Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
Erika
M y 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."
Manny held his hands up, like he was trying to calm a wild animal. "It’s nothing serious. My nephew…"
I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "Nothing good ever starts with my nephew."
"Look, my sister’s boy just graduated. He needs a job because his liberal arts degree won’t take him anywhere fast."
"And I get to be the lucky recipient of that promise?" I asked, sarcasm dripping from every word.
"I just need you to train him," Manny said, his tone placating. "Colvin’s a bright kid. He should pick up fast."
I gritted my teeth. "Are you fucking kidding me? The last trainee I had took over three months. It’s not like dropping a bird out of a tree and watching it fly."
Manny rubbed his eyes with his fingers, clearly trying to keep his cool. "Please? What do you want?"
"Are you asking or telling me?" I shot back, narrowing my eyes.
"Asking. What do you want?"
I licked my bottom lip, considering my options. "An extra week of vacation."
Manny looked like he was in pain. "You know I can’t do that, not now. I need you in the office. You’re my best agent."
"Christ on a cracker, what about Nicholas?" I tried, hoping to shift the burden.
"He’s adequate, but he’s not you."
"You mean he’d rather wine and dine a client than close a deal."
Manny scratched his face, looking tired. "He’s a good agent, but he’s not you."
"Then how about you raise my commission?" I countered.
"You already get two percent. Raise it to what?"
"Three."
"Two and a half is the best I can do."
I quickly did the math in my head, thinking about how much that could add up to if I sold a few seven-figure properties. It’d be enough to finally buy that little cottage I’d been eyeing on Long Beach Island. A place just steps from the sand, with a crow’s nest on the roof where I could sip margaritas and watch the ocean stretch out on clear days.
I scratched at my knee before I answered. “Done. When does junior get here?”
Manny screwed up his face, chewing at his cheek as he hesitated. "He’s in my office."
I narrowed my eyes, not liking where this was going. "You were going to ambush me?"
"I would never do that without asking first," he said, but his sheepish expression told me otherwise.
I glared at him, feeling both annoyed and amused. "I would hate you if I didn’t love you so much. Send him in."
Manny rose from his chair, buttoning his jacket with a grateful nod. "Thank you."
"Remember this when I ask for a day off," I warned, my tone half-serious.
"When will that be?" he asked, disbelief clear in his voice.
He had a point. My so-called days off were a joke. I’d sleep in until noon, sure, but by the time I woke up, my voicemail and email would be overflowing with client requests. Inevitably, I’d end up spending the rest of the day putting out fires.
"What’s his name again?" I asked, trying to keep my irritation at bay.
"Colvin. Please don’t forget."
"I’ll try not to."
Manny stepped out of my office, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. I sighed, slipping on my heels and quickly checking my reflection in the small compact mirror I kept in my drawer. Babysitting the boss’s nephew was the last thing I needed. If he was anything like most of the trainees I’d dealt with, he’d get tired of my relentless pace and be out of here within a month. Fine by me.
Fifteen minutes later, as I was working on a listing for an apartment in Brooklyn, a knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up, expecting some fresh-faced kid, but the man standing there couldn’t possibly be Colvin. He looked to be close to thirty, with a neatly trimmed dark goatee and styled chocolate brown hair. There was a clear family resemblance to Manny in his strong features, but this guy had a charm all his own. He smiled, revealing deep dimples and a pair of straight white teeth.
"I’m Colvin. Manny sent me. He said I’ll be training with you."
"Come in and take a seat," I said, gesturing to the chairs in front of my desk, doing my best to keep my tone professional.
Colvin unbuttoned his blue suit jacket and casually settled into the chair, straightening his broad shoulders as he did. There was an ease about him that made me wary, like he knew exactly how to make himself comfortable in any situation.
"I’m sorry to inconvenience you," he said smoothly.
"It’s no inconvenience. I’ve trained people before," I replied, trying to sound as indifferent as possible.
"You’re busy. I just wonder why my uncle isn’t training me himself."
I leaned back in my chair, studying him. "Manny doesn’t go out in the field much. He prefers to run things from the office. I hope you’re ready to work—I have a busy day ahead."
"Whatever you want," Colvin said, his voice smooth as silk, and for a moment, my mind wandered to places it shouldn’t.
