Chapter 6
chapter six
Mia
For the next two days, all I could think about was Angelo Duran.
Mostly about how awful he was. Then sometimes, strangely, in line at the coffee shop drive-thru, or in the middle of a downward stroke of the razor in the shower, about anything other than that.
About his carefreeness. His quirky smile and one canine tooth that was tilted slightly inward.
How sunlight caught the yellow in his eyes, and how I imagined running my fingers through the bushy, but somehow kempt, beard that filled out his face.
It was like I was under a spell. A fucked-up trance.
No matter how hard I came at Angelo he took the lashings in stride.
Maybe he even liked them. I was starting to feel a blithe addiction to the back and forth.
Our riffing came naturally, and though I felt somewhat guilty about the lack of decorum I was showing as his realtor, it was evident Angelo and I had a relationship that transcended that workplace couth.
He was my client, sure. But he was also…family. That felt obtrusively disgusting given the way I'd gotten lost in thought about the cut of muscle on his triceps for the entire humiliating Uber ride home from our previous meeting.
Maybe I was going insane.
What is it they say about proximity? Your coworker isn't hot, you're just within ten feet of them for extended periods of time?
That's what this was.
Angelo was average. A regular, tall, toned, driven, family-oriented, hands-on, complicated, average man.
My job was to find him a home, and I found myself shopping as if it were my own life at stake.
My own children who might grow up there.
No bodies of water, no main roads, no powerlines, no shady neighbors.
The yard had to be big enough for a backyard playset, a family party, a dog or two.
A long driveway to ride bikes and a small community—gated, safe, clubhouse access.
I checked for bedrooms on the same floor, private bathrooms, and finished basements.
Something about Angelo's speech the other day had put a crack in the wall I constructed.
Foundation shaken. I'd forced myself to view him unilaterally since Vegas as a smart-mouthed, distasteful, unmotivated schmuck living with his parents.
That was the easiest thing for me to do, instead of giving him the benefit of the doubt or admitting I was probably attracted to him.
I was beginning to see I was wrong about a lot of things when it came to Angelo Duran.
Which didn't exactly make being around him any easier.
Bella had weaseled into my brain that my lack of intimacy made me feel things I shouldn't be.
I had no immediate leads on that issue, but I did have a vitriolic desire to make Angelo as uncomfortable as possible, as uncomfortable as I was, to even the score.
And the perfect storm was brewed.
It was Friday, and we had confirmed a showing for late afternoon just outside Coconut Creek after he got off work.
Scott had enthusiastically set up a lunch "date" for us when I texted him, which I profusely corrected as a meeting to nail down a budget for one of our shared clients.
Afterward, I would have him drive me over to the showing with Angelo, and I would kill multiple birds with one stone.
Appeasing Scott, avoiding another rideshare, and pissing off Angelo Duran.
Scott picked me up for our lunch rendezvous and spent forty-five minutes on the patio of a stuffy French restaurant steering the conversation in every direction other than work.
He spilled a generous portion of pesto escargot onto his sport coat that I thought was a bit fancy for the occasion, insisted on ordering champagne for the table, which I turned down in spades considering I was working, and then I reluctantly let him open every door for me and mansplain the interior of his Mercedes on the drive to the showing.
Scott was a good person. He would make a girl really happy someday.
They would have children who played golf and wore sweater vests and probably got homeschooled.
I appreciated him as a work partner, and I tried every avenue to let him down easy.
Today was a slip in the mask. It was a selfish pursuit that I should have felt bad about, but upon pulling up to the for-sale sign on Sunset Cove Dr. and seeing Angelo Duran cross-legged and cross-armed leaning against the tailgate of his truck… it all felt like a necessary evil.
"So, that's your guy?" Scott gestured toward the driveway, putting his car in park at the end of the road.
"What? No," I said tersely. "He's not my guy."
"Not your guy," Scott corrected himself. "Your buyer. He's the construction guy?"
A flare of heat crawled up the back of my neck. "Yeah. He's an outlier. A favor for my sister. Once I get him in a house I'm basically cashing in IOUs for the rest of time."
I glanced out the passenger window at Angelo, who was very clearly staring impatiently, a small lift to his eyebrow and a tick in his jaw. He untucked his TechOps polo from his pants and a sliver of tan skin and his treasure trail peeked out from his lower stomach.
