Chapter 16
“Can you repeat that?” Jack asked, his face pinched. Everywhere I looked, caterers and event assistants in black and white scurried around.
A queue of people already milled in the downstairs lobby, waiting to be allowed up by a security guard we’d hired for the occasion.
“We are using these,” I repeated for the third time. I’d asked the events company to set up a table inside the front door with the marketing materials laid out. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you proud of your design?”
Over fifty “LIVE A LIFE OF FUCKERY” brochures glared up at us from the snow-white linen tablecloth.
“Are you fucking insane? David will fire us on the spot,” he seethed. “You were meant to fix it.”
“We wouldn’t have this problem if you hadn’t messed with them in a vain attempt to steal David,” I hissed.
“For the fiftieth time, I didn’t do it.” He tugged at his shirt cuff. “As much as I’m gunning for David, I draw the line at screwing myself over in the process.”
I blew out a sigh. I couldn’t have this argument again. Jack would go to his deathbed denying it. “Trust me, this will work. It’s like when you fall in the street and jump up, trying to pretend it never happened instead of saying ‘Yeah, I fell, and?’”
His eyes were alternating between twitching and widening. He thought I had a screw loose. He could be right. “You’re comparing this fiasco to faceplanting in the street?”
I slammed a brochure into his chest. “Go with it. When David asks about this ingenious idea, I’ll be happy to take credit.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll have no problem throwing you under the bus on this when he flips out.” Jack rolled the brochure into a telescope and aimed it at my head.
I batted it away. “What the fuck are you doing?”
He unfurled the brochure. “Checking for living brain cells.”
“The goal of tonight is to sell not piss me off.” I adjusted my earrings. “We both need this to go well, and if we don’t get offers, then it won’t be these things that get us fired.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” He mock saluted.
“Would you say you’re in a good mood?” I straightened a crooked pile of floor plans on my side of the table.
He adjusted the pile on his side. “Yes, why?”
My armpits began to sweat under my black bodycon dress as people spilled in. “I added someone to the guest list.”
“Fuck’s sake.”
* * *
An hour later, my plan to pass the curse word off appeared to be working. I held court at the front door as people arrived and made a point of showing it and explaining what we meant by it. Buying in The Crystal meant pushing the envelope. Living the life you wanted to live and everyone else be damned. Our occupants didn’t conform; they trailblazed. The trays of free cocktails helped soothe anyone’s doubts.
Out on the terrace, people were mingling, exchanging air kisses, and admiring the glittering string lights fluttering in the light breeze. A plethora of long tables covered in red linen and silver trays edged around the balcony with offerings from the barbeque. The bar of cowboy-themed cocktails created a whirlwind of compliments. Two bartenders hadn’t stopped mixing Billy the Kid Bellinis and Dirty Harry daiquiris since the doors opened.
“You did good.” Viv patted me on the back from behind. She looked resplendent in a pastel maxi belted around the waist with a silver chain.
I looked around, trying to find any hint of something being off. “Do you think we should have added more flowers?”
Viv sighed. “For once, enjoy a job well done.” She sipped on her Dirty Harry daiquiri and went to join the food queue.
My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything either. On arrival, four brokers had insisted on a tour. Straight after that, another broker had accosted me and insisted his client wanted to buy a four-bedroom on the forty-second floor.
Jack stepped onto the terrace with Monica Landry, and the look she gave him curbed my appetite.
“Monica,” I called, walking over to them. “You’ve met Jack, I see? The agent in charge of the guest list.”
Monica reddened. “Yes, he gave me a private tour.”
“Of the penthouse, I hope.” Looking at them both, I added, “Wouldn’t want people to think you’re unprofessional now, would we?” I let out a fake laugh.
They tilted their heads to the side like meerkats, then Jack threw her a glittering smile. “Monica told me about a buyer she has for Penthouse Two.”
Stop looking at her like that. I smirked at Monica. “Ahhh, that buyer. Well, I look forward to getting the deal sheet.” Since I got you in here, my eyes conveyed.
“I’ll be in touch. Ooh, is that corn on the cob?” she cooed and made a hasty exit.
Jack looked confused at her abrupt departure. “Explain to me why she would be sending you the deal sheet if I gave her the tour that sold it?”
I tried not to stare too far into his eyes. The Dirty Harry daiquiri on an empty stomach was causing my focus to slip. “Remember the extra guest I added to your list?”
The penny dropped. “I knew I didn’t recognize the agency name.”