I mentally shook myself, refocusing on the task at hand. "Good. Let’s get started, then."
"The maternal side of Manny’s family tree is fine," I said, twirling a loose string on my burgundy bedspread.
Morgan’s laugh crackled through the phone. “You’re seriously not contemplating what I think you are, are you?”
“And what’s that?” I asked, trying to sound innocent but failing.
“Erika, I’ve known you since we were thirteen. You’re interested,” she accused, her tone teasing but laced with concern.
I paused, staring at the ceiling as I weighed my words. “What if I am?” I muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear.
“He’s a child,” Morgan replied, her voice incredulous.
“Colvin took time off after high school. He’s only a year younger than me,” I countered, picking at the bedspread more aggressively.
“He’s Manny’s nephew. Suppose it goes bad?” Morgan’s voice softened, trying to make me see reason.
“I’m not looking for a commitment, just a quick fuck,” I said, shrugging as if Morgan could see me.
Morgan sighed deeply into the phone. I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “You’re playing with fire,” she warned, her voice a mix of frustration and worry.
I stood up, moving to the dresser where my socks were folded neatly in a drawer. “How are things with Slade?” I asked, trying to shift the conversation away from Colvin and my impulsive desires.
“Up and down. We talked about marriage,” she admitted, her voice tight with tension.
“Are you sure that’s wise? You two seem to be fine and then bam,” I said, pulling on a pair of white ankle socks and sitting back down on the edge of the bed.
“It’s work and my parents. Dad is still dealing with his arthritis, and Mom has a bad cold. I worry because of their age,” Morgan said, the fatigue evident in her voice.
“I’m sorry. I’m here if you need me,” I offered sincerely, slipping off the bed to grab my dark pink running shoes from the closet. I needed to get out, burn off this energy before it pushed me to do something stupid.
“What are you doing?” Morgan asked, curiosity piqued.
“Getting dressed. I need to hit the gym,” I replied, sitting on the floor to lace up my shoes.
“Why didn’t you say something? I’ll let you go. Slade’s having a meeting with all the department heads in a few minutes anyway,” she said, her voice lighter now.
“We should do drinks one of these days,” I suggested, standing up and checking my reflection in the full-length mirror attached to the closet door.
“How about this weekend?” she offered.
I frowned slightly, adjusting the waistband of my black Lycra pants. “Not sure. I have several showings lined up. No sleeping late on Saturday.”
“Aww, I’m sure that’s killing you,” she teased, knowing full well how much I valued my rare days off.
“My next day off, I’ll be up at noon,” I joked, flashing a smile at my reflection.
“Talk to you later.”
“Later, Kincaid,” I said, ending the call.
I glanced at myself one last time in the mirror, appreciating how the black Lycra pants and sports bra fit like a second skin. I knew I’d catch a few eyes at the gym, but I wasn’t there to turn heads. I needed to clear my mind and work off this restless energy before I did something I’d regret.
Asshole, I thought as I pushed through the elliptical session, my legs moving in rhythm with the machine. The guy behind me clearly had no clue that I could see him ogling my ass in the mirrors lining the opposite wall. His eyes were glued to me, and a weird chill crawled up my spine as I imagined the thoughts running through his head. He probably wasn’t dangerous, but with guys like him, you could never be sure.
I kept my legs moving, ignoring the cramp that was starting to tighten in my right calf. It threatened to interrupt my workout, but I wasn’t about to let it stop me. My gaze flickered around the gym, catching a few other men glancing in my direction. But none of them were as transfixed as the guy behind me. Finally, he looked away, his focus shifting to his monitor just as I started my cool down. A few minutes later, I was done, but I could still feel his eyes on me as I walked away.
Trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling, I stopped by to say hello to Peter before heading to the showers. He’d mentioned a few weeks ago that he was trying to lose weight, and judging by how his gray sweatsuit hung more loosely on him, it seemed to be working. We chatted briefly about his progress.
“You’re looking good,” I said, offering him an encouraging smile.
“Thank you,” he replied, grinning back. I noticed then that one of his front teeth was chipped.
“What happened?” I asked, nodding slightly toward his mouth.
Peter ran a hand through his thinning black hair, his smile fading. “A little too much enthusiasm during my kickboxing session. The heavy bag swung back and caught me in the mouth.”