I turned back to Scott abruptly.
"Mystery that he can even afford this neighborhood," Scott noted. "What’s the story?"
"He's back in school for cybersecurity at Broward at the moment, working for his older brother's company, TechOps."
"So, give him about six months before he can't afford a mortgage payment, is what you're saying?
" Scott chuffed. "I hope you had some insurance in place for this one.
The blue-collar guys always think it's going to be easy, but they don't have contingency plans. Don’t let him ruin your reputation at Branting Company over a favor. Your sister knows what’s at stake, right?
One fucked-up sale sends you back years on the totem pole in this industry. "
"Right. Thanks, Scott, for that reminder," I replied sarcastically, gathering my bag and my sweater and unbuckling my seatbelt. “He’s not all that bad, for one. I may be impulsive, but that’s never turned out badly for me in real estate. I can read a person like a book.”
"Mia, don't get caught up, that’s all I meant. He looks like the type of guy who catcalls you on the side of the road while he's covered in wet cement. I know that kind of guy. He sees you as an opportunity, not a realtor."
I tried not to show how offended I was. As if I hadn't spent my entire career fending off the type of men Scott was describing, the majority of them on the corporate end of things.
"I’ll let you in on something, then—that’s all men."
There was a knock on the passenger window, and Scott clicked his tongue, nodding toward it. “Right on cue.”
Angelo was right outside my door, rapping his knuckle against the pane of glass. "Any day now, Mia,” he said briskly.
I rolled my eyes and let out a loaded sigh. "Thanks for lunch, Scott. Duty calls."
He got out of the car, intending to come around and open my door, but Angelo beat him to it. Scott stopped reluctantly at the hood and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Keep in mind what I said, Mia."
"Will do," I answered.
"And I'll text you about dinner," he added. "We can do a bottle next time."
"Ooh, a bottle," Angelo said quietly, mockingly. He tucked his fingers into my elbow and tugged me toward the house. His touch lingered hot on my skin even after he let go, waving a hand at Scott as he drove away.
"In a rush today?" I asked.
"Just bored of watching the trust fund baby try to make a move," Angelo grunted. "Lots of lip service, and not the kind that feels good."
"You're a pig," I said weakly.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night."
"Did you actually open the link for this listing?" I said, sensing him closing in behind me while I fiddled with the code and uncovered the front door key. "I spent a ridiculous amount of time narrowing things down, and if I'm any good at my job at all, this is the winner."
Angelo's steps thudded closer, and I looked down at his work boots nearly touching the back of my heels.
A smirk spread involuntarily across my face.
Somehow, he carried the subtle smell of sunscreen and sawdust and beard oil that was much more noticeable with him standing at my back and a lazy breeze whispering through the palm trees.
"What was that about?" he huffed, annoyed.
"What was what about?" I nonchalantly pushed through the door, noticing immediately that the listing photos were a bit misleading when it came to size. The main foyer left more to be desired, and I hid a frown.
Angelo was unfazed by the floorplan specs. "Showing up here with a Suit after a date."
"It was not a date." I spun around to face him and came nose to chest, stepping on the toe of his boot and nearly knocking myself over. I pushed him back with no luck. It was like trying to push a brick wall. "It was a work meeting. Scott is a lending agent and we share clients."
"He thought that was a date."
I shrugged. "That's his problem, then. I was very clear that work was the reason for us meeting."
"Did he buy you a drink?"
“What does that matter?”
“If he bought you a drink, it was a date.”
"He tried. I don't drink when I'm working."
A deep hum rumbled out of him. I could almost feel the vibration of it in his chest. I took two steps back, turning into the large dining room.
"There's recessed lighting in every room, all on dimmer switches." I demonstrated the high and low lighting options, sliding my finger over the switch. "Even the chandelier over the table."
"Is that your type?" Angelo asked. He wasn't looking at the ceiling, not even remotely interested in the fixtures and the strobe show I was putting on. “Country club, manicured, never seen a toolbox in his life, couldn’t change the filter on an air conditioner?”
My tongue perused the inside of my cheek. "Are you still stuck on Scott?"
"I'm curious."
"Curious?" I asked, snidely. "Or jealous?"