Chapter 10
There he was again. My tormentor. In a Tom Ford suit that tapered at the waist before curving at the ass. He stopped conversing with Aria when he spotted me, the dimple in his cheek deepening.
Do not approach, my eyes instructed. Viv forgot all about our tour and veered toward the tray of restocked cucumber rolls.
He ignored my warning attempt and sauntered over. “You,” he stated.
A hint of cedarwood tickled my nostrils when he stopped, making me think of walks in the forest and sharp number-two pencils. Do not plunge your face into his neck. “You.”
“Me.”
Viv popped back up and handed me an Evian before she noticed our stare-off. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No,” we answered at the same time.
She transferred a full plate of sushi to her left hand and held out her right. “Well, I’m Viv, Scarlett’s driver slash assistant slash future agent.”
He gave it a quick shake. “Jack Shane.”
Viv looked at me for confirmation. “This is Jack Shane?”
“The devil himself,” I answered. Smelling sinfully good.
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted by that,” Jack replied, scanning my bare décolletage. “You were supposed to contact me.”
“I’m a busy woman.” An errant hair drooped over his forehead, and my hand itched to smooth it back.
“Too busy to send an email?”
Boom went my heart rate. Note to self: See a cardiologist. “Too busy to send you an email.”
“Glad you’re being mature about this.”
“As mature as a forty-year-old man dressing up like David Hasselhoff?”
“Must’ve made an impression because you’re still talking about it.” His gaze prodded mine, waiting for an admission.
Because I can’t stop thinking about it. “Trust me, your excuse for an open house was not the worst part of that day.”
Viv put herself between both of us. “I can vouch for that. Scarlett had a rough morning with her psychotic ballplayer ex tossing her stuff away.”
“Viv, no need for details,” I hissed.
Jack looked at me. “What ballplayer?”
“Denzel Leonard.” Viv—who had no sense of personal boundaries—stuck her finger in a half-empty glass of water and eased his stray hair back into place.
She’s not allowed to drink Starbucks in the car until she learns not to touch men that exasperate me.
Jack patted his head with a confused smile. “So what did the point guard for the Knicks do that was so bad? Steal your foam finger?”
“Takes a thief to know a thief.” I chewed on my cheek. What is it about him that makes me want to smash things and adjust my bra?
Viv soaked up every second. “What about you, Jack? Any deranged exes in your past?”
“One or two,” he answered.
Viv looked at me out the side of her eye. “So are you single?”
“I’m eternally single,” he affirmed. “Real estate is my soulmate.”
Damn, I liked that answer. I’d need to steal it next time someone asked why I wasn’t married. “If you have to get back to your work, don’t let us stop you.”
Jack ignored me and gave Viv a genuine smile. “Well if you need me, I’ll be in the primary bathroom.”
“Eww,” I groaned then remembered my previous indiscretion. Who was I to judge?
He grinned. “Taking pictures for my buyer. Not using it. Nice to meet you.” He shook Viv’s hand like a perfect gentleman.
She shook it back—hard. “You too,” she said, not taking her eyes off him until he left the kitchen.
Phew. He hadn’t brought up the nuclear bomb I’d dropped in David’s bathroom.
“Holy mother of Mark Wahlberg, he is hot.” Viv fanned her neck. “Ay, caramba, I’d be all over that.”
“Go for it.” I took a couple of pictures of the kitchen island. “Don’t let me stop you.”
She stopped fanning herself. “No thanks. I’ve kind of got something going on. Wouldn’t like to muddy the waters.”
Intriguing. Viv never dated anyone for long. She spent all her spare time with Connor or at the care facility with her dad. “How muddy are the waters?”
She gave me a sly grin. “So cloudy I can’t see the bottom.”
I checked the pictures and cropped them before I sent them on to my other client, Owen Harkin. “Anyone I know?”
She turned coy, an unknown Viv attribute, which meant this someone may mean something. “No.”
“Would you tell me even if I did?”
“No.”
“Good girl. Tell nothing to no one.”
Viv poked my ribs. “What, like you? You are the witness protection program of feelings.”
I shrugged. “I like privacy. If you don’t let people in, you don’t have to worry about them getting out.”
She burst out laughing. “Yeah, but most people wouldn’t mind letting that guy in if you know what I mean?”
I shuddered. “I think an eight-year-old would know what you mean.”
“C’mon, you can’t deny he’s gorgeous. Those eyes are like the Aegean sea.”
