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“Yes, sir.”
Lochlan hung up before I could say anything else. I wanted to tell him it was evening for me as the sun disappeared, but he was on the west coast. Currently, it was late afternoon for him. I took another bite of my cone and chucked it into the silver garbage can next to the counter before I called Elliott back.
“Thanks for hanging up on me,” he growled.
“Screw you,” I shot back. “Those offers are ridiculous, and my client said as much.”
“You have a foul mouth,” Lincoln Elliott said, his voice dripping with a hint of amusement. “Someone should stick something in it for you.”
I arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “What did you have in mind?”
There was a playful purr in his voice as he responded, “A bar of soap to start, but I can think of other things.”
“Oh, do tell,” I said, my tone turning seductive.
Lincoln chuckled. “Look, enough of these games. What’s it going to take to get this place?”
“Your best offer,” I replied, my lips curling into a smirk.
“I’ll speak to my client and call you back,” he said, his voice suddenly more serious. “I need to get dressed.”
“You’re naked?” I teased, conjuring an image of a tall, handsome man with dark hair and light eyes. I wondered how close my mental picture was.
“I just got out of the shower,” Lincoln said, irritation lacing his tone. “You pissed me off.”
“I pissed you off? How?”
“I assume there isn’t a Mr. Bramwell.”
I scowled and hopped up onto the granite counter, crossing my legs as I spoke. “Why would that matter?”
“He would need to be a saint to put up with you.”
“Is there an offer somewhere?” I demanded.
“I’ll call my client. Touché.”
“Excuse…”
Before I could finish, the line went dead. I understood his reference immediately—he was paying me back for hanging up on him earlier. A wicked grin spread across my face. Dealing with Lincoln Elliott was becoming unexpectedly entertaining.
CHAPTER 3
Lincoln
“Final offer, Mr. Elliott,” Mrs. Ducane said with a tone that could freeze lava. “Thirteen nine five. I want this place.”
I bit back a curse. The old bag should have made this offer hours ago. “I understand. I think this will do it.”
“Very well. I won’t be available for the next hour; I’m having my nails done. Please leave a message and I hope it’s good news,” she said curtly before hanging up. There was a lot of that going around tonight.
I took a deep breath and dialed Erika Bramwell’s number, hoping her client would finally accept. The phone barely rang before she answered.
“What now?” Erika’s voice was brisk, carrying an edge of irritation.
I couldn’t help but smirk at her response. “You don’t seem to have the demeanor for this profession.”
“Fuck you, Elliott. Do you have another bullshit offer?” she snapped.