I patted him on the shoulder. “Yep, your girlfriend mentioned she had a buyer.”
“Not who I’d pick for a girlfriend,” he whispered into my ear. “Too obvious, and I have my eye on someone else. If you’ll excuse me, a guy from House Hunters is waving at me.”
He stalked off, leaving a scent of musk and sunshine in his wake. Too obvious? What the fuck did that mean? Nobody had ever called me that. I didn’t know if Jack considered that good or bad. Who were his bottle-green eyes set on? I need Viv to clarify.
* * *
“Jack’s looking hot,” Viv commented, offering me a mint.
We’d locked ourselves in the small powder room reserved for staff. She’d explained being too obvious was bad, but not being obvious enough was also bad, so I felt none the wiser as to how I appeared in Jack’s eyes. Or which direction they were looking.
I readjusted Viv’s twisted belt at the back. “Because it’s ninety degrees outside and he’s in a suit.”
“You know what I mean,” Viv huffed.
I fluffed up my hair. “I think he flirted with Monica Landry when he took her around the place.”
Viv’s lip curled. “Ugh, hate her.”
I flicked a piece of stray mascara from under my eye. “Me too.”
Her phone bleeped with a message, and her face broke into a smile.
“Mystery man?” I asked.
“Huh?” She tapped out a speedy reply and put the phone back in her bag. “Oh, yeah. Sexting.”
“Spare me the details,” I said, flicking open the bathroom door.
Viv looked distracted as we walked back toward the front gallery. “We could have a great game of hide-and-seek in here.”
“In eight thousand square feet? I should hope so.” I chuckled. “Drink?”
She jiggled her empty glass. “Yup.”
The group had grown louder in our absence, and Jack was in a deep discussion with a short guy stroking his bearded chin. He gave me a thumbs up behind the guy’s back as he led him through to the living room.
“You go get a seat; I’ll grab the drinks,” I told Viv. But before I could make it to the bar, a broker I’d spoken to earlier came up to question me on the property taxes. After I reeled it off like poetry and applied light pressure by adding we’d already received a lot of interest, he disappeared to make a call to his client.
Score, I congratulated myself, moving to the front of the line.
A husky voice slipped over my shoulder. “Scar?”
I turned like a ballerina in a jewelry box. This had to be a mirage. It had grown so hot outside that I’d fainted. That was the only logical explanation as to why Denzel stood in front of me dressed in black tie and holding a glass of bourbon.
I blinked in quick bursts. Yep, still there, looking like Michael B. Jordan.
“How… how… Why are you here?” I stammered, breaking away from the queue.
He stepped toward me warily. “You remember Mike Anders?”
“Your broker friend,” I said, “who introduced us when you’d made your first ten million and wanted to blow it on a house, but I convinced you to buy something cheaper and save?”
He laughed. “Yeah. I saw your name on the listing, and he snuck me in. Mike is under the illusion he’s going to sell me one of these as a thank you.”
“So you came because you wanted to buy a house? Or see me?” My fist tapped against my lip. “Because I thought ignoring your calls would give you the hint.”
Playing for the Knicks meant he could afford two. Or three.
“A little of both.” He rubbed a hand over his face.
“And here I thought you were going to reimburse me for my dry cleaning.”
He pulled at the neck of his shirt. “Yeah, that day won’t go down as my finest moment. I’m sorry. About the phone calls and stuff.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t spray-paint the word ‘dick’ over all the suits you left at my house,” I divulged. Because I didn’t have any spray paint that night.
The dimple in his left cheek deepened. “I would’ve deserved that.”
I gestured around the patio. “You could make it up to me by buying a penthouse. We have a nice five-bedroom available, eight thousand square feet.”
His eyes darkened. “Little big for me.”
And I knew what he meant. It was a house for a family he didn’t have. Because I wouldn’t give it to him.
Jack popped up next to Denzel. “How’s it going?” he asked me.
Seeing them side by side was… disturbing. Old and new. Past and present. What I had and what I… wanted? No, you don’t want Jack. You hate him.
“Great,” I cried. “What about you?” Let this be the time Jack read my mind and went away.
Jack took a sip of his drink. “Good.” Then he turned to Denzel. “I’m Jack, the co-agent.”
Both hands wrapped together in a firm shake.
“Denzel.”
Jack played dumb. “Not the Denzel.” As if he didn’t have a signed Knicks jersey on the wall in his office.
