Chapter Two Isabella
“Please, excuse my error,” the bizarre, purple-haired man sitting across from me flashes a smile. A perfect smile with straight white teeth that glisten in the light. “Looking at you, it’s an easy mistake to make.”
I open my mouth to say something, but he starts speaking again without giving me a chance to respond.
“As you can see, Ms. Sweeny,” he accentuates my name.
“Having the pre-approval letter isn’t nearly as important as having the actual money to pay for the house.
A prospective buyer can have the letter and never pay anything more than the deposit.
I assure you, I have the cash to pay the sale price in full. ”
“Let me explain, Mr. Twizz—”
“Just Twizz.”
I huff out a breath, trying to keep my composure. It won’t look good for a new agent to cause a scene by insulting a prospective client.
“Fine. Twizz,” I force a big smile on my face for a brief second, hoping it looks friendly and not like I’m holding back from reaching over the desk and wrapping my hands around his neck.
“I need some way of proving that you earned the money.” I lock my eyes on his as I speak in hopes of communicating my message through the use of multiple senses to make it stick.
“Or that you inherited it. Anything that shows you did something legal that caused you to have such a large sum of cash stashed under your mattress—”
“Ah,” A wide smile draws his lips back and lights up his model-like face. “You’re thinking about my mattress, are you?”
“No.” I’m quick to respond.
How can he turn my asking about income into something sexual? The glimmer in his eye assures me that his innocent comment was absolutely meant to be sexual. I’m tempted to stand and look over the desk to see if he’s sporting wood.
Why in the Lord’s name am I thinking about that? I don’t even care if he is. But if there is a bulge in his pants, is it because he’s attracted to me? Or would it be there regardless of who mentioned his mattress? I clear my throat, hoping to clear my mind along with it.
“I’m thinking about places you might be hiding your money, not about who you sleep with or what you sleep in.”
“Are you sure about that?” He sits at the edge of his seat and leans closer.
Unconsciously, I do the same. I feel like something is drawing me to him.
Like there is a secret hook he’s managed to place in the center of my chest, and now he’s turning the crank to reel me in.
I resist the urge to down just to see if anything is there.
“You could’ve said closet or safe. But you made mention of the place I lie at night. The place where I—”
“Mr. Twizz!”
I had to stop him. I felt my eyes gloss over and my breath hitch. I wasn’t thinking about his mattress or what he does on it initially, but now I can’t get the images out of my mind. They’re running through it on loop, like a hamster on a wheel.
Twizz, lying naked on the bed, eyes half-open, stroking himself, and all I want to do is join him and touch the dips and valleys of his arms, shoulders, and chest.
“You might like to know—” He begins in a smooth, warm voice that takes me by surprise.
My core tenses as I return my attention to the man sitting in my office, away from the image of the man that probably doesn’t exist. That one held no theat.
This one might very well steal my heart.
“—that I have a very comfortable mattress,” his voice drops.
It’s low and sultry, causing extra saliva to gather in my mouth.
“If you should ever want to try it for yourself.”
I swallow hard. “That won’t be necessary.”
“It might make you feel more inclined if I inform you that I tend not to sleep in the nude, although that can be negotiated if you wish.”
It’s like he knows what I’m thinking. My eyes open wide along with my mouth, but no words come out.
“It could get embarrassing in case there’s a fire or some emergency. Embarrassing for whoever might stumble upon us. Embarrassing for them, to be clear, because my personal endowment is made to please.”
“Mr. Twizz!” I gasp.
“Twizz.” He reminds me once again. “Just Twizz.”
No one has ever spoken to me like this. As much as I want him to stop, there’s a part of me that hopes he won’t. My clenching thighs are a clue that I like dirty talk. Maybe that’s what’s been missing.
“That is very inappropriate. Please keep your comments limited to answering my questions, or else I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
Which, honestly, is what I should do right now, but I’m hungry for a sale.
A big one can put me on the boss’s radar and lead to some career-making opportunities.
And if I’m honest, I find this unusual man intriguing.
I mean, his lean but muscular build shows clearly from beneath his suit, and not everyone has a jawline and cheekbones like his.
“The problem, Twizz—” I begin again, sounding super flustered.
Shit, I need to take a breath and turn that into pretend confidence.
“The problem is that I need to prove your money comes from legitimate sources of income and that you’re not a bank robber, an embezzler, or a kidnapper holding someone hostage. ”
“Do you have some experience in that world?” His question throws me for a loop. “Does the hostage choice imply that you enjoy bondage? That’s not my go-to, but it certainly sounds fun. If I weren’t too much of a gentleman to explore that. I mean, we are in the South after all.”