I could easily picture it—Peter, with his usual clumsiness, misjudging the swing of the heavy blue bag and ending up with a chipped tooth. His large white sneakers, always with laces too long, were probably just as much a hazard.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I said, genuinely feeling for him.
He shrugged it off. “I’m getting it fixed on Friday. A nice shiny white veneer.”
“Sounds great. I hate to cut this short, but I really need to take a shower,” I said, glancing toward the locker rooms.
“No problem. The treadmill’s calling my name,” he replied, shifting his weight as if preparing for his next round of exercise.
I looked down and noticed his lace was untied as usual. That familiar sensation prickled at the back of my neck, reminding me that the guy from the elliptical was still watching. I decided to have a little fun with it. I knelt down and began tying Peter’s laces, double-knotting them to keep them secure.
“You don’t have to do that,” Peter protested, surprised.
“I don’t want you to get hurt. You could trip,” I said, finishing the knot.
He chuckled, the corners of his brown eyes crinkling with amusement. “Sweetie, even with my laces tied, I’d probably still trip.”
I laughed, giving his sweaty shoulder a light pat as I stood. “Well, at least you’ll be safe for now.”
With that, I walked through the heavy dark steel door into the women’s locker room, feeling the guy’s eyes on me until the door swung shut behind me.
Asshole , I thought as I worked away at the elliptical. The guy behind me obviously had no idea I could see him staring at my ass in the mirrors against the opposite wall. He was grossly mesmerized, and a weird chill crept over me, making me shiver at what was likely going through his mind. Although he was probably harmless, you never knew with these guys.
The rest of my day was a blur of client calls, prepping apartments for sale with clueless owners, and showing Colvin the ropes. By the time I wrapped everything up, I was completely drained. All I wanted was to go home, soak in a hot bath, and enjoy a glass of white wine before the inevitable onslaught of evening calls from clients and agents wore out my phone.
“Colvin, it’s time to knock off for the day,” I said, shutting down my laptop.
“Uncle Manny said this job never ends,” Colvin replied, looking at me with a grin.
“He’s right,” I admitted, “and I’m sure my cell will blow up tonight. But unless you want to come home with me and watch negotiations, we’re done for the day.”
“I could,” he said, his grin widening.
Since Colvin had started, there’d been an unspoken tension between us whenever we brushed against each other. Sometimes, I suspected he did it on purpose just to see how I’d react. Now, with his playful gaze locked on mine, I started to question my own resolve.
“Not tonight,” I shot back, my tone firm.
His smile faded slightly, and he stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “Maybe drinks this weekend?”
I laughed. “We’re working, so maybe.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “We don’t get at least one day off?”
“You said it yourself; this job never ends,” I reminded him.
He let out a slight groan as he stood up from the chair in front of my desk.
“Be prepared,” I warned as he walked out of my office. I couldn’t help but wonder if Colvin would stick around or if he’d bolt like so many others who didn’t realize that real estate was more than a nine-to-five gig. Sometimes it was six-to-ten or even midnight. I’d once gone back and forth with an agent until 2 a.m. just to close a sale.
With a sigh, I packed my laptop into my brown briefcase and hurried out of the office. With any luck, I’d finish my bath before the evening calls started pouring in. I could only hope. Outside, the warmth of the day had lessened, but it was still comfortable as the sun sank toward the horizon. Spring evenings like this were my favorite.
Once I got home, I relished the tranquility of my apartment. Tossing my briefcase onto the couch, I kicked off my heels and padded into the kitchen, enjoying the coolness of the ceramic tiles beneath my feet. The wine I’d opened yesterday was chilling in the refrigerator, and I pulled it out just as my cell phone rang. This time, I ignored it—I needed at least five minutes to relax. Maybe I’d even take a full half-hour before I returned the call.
I took my glass of wine with me into the bedroom while I undressed. I stripped down to my panties, then slipped on a pair of tiny shorts and a thin white tank top over my bare breasts. I didn’t care. I had no plans to go out, and even if I did, my breasts were firm enough that I could get away without a bra. Draining my glass, I wandered back to the kitchen for a refill. As I did, I picked up my phone to check for messages.
