The Broker (Nashville Neighborhood #6)

ONE

Noah

I’d never struggled so much to close a deal, and it had nothing to do with negotiating terms or one party being difficult. In fact, the man standing in front of me was as eager as I was to get this thing done.

The issue was the naked guy on the other side of the room.

The man’s wrists and ankles were shackled to the large St. Andrew’s Cross that was anchored to the brick wall, but he didn’t seem concerned about his restraints. No, his excited gaze was locked on to the woman approaching him, and when she reached out to run a hand across his bare chest, the man’s hard dick jerked.

The woman was fully clothed in a strapless pleather corset and matching knee-length skirt. Everything was so tight, cinching her waist to be impossibly small, it was as if an invisible hand squeezed her body. It forced her curves up, making her breasts threaten to bulge out over the top of the corset.

Normally I wouldn’t mind, but—

Goddamn, it was hard enough to focus right now. I didn’t need to add a nice, big pair of bare tits to my distraction.

“This was one of my first custom pieces,” Clay said. “It took me twenty hours, but I’m more efficient now. I shouldn’t have an issue meeting your client’s deadline.”

My gaze snapped back to the man before me.

The first time I’d met Clay Crandall, I’d struggled to believe him when he mentioned he made high-end BDSM furniture. The guy looked so reserved, so conservative, so... well— nerdy . Even down to the pair of glasses he wore.

He looked like the type of guy who was more likely to get off staring at spreadsheets than people in bondage.

But that was a rookie mistake on my part. I’d been in the lifestyle long enough to know better than to judge or make assumptions. There’d been all kinds of different people at the sex club I’d belonged to for years in New York. My first time here at Club Eros had shown me Nashville’s scene was no different.

I ticked my head toward the St. Andrew’s Cross, doing my best to ignore the couple playing there. “The pictures don’t do your work justice.”

Clay flashed me an appreciative smile.

I’d looked through the entire photo gallery he had available on his website. In a flat, two-dimension world, the sleek, tasteful furniture looked sexy, but in real life? It couldn’t compare. The furniture was stunning.

Without it, this side room of Club Eros was what you’d expect from a sex club. Its walls were red and the floor black, and the space felt... borderline average. Maybe even a bit boring. But the rows of black folding chairs had an aisle down the center, and it led your eye straight back to the stage-like platform.

Perched on it, two large wooden beams crossed in an ‘X’ and stretched across the brick wall. Even when the St. Andrew’s Cross wasn’t in use, the piece had to be a showstopper. It elevated this clichéd room into something that oozed sex and whispered about power. It legitimized Club Eros.

And it was exactly what the club in New York was looking for.

On stage, the woman was teasing her partner. She’d turned her back to him, rubbing her ass against his erection. When he moaned, she shimmied up the sides of her skirt over her hips, exposing her utterly bare lower body.

It was impossible not to let my gaze linger on the slit between her legs. I had come to the club to do the deal with Clay, not to play, but my dick throbbed with longing.

I hadn’t fucked anyone since the move, and it’d been a month. No, wait—it’d been longer. More like five fucking weeks. My hand was getting quite the workout these days.

Clay eyed the couple but seemed... indifferent. Like this was something he’d seen enough times that it no longer held any interest for him. Or perhaps his disinterest wasn’t with the act so much as it was with the people performing it.

The man and the woman on stage were only a little older than us. Both looked to be in their forties, and each was decent looking. But they couldn’t compete with Clay’s boyfriend and girlfriend, who sat in the back row of folding chairs, watching the impromptu show and politely waiting for us to finish our meeting.

My first time at Club Eros, it had been ‘exhibitionist night,’ and Travis and Lilith had taken the stage first. But before their scene began, a man, who I’d later learn was Clay, appeared with a piece of furniture that looked like a padded sawhorse. It had black legs, a black leather top that was trimmed with red accents, and silver rings dangled from multiple spots.

These rings gave Travis plenty of places to thread his rope through and tie his partner down. And while they performed, Clay stood to the side and watched like a boss supervising an employee.

