, his lowball offer was more infuriating than the crunching sounds. I hung up the call, seething.
Grabbing the wine bottle from the fridge, I poured myself a generous glass and took a deep sip, savoring the crisp, cold liquid. I hoped this negotiation wouldn’t drag on. I had a few inquiries about the apartment and one offer that had fallen through, but Elliot didn’t need to know that. If only I could finish this without too much hassle.
I sank into the couch, letting the plush fabric envelop me as I kicked off my heels. As expected, Elliot called back, and this time, I was ready. I grabbed a tub of my favorite strawberry ice cream—full of chunky berries—and scooped a generous mound onto a waffle cone. The creamy sweetness was a small indulgence I desperately needed.
When Elliot’s call came through, I took my time with the ice cream, making loud, exaggerated slurping noises. With each crunch and slurp, I could almost feel him fuming on the other end of the line. His voice wavered, cracking under the strain of my blatant disregard for his professionalism. I couldn’t help but smirk, finding a twisted pleasure in making him squirm.
“You’re being unprofessional,” Elliot said, his voice barely concealing his irritation.
“Maybe,” I replied coolly, “but you’re not offering anything reasonable.”
With that, I hung up, relishing the last bite of my ice cream cone. I picked up my phone and dialed Lochlan Rourke, ready to relay the bad news. As I licked the sweet remnants of the ice cream from the sides of the cone, I couldn’t shake the feeling of satisfaction. It wasn’t just about winning the negotiation; it was about taking control, even if that meant indulging in a little petty revenge.
“Thirteen seven won’t do,” Lochlan said.
“I just needed to let you know,” I assured.
“This is ridiculous. We already lowered the price and I’m not about to take a loss,” he said with annoyance.
“We’ll figure it out,” I said as I swallowed another lick of strawberry.
“Anything below thirteen nine is unacceptable,” he emphasized.
“I agree. I’ll call him back.”
“I’m stepping into a meeting. Please don’t contact me until this evening.”