I glanced at my voicemail and saw Lincoln Elliot’s name flash on the screen. The name tickled the back of my mind, but I couldn’t place it. Maybe we’d crossed paths at one of those endless real estate mixers or he’d represented a client I had dealings with. Either way, it was a name that hovered just out of reach.
My stomach growled, reminding me that my diet today had been less than stellar—just a protein smoothie that tasted like it was made from cardboard and a granola bar squeezed in between client meetings and the gym. I needed something more satisfying, so I ripped open a bag of popcorn from the pantry and dialed his number.
Our conversation was anything but cordial. His annoyance was palpable, especially when he realized I was chewing popcorn into the receiver. But honestly, his lowball offer was more infuriating than the crunching sounds. I hung up the call, seething.
Grabbing the wine bottle from the fridge, I poured myself a generous glass and took a deep sip, savoring the crisp, cold liquid. I hoped this negotiation wouldn’t drag on. I had a few inquiries about the apartment and one offer that had fallen through, but Elliot didn’t need to know that. If only I could finish this without too much hassle.
I sank into the couch, letting the plush fabric envelop me as I kicked off my heels. As expected, Elliot called back, and this time, I was ready. I grabbed a tub of my favorite strawberry ice cream—full of chunky berries—and scooped a generous mound onto a waffle cone. The creamy sweetness was a small indulgence I desperately needed.
When Elliot’s call came through, I took my time with the ice cream, making loud, exaggerated slurping noises. With each crunch and slurp, I could almost feel him fuming on the other end of the line. His voice wavered, cracking under the strain of my blatant disregard for his professionalism. I couldn’t help but smirk, finding a twisted pleasure in making him squirm.
“You’re being unprofessional,” Elliot said, his voice barely concealing his irritation.
“Maybe,” I replied coolly, “but you’re not offering anything reasonable.”
With that, I hung up, relishing the last bite of my ice cream cone. I picked up my phone and dialed Lochlan Rourke, ready to relay the bad news. As I licked the sweet remnants of the ice cream from the sides of the cone, I couldn’t shake the feeling of satisfaction. It wasn’t just about winning the negotiation; it was about taking control, even if that meant indulging in a little petty revenge.
“Thirteen seven won’t do,” Lochlan said.
“I just needed to let you know,” I assured.
“This is ridiculous. We already lowered the price and I’m not about to take a loss,” he said with annoyance.
“We’ll figure it out,” I said as I swallowed another lick of strawberry.
“Anything below thirteen nine is unacceptable,” he emphasized.
“I agree. I’ll call him back.”
“I’m stepping into a meeting. Please don’t contact me until this evening.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lochlan hung up before I could say anything else. I wanted to tell him it was evening for me as the sun disappeared, but he was on the west coast. Currently, it was late afternoon for him. I took another bite of my cone and chucked it into the silver garbage can next to the counter before I called Elliott back.
“Thanks for hanging up on me,” he growled.
“Screw you,” I shot back. “Those offers are ridiculous, and my client said as much.”
“You have a foul mouth,” Lincoln Elliott said, his voice dripping with a hint of amusement. “Someone should stick something in it for you.”
I arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “What did you have in mind?”
There was a playful purr in his voice as he responded, “A bar of soap to start, but I can think of other things.”
“Oh, do tell,” I said, my tone turning seductive.
Lincoln chuckled. “Look, enough of these games. What’s it going to take to get this place?”
“Your best offer,” I replied, my lips curling into a smirk.
“I’ll speak to my client and call you back,” he said, his voice suddenly more serious. “I need to get dressed.”
“You’re naked?” I teased, conjuring an image of a tall, handsome man with dark hair and light eyes. I wondered how close my mental picture was.
“I just got out of the shower,” Lincoln said, irritation lacing his tone. “You pissed me off.”
“I pissed you off? How?”
“I assume there isn’t a Mr. Bramwell.”
I scowled and hopped up onto the granite counter, crossing my legs as I spoke. “Why would that matter?”
“He would need to be a saint to put up with you.”
“Is there an offer somewhere?” I demanded.
“I’ll call my client. Touché.”
“Excuse…”
Before I could finish, the line went dead. I understood his reference immediately—he was paying me back for hanging up on him earlier. A wicked grin spread across my face. Dealing with Lincoln Elliott was becoming unexpectedly entertaining.