My shoulders gave a light shrug. “He’s not a troll, happy? And you’ve never been to Greece.”
“Saw it in a magazine.”
“You’re meant to be here helping, not turning into my pimp.”
Viv laughed. “I am helping, by pointing out how attractive the guy is that you have to work with for the next few months.”
“I have a development to sell. And a massive promotion on the line. I don’t have time for anything except that.”
“I’m saying, by the time you slow down, a guy will need the Jaws of Life to get in there.”
I spat my mouthful of water back into the bottle. “Revolting. Now if you’ll excuse me, that couple from the bar is here.”
Brett and Diana had liked the floor plan of this apartment when I’d emailed it over. I hoped to make them fall in love with it in the flesh.
We managed a full tour of the space before bumping into Jack again in the kitchen.
“Look who it is,” his loud voice called, catching Brett and Diana’s attention in the middle of me rattling off the statistics of the nearest schools for their two kids.
“Shane.” Brett walked toward him, and they met in a man hug before Jack picked Diane up in a hug and kissed her on the cheek. “Good to see you.”
“Good to see you too,” Jack returned. “What brings you here?”
Diana pointed to me. “Scarlett heard us talking about looking for an apartment and suggested we come to look at this. You know the boys are four and six now, so we need more space.”
Jack feigned shock. “Already? They’ll be heading off for Columbia before you know it.”
Brett caught my confused look. “Sorry, Scarlett. This is Jack. The three of us went to college together.”
I grimaced. “We’ve met.”
“You should have called me,” Jack said to Brett. “I’ve got a great place in Cobble Hill I can show you. Three-bed, three-bath. Half a million cheaper than this place and more”—he caught my eye and his enthusiasm waned—“square footage.”
I was going to shove him right off this balcony.
Diana shot me a worried look and bit her lip. “We did kind of agree to work with Scarlett.”
Jack frowned. “I’m sure she won’t have an issue tagging along.”
Tagging along?
Diana smiled. “Brilliant. Brett, honey, we better go so we can relieve the babysitter.”
Jack gave them a goodbye hug. “I’ll text you the details about the showing.”
“And Scarlett,” Diana reminded him. At least she wasn’t kicking me to the curb.
“And Scarlett,” he repeated.
I kept a smile on my face until I’d made sure they were out the front door.
I rounded on him. “What are you playing at?”
Jack shrugged. “No idea what you mean.”
“They are my clients,” I told him. “I found them. I invited them here.”
“I’m back,” Viv announced to deaf ears.
“They’ve also been my friends for almost twenty years.”
“Some friend you are if you don’t even know they’re looking for a house.” I folded my arms.
His tongue bulged into his cheek. “I do now.”
“You are not stealing another client of mine, do you understand? Two was your limit. I’m not letting you get a third, so if you’re thinking about going after David’s business, forget it,” I warned.
Here we were in another stand-off. Like goddamn cowboys at high noon.
Viv stood mute, watching us like we were in a movie.
“Ahhh, I get it now. You’re butthurt about the Stauses and the Browns choosing to work with me.”
My hands moved to my hips as I stepped closer. “Not choosing. You poached them.”
“Your word against mine.” His hands remained at his sides as he moved even closer, leaving only a millimeter between us. One of his long fingers grazed the hem of my dress, making a loose thread tickle my thigh. “And as far as David’s future listings go, they’re fair game.”
A shiver ran up my back. “You’re not selling them an apartment or getting those listings. I am.”
An exaggerated squeal broke our argument. Over the heads in the crowd, I spotted Clarissa’s blonde ponytail bobbing as she schmoozed her way along the corridor.
Jack followed my gaze. “Viv, lovely to meet you. Email me before midnight,” he fired at me and disappeared into the crowd like Bruce Wayne on seeing the Bat-Signal.
“I don’t care what you say, that was better than porn,” Viv informed me, plucking yet another handful of California rolls from a passing tray.
“What kind of porn are you watching?”
She wrapped her lips around the straw in her drink. “The dirty kind.”
“Hope you’re not doing that when Connor is around,” I commented. “Wouldn’t want your kid walking in on that.”
Viv balked. “He’s in bed with the door closed, as am I. But thanks for putting the fear of God into me now.”
“God is always watching,” I replied in the X Factor announcer voice. “But who else is? You still haven’t told me anything about who you’re seeing.”
She gave me a coy smile and perched on an acrylic barstool. “I don’t want to jinx it. But I’ll tell you something…” She leaned into me. “Best. Sex. Ever.”
