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The Kellermans were a peculiar couple, lottery winners from Miami looking to escape the oppressive summer heat in New York. Estelle, with her bright pink suit and equally vibrant red hair twisted into a French braid, was a sight to behold. Unfortunately, her perfume was overwhelming—a cloying, cheap scent that made me subtly edge away from her as she gushed over the view.
Her husband, Milton, was no better. He sported the worst combover I’d ever seen, the few remaining strands of hair clinging desperately to his scalp, barely held together above his ear. His cologne was just as offensive, and the light blue seersucker suit he wore looked like it had stepped straight out of the eighties.
“You can, indeed,” I replied with a tight smile, trying to maintain my composure. “And if you’re here for the Fourth of July, you’ll have a perfect view of the fireworks.”
Estelle let out a squeal so piercing that I had to resist the urge to cover my ears. She pressed her nose against the glass again, practically vibrating with excitement. “Milton, we need to get this place! I want it!”
I glanced over at Milton, who was lazily chewing on a toothpick lodged in the corner of his mouth. He scratched his stubbled chin thoughtfully before turning to me. “What’s the maintenance fee on this place?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
“Thirty-six hundred a month,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral despite the impatience bubbling beneath the surface.
Milton let out a low whistle, raising an eyebrow. “That’s pretty steep for a place we probably won’t spend more than three or four months a year in.”
“Milton,” Estelle whined, drawing out his name in a tone that grated on my nerves.
I sighed, louder than I intended. My patience was wearing thin. “How much did you win in the lottery?” I asked, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice.
“Seventy-two million after taxes,” Milton said proudly, puffing out his chest a bit.
“Thirty-six hundred is a fraction of what you earn in interest each day,” I pointed out, my tone firm. “This place is a steal, and you’re not even carrying a mortgage.”
“Milton,” Estelle whined again, her voice even more insistent this time. Between her incessant whining, the overpowering perfume, and his cologne, I was nearing my breaking point.
“Can I offer less than asking?” Milton asked, scratching his chin again, as if deep in thought.
“Two six is a steal for this place,” I stated flatly, no longer masking my impatience. “The owner already lowered the price by a hundred thousand just two weeks ago.”
Milton hesitated for a moment, his hand pausing mid-scratch. Then he gave a slow nod. “We’ll take it. Anything for my baby.”
Estelle threw herself into his arms, and I took a step back, giving them some space. Their over-the-top affection was like nails on a chalkboard to my already frayed nerves. I let them have their moment, but it only served to remind me of what I was missing.
“Folks, we should get out of here,” I interjected, cutting through their display of affection. “Another agent has an appointment soon.”
They both looked at me, their faces mirroring each other in sudden panic. “Does that mean someone else might get this place?” they asked in unison.
I nodded gravely. “I suggest you make a full-price offer immediately.”
“Done!” Milton declared, his voice firm. “Can we do cash?”
“I’m sure that would seal the deal if another offer came in,” I confirmed, already mentally calculating the paperwork.
“Then let’s do that,” Milton said, the decision made. “We can even fly up for a weekend, maybe New Year’s Eve. Wouldn’t that be something?”
I nodded absently, already moving to check the apartment, making sure we hadn’t left any lights on. This sale had been too easy, and yet, as soon as I got the Kellermans out of my hair, I felt nothing but emptiness. The commission meant little to me. Money was a hollow victory without Erika. I missed her with every fiber of my being, and no amount of cash could fill the void she left behind.
CHAPTER 24
Erika
“No, Foster. Stop sending me gifts, stop sending me flowers, and stop trying to get me to go out on a date,” I snapped, my voice edged with frustration as I stepped out of the elevator.
He didn’t miss a beat. “I tracked you to your office,” he had the nerve to say, his tone casual, almost teasing. “The least you can do is have a drink with me.”
My heart skipped a beat as I spotted him standing in the lobby, casually leaning against one of the white support pillars. Foster was dressed in black jeans and a white T-shirt that hugged his frame in all the right places.
He looked effortlessly attractive, and despite my irritation, I couldn’t help but notice how good he looked. Lately, my mind had been a battleground, torn between memories of our time together and thoughts of Lincoln. I missed Lincoln, but I knew it was my fault we were no longer together.
I narrowed my eyes at Foster, my voice dropping to a hiss. “Do you mean a drink, or do you mean a fuck in your apartment? On second thought, do you have your limo? Maybe you’d like to take me there and fuck me.”
