Chapter 40
Adelaide
One Year Later
“Would you mind updating the listing to include the new photos we have of the kitchen now that it’s finished its renovation? Oh, and can you ensure the Peterson paperwork is filed away? I just realized it’s still spread out on my desk,” I think out loud, tapping my steering wheel as I drive.
“Yes, of course, I’ll get right on that,” my assistant, Maeve, reassures me. “The social media post for the Alexander Palm Road mansion has great engagement, by the way. We’ve already received three enquiries.”
“Perfect,” I say with a little shimmy of excitement in my seat, because that property is the most expensive property on my portfolio to date, and the client trusts me to sell it on quickly and for a strong price.
Having three enquiries already is a great start.
“I’ll respond to those as soon as I’m back. I’m ten minutes away!”
“See you soon! I’ll get an iced matcha on your desk waiting for you.”
I’m on my way from a showing at a stunning condo, where I confidently walked the client through the property, answering each and every one of their questions without missing a beat.
I memorize every detail about each of my homes, get to know them like the back of my hand as if they were my own.
The client was impressed, told me they’ll call me in the morning with their thoughts on making an offer.
As I drive, I add it to the mental checklist of tasks to follow up on until I get the chance to add it to my physical diary.
As I pull up in the parking garage of my office building in downtown Boca and make my way to my floor, I feel that sense of pride I feel every single time I arrive at the door and read my sign on the glass: The Sinclair Signature. I smile as I reach for the handle.
The road here hasn’t been easy, but I can finally see the trees through the smoke.
Telling my parents I was no longer marrying Liam Hartman, and why, was the hardest conversation I’ve ever had.
It broke them to know I was in such a toxic relationship with a man who had physically hurt me, gaslit and controlled me, and restricted my ability to nurture my own fledgling career within a business that generations of my own family had helped build.
Their devastation only motivated them to help me get back on my feet quicker.
I moved in with them for six months before I bought a condo of my own, and we sold the Sinclair half of Hartman & Sinclair Realty.
The proceeds from that sale were invested into The Sinclair Signature, my very own female-led luxury realty company.
My father’s guidance and experience of decades in the industry have been invaluable, and my growth has been exponential so far.
I’m in direct competition with the renamed Hartman Realty, and often at open house showings, Liam is there with a client of his own.
We are civil and professional. We make the necessary small talk to get by, but otherwise avoid one another.
I don’t believe he has dated anyone new. He’s working on himself, too.
I push open the door to the office, a binder of paperwork and brochures in my arms, and Maeve immediately greets me.
She’s a few years younger than me, and great fun.
Every Friday evening after we finish work, we head for drinks.
Sometimes Hailey joins us. Sometimes Evie, too, though she’s moving to Atlanta soon despite my efforts to sell her and Jameson a condo right here in Boca.
I try my very best to always surround myself with the people I love most, the people who bring out the best in me.
“Your matcha is on your desk,” Maeve says, “but there’s also a potential client there, too. I told them you’d be here any second and to go ahead and take a seat. I hope that’s okay.”
“At this time?” I roll up the sleeve of my blazer to check my watch. We’re almost done for the day, and clients tend to call in advance, not just show up unannounced. “Let me see if I can narrow down what they’re looking for.”
I move across our small office, painted in fresh white tones with contemporary, stylish furniture, and push open the door to my own room. On my desk, there is an iced matcha. Beside it, there is a man. I see the trail of tattoos down his arm, the tanned skin, the tousled brown hair.
He turns to face me, and my breath catches in my throat.
Connor Lexington.
“Connor,” I breathe, hugging my paperwork to my chest. “What are you . . . What are you doing here? In Boca? In my office?”
The very last time I saw Connor was twelve months ago, at gate D7 of Las Vegas Harry Reid International Airport.
It was the last time I saw him, talked to him .
. . but not the last time I thought of him.
Because, dear God, have I thought of Connor so many times.
I always wished he could see me now, see what I’ve become, see that he was right all along.
“Hi, Addy,” he says softly, in that voice of his that sends shockwaves of familiarity through my core.
He looks strong, healthy, more muscular than I remember.
“My second stint in the Marine Corps just wrapped up, and it was time to get out of there and move on. I’ve been back here in Boca for a few weeks now, figuring out what my next chapter is. ”
I blink at him, struggling to comprehend that he exists in front of me.
I set down my paperwork on my desk as I move around it, stiffly lowering myself down onto the edge of my chair.
I reach for my matcha, feel the coolness of the ice against my palm, while my skin blazes hot.
“And do you have any ideas what that next chapter might be?” I ask, my breath catching.
“Well,” Connor says with a smile, “I’m thinking buying a place of my own might be a good start. Start getting some roots down, you know? You think you can help me find something?”
“That depends,” I say, leaning back coolly in my chair, arms folded across my chest. There’s a teasing smirk on my lips as my heart races at a million miles an hour. “What are you looking for?”
“Hmm. Something with strong AC. Parking. Beachfront views would be nice,” Connor rattles off, drumming his fingertips on the desk as he thinks. “And . . . You, Adelaide.” His earnest brown eyes meet mine, warm and inviting, safe. “I’m looking for you.”
Slowly, I rise and walk around my desk to stand in front of him. I don’t take my eyes off him. I let him go once, twice—and I know I’ve made some mistakes, but I won’t mess this up again.
“I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere this time.”
He smiles like a man who’s just won the jackpot. “Neither am I, Addy. I’m staying for good.”