“Even better than Connor’s dad?” I squinted, referring to Viv’s high school sweetheart who had lovemaking skills of legendary proportions. If her stories were true.
She nodded. “Ten times over and twice on Sundays.”
“You must be raw down there,” I said, clicking open the calendar on my phone.
“That’s why they invented lube.” Viv picked up a California roll from her plate. “You can buy this edible one that tastes like birthday cake. I’ll get you some. It tingles when you put it on your nipples.”
“And now I can never eat birthday cake again. I’ll be right back,” I told her and pushed my way down the hall until I found an empty bedroom at the end. I grabbed an Egyptian-cotton pillow then thrashed it onto the bed a few times before holding it to my mouth and screaming. I could not let Jack take those clients.
A cough interrupted my meltdown. Aria stood at the door with a young, hip couple. They gawked at me through their thick-rimmed glasses while clutching their matching chihuahuas to their chests in confusion.
I replaced the pillow and brushed down the comforter. “Beautiful house,” I muttered, slipping past them.
* * *
Do it, I commanded myself. Jack’s business card and my cell rested on the bath tray between my elbows. You don’t have a choice. Our meeting with David would be happening in less than twelve hours.
The water cooled, so I flicked the tap on, my legs and feet relaxing under the rush of scalding water. I preferred my bath to resemble a witch’s cauldron with steam and bursting bubbles.
I picked up my cell and created a new contact, pausing at the name. Asshole? Someone might see it. J? Maybe if he was my twelfth-grade boyfriend.
Jack Shane, I entered, copying the information from his card. I wriggled my ass to avoid being suctioned to the bottom of the tub.
The blinking cursor felt daunting. What did I write? Hi? Steal any clients from me in the last hour? Your aftershave makes me think of your mouth puffing on a cigar.
My royal-blue bathroom began to turn into a sauna, so I flicked the tap off and draped a cold washcloth over my head.
Good evening. Here are my contact details. Sincerely, Scarlett Munroe.
Simple, concise, and to the point. Not personal in any way, I thought, dropping the phone back on the tray and soaping myself up with coconut shower gel.
Ping.
My knee shot up into the bath tray at the text tone, sending my cell into the air. With slippery hands, I grabbed at it, bashing my hip on the side of the tub as I lunged. The phone flew left and landed on the bathmat.
My heart couldn’t take this. I picked it up, slid it onto the windowsill for safety, and pulled out the bath plug. Standing up, I grabbed a fluffy blue towel from the rail to dry myself off before looking at the screen.
My stomach fizzed at the name of the sender: Jack Shane. Instead of reading it straight away, I made sure my feet were dried then padded through to the bedroom, naked.
No one here to judge the orange peel on my thighs, I mused, giving a jiggle in the mirror as I wrapped my body in the purple bathrobe Hailey had bought me for Christmas three years ago.
Why was I excited? He’d have written back something banal like, “Got milk?” or, “Yes, I have stolen another of your clients,” complete with an evil-faced emoji.
I hit the notification.
Nice to see you’re as friendly through text as you are in person. Your nemesis, Jack.
The red cotton men’s pajamas I donned cooled my flushed skin. I tugged the crocodile clip on top of my head to shake out my hair, leaving me free to drop back against the headboard. Too many times I’d left the clip in and almost given myself a concussion.
You say friendly, I say professional. Your competitor, Scarlett.
I turned off the bedside light, burrowed under the pink sheets, and flicked through my apps to distract me: Twitter, TikTok, Facebook, Compass, Weather. Less than eleven hours until the meeting. Six until my alarm went off.
A red dot appeared over the message icon.
You say professional, I say needs a stiff drink. Your foe, Jack.
I shuffled onto my side.
Are you buying? Your opponent, Scarlett.
I will be when I get all those world-breaking deals from David. Don’t worry, I have a spare room if you can’t afford rent. Your arch-rival, Jack.
My relaxed muscles tensed.
I’d sooner live in a trashcan. Your bitter enemy, Scarlett.
Seconds later he sent a GIF of Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street popping out of a trashcan and grumbling.
I laughed. Hard. He’s not supposed to be funny.
Are you plotting my death? Your terrified adversary, Jack.
A yawn escaped from my open mouth.
No need for plotting. Already planned. Now I must go to bed and recharge for domination tomorrow. Your fatigued competition, Scarlett.
Denzel hated GIFs, I remembered, right before drifting off.