The show had been straight fire, but more than once during it, my gaze had left Lilith’s naked body and drifted down to the bench beneath her. I was friends with the owners of my club in New York, and knew they were planning to add a dungeon. A piece like that would be a great addition.

So, I’d sought Clay out to ask where he’d bought it. He gave me his card, I sent the website address to my owner friends and found myself brokering the deal for a small commission. Four custom pieces—the largest order Clay had ever received, he’d told me. But he was sure he could deliver them on time.

I barely knew him, but judging by his exacting personality, I felt confident he was telling the truth.

“Assuming your client wants to proceed,” Clay’s voice was professional, “I’ll need fifty percent down so I can order materials.”

I nodded. “What kind of updates will they get about the project?”

“Typically, I send photos when the piece is finished.”

The woman on stage had finished teasing the guy. She reached a hand behind her, likely to steady his cock, and moved to lower herself on him. Her eyes hooded and his head tilted back, and they both let out a deep sigh of pleasure.

Fuck.

It was sexy as hell watching her take whatever she wanted from the man. The muscles in his arms flexed and corded as he tried to reach for her but was held back by his cuffs. But I knew it wasn’t because he wanted to stop her. His hands probably ached to grasp her waist and control the tempo she fucked him with, but—no.

She was in charge.

When he lowered his head to look out at the few people watching the scene, it seemed like he loved being her plaything.

Focus.

“Would you be open to letting me inspect the pieces before shipping?” I asked.

Clay’s eyebrows tugged together. He wasn’t exactly frowning, but I could tell he didn’t love the idea. “You’d have to do that at my workshop, and I don’t typically let clients down there.”

I sensed he wasn’t concerned I might find his quality lacking; his discomfort was caused by something else. Maybe he viewed his workshop as a safe space and didn’t want to sacrifice his privacy.

But as their broker, I had a duty to my clients.

“This isn’t a typical order,” I said. Meaning if he wanted to close, he needed to be flexible here.

“No, it’s not,” he reluctantly agreed. He pushed the side of his suit coat back so he could rest a hand on his hip. “If your clients want you to inspect the finished pieces, I’m fine with allowing that.”

“Excellent. Then my clients accept your quote and,” I thrust my hand forward, “I think we have a deal.”

Clay had a decent poker face. His pleased smile was restrained, but his eyes gave him away. The guy was fucking pleased, and why shouldn’t he be? He was going to make a decent chunk of change off this—but it wasn’t just the money. His work was art to him, and it deserved to be seen.

After we shook hands, my gaze drifted back to the couple playing on the St. Andrew’s Cross. The man stared at his partner with such hunger, I felt it deep inside. Not for the woman he was with though—my longing was more general and widespread.

I was envious of the connection they had.

In all the years I’d lived in New York, I hadn’t found anything like that. But I’d been so stressed out and busy, I’d barely had time for myself. Certainly not time for anyone else.

Was there any chance things would be different here in Nashville?

I fucking hoped so.

The first thirty minutes after my realtor told me the offer on the house had been accepted, I’d felt both excitement and anxiety. I’d done the numbers a bunch of times and knew I could afford the mortgage. Plus, I had plenty of money in my ‘rainy day’ account. No matter what, I’d be fine.

And yet, no amount of convincing seemed to help with my unease.

I’d never owned a house before. And this one was big .

It was way too much for a thirty-six-year-old single guy, but I loved the house. Not just the space, but the neighborhood, the proximity to my new job, and best of all—I’d gotten it for a downright steal. It had sat on the market for months and gone through several price reductions. I didn’t know the seller’s situation, but it was clear she was motivated.

Thankfully, my anxiety evaporated by closing day.

My agent had told me everything was ready to go. I had the final walkthrough scheduled for nine a.m., and then we’d head to the bank where I’d sign and get the keys. I felt more like an adult than I ever had.

My agent’s car was out front when I pulled up, but there was another car parked in the driveway as well. The seller of the house was waiting for us in the entryway.