Denzel misinterpreted Jack’s enthusiasm. “Yeah, you want an autograph?”
“From the guy who went out with Scarlett over here? Go for it.” Jack whipped out a business card and pen from his suit jacket.
Note to self: Check eBay later to see if he’s auctioning it off.
Denzel took the pen and card. “Sorry, man, you’ve lost me.”
“I’ve heard so much about you,” Jack continued, swirling his glass so the ice clinked in the awkward silence. “Scarlett’s gone through a rough time since you broke up.”
Denzel looked to me, midway through his signature. “What’s he talking about?”
“Nothing. Ignore him,” I said, stabbing my heel into Jack’s shoe.
“Jesus,” Jack yelled, falling over. The table closest to us glanced over but went back to poring over the brochure.
“Your glass is empty—you should get another drink,” I told Denzel, pushing him toward the bar.
He put the glass and business card down on the nearest table. “Think I’ll try to find Mike, tell him I’m heading out.”
“Cool. Bye. Tell your rich teammates about the place.”
He brushed his lips against my cheek. “I will.” And with confident, wide steps, he disappeared inside.
Jack sat on his ass, clutching his shoe. “I think you broke my foot.”
I gave him a saccharine smile. “If I wanted to break it, it would be broken.” I offered a hand to help him up. It wouldn’t do for the guests to think my co-agent had fallen down drunk. Or maybe it would.
Damn, I should have left him there and let the gossip mill work its magic.
“So that’s the infamous Denzel.” Jack limped along behind me to the bar. Viv would have given up on waiting for a drink a long time ago and snuck behind the bar to pour her own.
“He is pretty famous.” I grinned at the bartender. “Bottle of water please.”
Jack held up two fingers. “Make that two. He stole my pen.”
I scoffed. “He didn’t steal it. You gave it to him.”
“Guy must be hard up if he’s stealing pens.” Jack slid a napkin under his drink from the bartender. “How did he get in anyway? Cause he wasn’t on the list, or was he another of your last-minute invites?”
“God, no. His best friend is a broker, so he’s tagged along as a plus one. He wanted to see if I was okay.”
Jack gave a sarcastic laugh. “After you broke up? That’s… weird.”
“I guess,” I admitted, my emotions whirling in a tornado.
Jack took a gulp of water. “I’m sure not kissing my exes on the cheek once we break up.”
“Careful, Jack, you sound jealous,” I teased.
His expression turned sullen. “You wish.”
Before I could respond, shouting erupted around us.
Two women waved their arms at each other as their shrieking became so high-pitched I expected the dogs in the surrounding buildings would be going nuts. Their unintelligible verbal assaults caught the attention of the entire terrace.
Monica Landry’s ropey fingers were pointing at an enraged Aria. The other girls from the office had appeared for a brief twenty minutes then gone as they had another two open houses to visit, leaving Aria under my responsibility. At least Clarissa had done me the favor of ditching quickly.
Monica growled at her opponent. “I warned you to back off.”
Aria wasn’t listening. “I told ya—he’s mine.” Her lacquered helmet of hair didn’t bounce with her head.
Note to self: Ask Aria what hairspray she uses.
I despaired for humanity. Two educated women arguing over a man at a party. When will we learn?
“He didn’t wanna deal with ya anymore, darling,” Aria goaded. They circled each other like dogs ready to attack.
Monica’s face turned beetroot-red. “He loved what I showed him until you came along.”
Aria snorted. “The Morrison condo? Bless your heart, I wouldn’t let my dog live there.”
Holy mother of Will Ferrell, they were arguing over a client. Not a man. I couldn’t deny it was a more meaningful relationship, but still, this wasn’t the time or place.
Fear slithered down my spine. Was this what Jack and I sounded like?
I didn’t need a public melee to overshadow the evening, so I grabbed Monica by the upper arm. “Monica, I need you for a minute.” I pried my lips into a smile and addressed the crowd. “Sorry, folks, misunderstanding. The last agent to bring me an offer has to skydive off the terrace.”
Everyone laughed and went back to socializing. I yanked Monica out and didn’t stop until we’d reached the foyer. “Home time,” I told her, jabbing the elevator button.
Monica vibrated with adrenaline, prepped for a fight I wouldn’t let happen. “She started it.”
“I don’t give a shit who started what. But if that little stunt affects this listing, you will regret it, understand?”
The fight seeped out of her as I shoved her into the open elevator. “Yeah.”
“Good. Now go sleep it off.”