Chapter 3 #2
Mia turned away from me abruptly, putting an ample amount of space between us.
She walked farther into the house, leaving me to follow to a formal dining room, painted the same light blue as her blouse.
A large, round wooden table was at the center, cushioned white chairs forming a perfect circle around it.
"No funny business. I haven't forgotten about Vegas. "
A small smile graced my lips. "I know you haven't."
Regardless of that entire weekend being a blur of alcohol and bright city lights, forgetful wasn't a word I'd ever use to describe it.
In fact, I remember the very first moment I saw Mia Russo.
It was at the airport, standing outside the terminal looking for a rideshare.
She was with her twin sister, Bella, and their older sister, Camilla.
All of them had the same petite frame, dark hair, and matching airport casual attire.
But Mia was looking around a bit dazed, not unlike me, who had never been to Vegas before.
When she laughed at something Bella said, her big white smile lit up the room, and I got caught looking for a bit too long.
Mia had no idea who I was, and I only recognized her from photos on social media that Natalia had posted of the four of them.
So I knew they were all attractive, but knew nothing about their personalities.
Stupid of me, clearly, to assume they were anything like Natalia—the younger, kinder, bubbly, excitable Russo.
What were the odds that their flight from Florida and mine from New York landed in Vegas at the same time, and we were all looking for an Uber to the same Airbnb? I chanced a wave over at Mia, who had been watching me curiously. She quickly snarled, looked away, and pointed me out to her sisters.
I assumed they recognized me now. Mateo's younger brother, his groomsman, their pseudo-family in a way. We hadn't formally met because the logistics never worked out. Mateo and Natalia dated and were engaged to be married within a year. When you know, you know, and all that.
A large black SUV pulled up to the curb in front of them, the driver hopping out to grab their throng of bags and I decided, stupidly, to head over and suggest we share a ride to our destination.
Mia stopped me with a pointed finger to my chest and a look of horrified indignance on her face. "Not a chance, ass-licking incel." Then she got in the car, slammed the door closed, and left me confused and mildly insulted in the rideshare parking lot.
Ass-licking incel was the most interesting, creative, unsavory thing I had ever been called.
I was impressed, and also out sixty-four dollars when I had to call my own Uber.
Turned out the Russos had absolutely no idea who I was, and Mia had no interest in mending the rocky beginning of our relationship when they’d figured it out.
"The kitchen is brand new, and features completely renovated white marble, all stainless-steel appliances, stove hood, double oven…
" I followed Mia's voice as she rapidly fired off information about the house, sliding my fingertip across the island in the kitchen, squinting at the cracked grout.
Someone else might not have noticed it, but I certainly did.
"Are you ever going to admit that you're as much at fault for Vegas as I am?" I said, stopping her before she could give me the builder's name and phone number.
"Fuck you," she answered quickly, turning back in my direction.
My eyes widened in surprise, mouth dropping into a knowing smile. Mia's arms crossed over her chest.
"Not so professional, Ms. Russo," I teased. "Not what I'd expect from Branting Company's agent of the year."
"You're insufferable."
"I'm right and you know it."
"You're a delusional hack, with the manners of an ape and the audacity of a much hotter man."
"Hotter insinuates hot." I shrugged.
Mia let out an annoyed sigh, moving once again, this time faster, into a short hallway with three doors. She pointed at one. "Bathroom." Then she indicated the other two doors in quick succession. "Bedroom, bedroom."
"You're good at this," I prodded sarcastically. "It's really apparent why you sell so many houses. Quick and to the point."
"You're not listening to me anyway." She pushed past me with a shoulder, clacking against the hardwood into another part of the house.
I poked my head into both bedrooms and bathroom for curiosity's sake before rejoining her in a decent-sized laundry room that was probably the highlight of the tour.
"For your mother to come over and do your laundry." She gestured like a Price is Right model at the washing machine, then at a long counter beside the dryer. "For your mother to come over and fold your laundry."
I stabbed my tongue into the flesh of my cheek. "Very thoughtful."
Mia squeezed past me in the doorway again. "The basement is through that door. I don't go into basements, but feel free to take a walk down. I promise I won't lock the door behind you." She flashed a sinister smile and flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder.
"I'm good," I said, unconvinced.
"Garage for your fridge full of cheap beer." She pointed again, flipping through the thin binder she was holding. "And that should be it for this showing." The binder snapped shut, and Mia clipped back toward the front door. Every three of her steps was one of mine.
"I should be able to get this offer in by the end of the day. We can manage above, plus I know the listing agent and they owe me one, so expect an accepted offer by tomorrow, noon time, and we'll get an inspector in the door before Friday."
My head spun, the sunlight blinding me as I chased her through the foyer into the small yard and finally grabbed her elbow to twist her in my direction. "Woah, hold the fuck on."
Mia was equally stunned, looking from my fingers wrapped around her bicep to my face. Her dark eyebrows softened for the first time all afternoon.
"I hate this house," I said. "I don't want it."
Her lips parted, eyes searching mine like she'd just noticed they were green for the first time. Then abruptly, she shook herself away from me and took two steps backwards. "What do you mean you hate it? It's a house, and you need a house. Don't make this any harder than it has to be, Angelo."
"Oh, so you do know my name?"
Her lip curled, annoyed at herself for letting the front slip. "You're doing this to annoy me. I have things to do, clients to find homes for. Real clients, not charity cases. This is a perfect house, and if you really want to, you can always sell it—with another agent."
"God, you're such a snob, Mia. Life doesn't fucking work like that for normal people.
We don't move houses around like chess pieces, or treat them like designer bags to trade and replace.
Maybe you grew up with an attitude like the world revolves around you, that Daddy could buy a new house whenever he felt like it, but you need a reality check. "
Her soft face turned cold and hard again. "Don't act like you know anything about me."
"No offer," I said. "Thinking I would actually want this house shows you don't know anything about me, either."
A muscle in her jaw flexed before she stomped to her car in the driveway, slinging open the door and climbing inside. Her exaggerated mannerisms and short temper might have amused me, might have even enamored me, if she wasn't such a colossal headache.
All I knew was that being in the presence of Mia Russo made me need a fix.
A soother, a dose of something to wash her down.
I slipped my pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and clapped it against my palm, then slid one between my lips.
"Hey, next time you send me an address, you should do a better job," I called out at her open window. "I'm not paying you for nothing."
A slim finger flipped me the bird, and her BMW shifted into reverse.
She punched the gas, keeping her eyes on me as she quickly backed out of the driveway.
Too quickly. She cut the wheel to turn onto the main road, and before I could warn her, the sedan was colliding hard with a red fire hydrant just off the sidewalk path.
"Shit," I cursed, ambling toward her. A satisfied smile stretched my cheeks nonetheless; it felt wildly vindicating.
She wasn't hurt, physically. Ego deaths are usually not as swift, but I made a gesture toward the sky and patted the cross hanging around my neck as I got to her door and leaned my elbows on the open window.
Mia was still sitting there, head forward, hands at ten and two, refusing to meet my eye. I blew a plume of smoke from the corner of my mouth. The taillight was shattered, red plastic littering the faux grass, her bumper crushed like a soda can. "Need me to call someone for that?"
"Fuck you," she said again, lower, softer.
"Right." I smiled, tapping her car twice and heading toward my parked truck. "Let me know when you find me a better house."