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“Goodbye, Elliott.”
The phone clicked in my ear, and I looked down to see my dick sticking straight up and kissing my belly. An ice-cold shower was in order.
CHAPTER 2
Erika
My day started off shitty, and it wasn't getting any better. It began with the damn coffee maker. I thought it was done brewing, so I pulled my favorite blue mug from under the spout. Of course, just as I did, another scalding stream shot out, burning my hand. The searing pain made me yelp, and I cursed under my breath, staring at the angry red mark. Lucky me—it was only a first-degree burn.
Blow-drying my hair was out of the question. The last thing I needed was more pain. Instead, I threw my long blonde hair up into a ponytail, wincing as I pulled the band tight. After that, I slipped into a tight black pencil skirt and a light pink sleeveless blouse, hoping the outfit would make me feel better.
My five-inch black heels added to my confidence, bringing me close to five foot eight. Morgan, my best friend, always joked that she had no idea how I managed to walk in those things, but they made my calves look amazing, so they were worth it.
As I stepped out onto the street, some creep with his belly hanging over rumpled khakis and a stained, gray shirt, tail hanging out, gave me a once-over, pulling his sunglasses down his nose to get a better look. I shot him a glare, silently daring him to say something. He was so out of my league it was laughable.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to deal with him for long. Sol, the doorman, hailed a cab for me with his usual smile, tipping the bill of his hat as I slipped inside. He always reminded me of my grandfather, with his thick white hair and kind blue eyes. I gave him a nod of thanks as the cab pulled away.
Stuck in heavy morning traffic, I scrolled through my emails. Today was going to be a marathon of client calls and showings, mostly in Midtown. I also needed to squeeze in a gym session. It had been three days since my last workout, and the guilt was gnawing at me. Normally, I'd hit the elliptical every morning until I was drenched in sweat, but the past two weeks had been a whirlwind.
Spring and summer usually meant a slowdown in the Manhattan real estate market, with most of my upscale clients retreating to their homes in Cape Cod or Long Island. But not this year. The calls for dwindling, available real estate were relentless. It was more work, but it also meant more opportunities to build my client base. Seven-figure residences were my sweet spot, and after three years, I’d gotten damn good at reading people.
Once I reached my destination, I grabbed a large coffee from the small café in the lobby, dodging a few oblivious people glued to their phones. The office was nearly full by the time I sat down at my desk. I took a sip of my coffee, hoping it wouldn’t betray me like this morning’s disaster, and got to work on the mountain of emails waiting for me.
An hour later, I looked up from my laptop and saw Manny Devlin, my boss, hovering just outside the glass front of my small office. I prayed he wouldn’t come in. His cologne was notorious around here—like a foul mix of wintergreen and rotting trash. It might have been bearable if it weren’t for how handsome he was, with his thick, curly black hair and smooth olive skin. But that smell was a dealbreaker.
Thankfully, he only poked his head in rather than planting himself in one of the gray tweed chairs in front of my desk.
"You got any bites on the property in the Grayson building?" he asked, his voice all business.
I paused my typing and gave him my full attention. "Two inquiries, but they’re tire kickers. No firm offers yet."
Manny sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "Cyrus Ford is getting antsy. He wants to unload the property."
I tapped my black-tipped nail on the desk, a slow, deliberate rhythm. "It’s only been on the market for eight days. What does he expect?"
"Results," Manny replied, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "It’s why he hired us, and it’s also why I put you as the lead agent."
"So I can use my charm and big tits to lasso a buyer?" I shot back, my voice dry as dust.
Manny rolled his eyes but took that as an invitation to step inside. I mentally braced myself for the stench, subtly preparing to shield my nose with my hand. But to my surprise, there was nothing—no nauseating scent that could strip paint from the walls.
"That’s not what I mean, and you know it," he said, settling into one of the chairs. "You’re highly capable."
I snorted, frowning. "That’s what you call it? Call it experience."
"That too. Stop being difficult."
"I’m not. Just stating facts."
Manny crossed his skinny legs, brushing at an imaginary piece of lint on the lapel of his brown suit. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small green candy, popping it into his mouth. I wondered if that was what was keeping his usual garlic breath at bay. Leaning back in my gray leather office chair, I gripped the black arms until my knuckles turned white.
"You’re all that and a bag of chips," he continued with a smirk. "Happy?"
I rolled my eyes. "Maybe. What are you up to?"
"Nothing. Just checking to see how you’re doing—and I have some news."
I leaned forward, feeling the edge of my glass desk press against my chest. "I fucking knew it."