“I’m Judy,” the woman said.

She looked to be in her mid-fifties, and was so skinny, it seemed likely a strong breeze might blow her over. Her face was severe even as she attempted to smile at me.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’m here,” she continued, “but I wanted to show you how things work.” She said it like she was doing me a huge favor and I should be grateful.

My agent Rob and I exchanged a look, but I pushed past it and strove for a friendly tone. “Hi there. I’m Noah.”

She looked beyond me like she was waiting for somebody else to come through the door behind me. “Will your wife be joining us?”

What? “My wife?”

Judy grimaced. And then her expression went blank, like she realized she hadn’t meant to make that face out loud. “I’m sorry. I guess I meant your partner .”

“I don’t have a partner.”

She blinked as if she hadn’t heard me right. “You’re going to live in this big house... by yourself?”

“That’s the plan.” Not that it was any of her business.

“But you’re so young.” Her eyes filled with suspicion. “How can you afford it?”

Rob’s eyes went impossibly wide. “Ms. Malinger, I don’t think that’s—”

I waved my hand, telling him it was all right. “I worked for a brokerage firm in Manhattan, and I invested my commissions wisely.” I slathered on the fakest smile I possessed, showing her that while I wasn’t thrilled by her question, I wasn’t fazed by it either.

My agent cleared his throat, and his tone was pointed toward the woman. “I think my client might feel more comfortable if you’d step outside. If he has questions, we can discuss them after closing.”

Judy laughed like Rob was being silly. “Oh, nonsense, it’ll be fine. I promise I’ll stay out of your way.”

To prove her point, she stepped to the side, pulled out her phone, and stared at the screen, pretending we didn’t exist. It made Rob glance in my direction, and the look on his face read loud and clear. “You okay with this?”

I nodded back. “It’s fine. Let’s get on with it.”

At first, Judy stayed true to her word. She remained in the entryway and didn’t bother us as we walked through the house, but I felt her presence anyway. Her gaze bore into my back as I strolled into the living room and scanned the empty, dusty space. I couldn’t help but feel as if this were still her home and I was trespassing in it.

Technically, it was still her home—until I signed the closing documents.

She said nothing as we went left and explored the office and primary bedroom, where hair, dust, and crumbs littered the carpet in a perfect line where the headboard of a bed had once sat. She remained dutifully quiet when we walked past her and evaluated the kitchen, including the cabinets that looked like they hadn’t ever been wiped out.

It was as if she’d moved everything out... except for all the dirt and grime that had accumulated over time.

I understood the house had been rented out for the last two years, but it seemed like the tenant had done a shitty job of cleaning, and Judy hadn’t bothered to correct that.

Maybe she was bitter because I’d played hardball and offered well below asking. When she’d countered, I’d said no. I loved this house, but I was a risk taker and banking on the fact that if I lost out, another house I loved would come along. My New York dollars went a hell of a lot farther down here in Nashville.

I was by no means a clean freak, but I was annoyed with the state of the house. My moving pod with all my furniture inside was set to arrive tomorrow, and I didn’t want to move my things in on top of existing dirt. It meant I’d need to call my folks and ask for help, when I really didn’t want to bother them with this shit.

When we finished the walkthrough, Rob beat me to it. “Did you pack your vacuum first?”

Judy was confused. “What do you mean?”

He gave her a pointed look. “It doesn’t look like anything has been cleaned.”

“Moving’s messy.” She rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows the new homeowners’ going to clean before moving in anyway.”

My agent motioned for me to follow him out to the garage, where we’d be out of earshot. Once we were behind the door, he kept his voice low. “It’s not the worst I’ve seen, but in my opinion, you’d be justified in asking for a cleaning credit if you wanted to. I’m sure she’ll push back on it though, and it could slow down closing.”

“I’m not thrilled about it, but it’s fine,” I said.

I was eager to get the deal done and start the next chapter of my life, and I certainly wasn’t going to let a little mess stop that from happening.