The Agent – Chloe
THE AGENT
CHLOE
“Growing up in poverty made me work harder than ever, and if YOU work half as hard as me, you might get here, too.”
What a load of billionaire bullshit.
I flipped through this month’s copy of Property Mogul, hating that this would be the first issue I would have to burn.
The editors usually picked likable and relatable people for the cover shot and interview, so I was convinced they’d been high on something stronger than weed when they chose Dante Hudson.
Sure, he was by far the sexiest person to grace the front page, but he was also the most egotistical, self-absorbed, and terrible person as well.
Even though the man’s fingerprints touched every corner of this city, and clients were more likely to buy when they saw his ridiculous owl-eyes logo on the listing, he was an undeserving asshole.
Trust me, I would know.
I worked in one of his realtor offices, and I was renting a place in one of his lower-end units.
This man had never been worth less than six figures a day in his life, and I couldn’t believe he was trying to make any person with a brain buy into a fake-ass sob story.
The moment I made a major sale, I was leaving his realty company and working for someone else.
Anyone else.
After tossing the magazine into the trash, I rolled out of bed and grabbed my shower caddy.
Slipping down the hall, I knocked on the floor’s bathroom door.
“Hello?” I called out. “Is anyone in there?”
I hesitated before knocking again.
Since I had to share it with three other tenants, I’d learned that each of them had their own way of saying “yes” without saying a word.
Several seconds passed without the slight jiggle of the door handle, a tap against the sink, or a cough that sounded like the plague.
Pushing the door open, I placed a sock on the door and slammed it shut.
I immediately wished I hadn’t.
Strands of hair that didn’t belong to me clung to the sink, and whoever used the shower last hadn’t wiped down the glass doors.
Why is this my life?
Sighing, I tightened the strap on my rubber sandals and turned on the water.
I held a hand under the stream, waiting for it to warm, but the water’s temperature dropped with every passing second.
My fingers went numb, begging me to withdraw from the cold.
Before I could call the landlord, the stream slowed to a trickle.
Then it cut off.
What the hell?
“Heads up, floor thirty-three!” a gruff voice shouted from the hall. “We’re doing some maintenance on the pipes today!”
“Really, Mr. Rowen?” I opened the door and glared at him. “Why can’t you ever tell us a week before? Hell, even a day before?”
“Because—” He shrugged. “I can’t predict when the rats are going to chew through the tubing, Miss Sterling. I’m not a fortune teller.”
“Sorry I even mentioned it.”
“You’re forgiven,” he said. “Make sure you don’t have any food boxes on your floor. I’ve already caught four of ’em on the floor below you.”
UGHHHH!
Swallowing a scream, I returned to my room and pulled on a dress.
I couldn’t risk another day without taking a warm shower, so I pulled out my phone and looked over my list of upcoming condo showings.
My next one wasn’t scheduled until Wednesday afternoon, and that was too far away.
I logged into the Hudson Luxury portal and scrolled through the most expensive listings.
These were the places that sat on the market just to remind people like me that there was an entirely different version of life happening above our heads.
Checking the appointments, I saw that my favorite penthouse condo—the one in The Bergman building—was clear.
As usual.
Its floors of imported marble, museum-sized windows, private elevator access, and a view so high above Manhattan that the traffic below seemed imaginary made me feel like I was living in a dream every time I walked through its private doors.
I marked the unit for “private showing” and packed my bag.
An hour later
The Bergman’s lead receptionist nodded at me the moment I stepped into the lobby.
“Morning, Miss.” She smiled. “How may I help you?”
“I’m meeting a realtor here for a private tour.”
“Which suite?”
“It’s one of the first-tier ones,” I lied. “The Forman, I believe.”
“Oh! Well, do you already know which elevator to take?”
“Absolutely.” I nodded. “Thank you so much.”
“Well, if you have extra time while you’re here, ask your realtor to show you the penthouse unit. I have a feeling that one is finally going to sell soon.”
Not at its ridiculous price point.
I smiled anyway. “I’ll ask her to show me. Thank you.”
I walked away and waited for a family to disappear down the hall. Then I boarded one of the private elevators and swiped my access key.
The second the doors opened, my version of New York living disappeared and a far better one welcomed me into its arms.
Sunlight stretched across white marble floors and windows so massive they made the skyline look fake.
I pressed the control panel and watched the shades slowly rise, flooding the condo with even more light. Then I rummaged through the kitchen pantry for brunch snacks.
The tea kettle hissed while I wandered barefoot through the living room, pretending I actually belonged there. My fingers skimmed across vintage gray furniture that cost more than my student loans.
Dante Hudson might’ve been a corporate demon, but the man had immaculate taste.
As I was admiring the view, my phone buzzed with a text.
Claire (Office Manager)
Are you interested in handling a new client/showing in two hours?
It’s an $800k unit above a flower shop. (Your friend Marie passed it on since she’s busy at a closing)
Absolutely. Thank you so much.
After making a cup of tea, I headed toward the master bathroom.
No matter how many times I saw it, the fact that this one room was fifty times larger than my apartment took my breath away.
Like I’d done too many times before, I turned on the heated floors and the soft lighting system that followed me from tile to tile.
The second I stepped behind the glass shower walls and turned the knobs, water burst from every direction at the perfect temperature.
“Ahhhh…” I couldn’t help but moan.
Shutting my eyes, I tilted my head back as the jets cascaded over my skin.
My playlist filtered softly through the built-in speakers while steam wrapped around the room like a warm blanket.
“Yeah…” I sang. “But you know…This life…”
I lathered shampoo through my hair, singing under my breath until suddenly—the music stopped.
The soft lighting vanished, too, replaced by harsh white overhead lights.
“What the…”
I quickly rinsed off, assuming the power system had glitched.
Stepping out of the shower, I reached for the wall panel—and froze.
There, standing in the doorway, was the sexiest man I’d ever seen in my life.
The last man I wanted to see right now.
Dante Hudson?
With his jaw clenched tight and his striking blue eyes staring right at me, he looked even better than he did on the Property Mogul magazine cover.
Fully suited in midnight gray, with broad shoulders that looked unfairly expensive, the man stood there like he owned the oxygen I was breathing.
Say something, Chloe. Say hello…
I opened my mouth, but no words fell.
Then reality smacked me in the face.
I was dripping wet, bare-ass naked, and guilty as hell of being here when I wasn’t supposed to be.
“Never mind,” Mr. Hudson said into his phone, his gaze fixed directly on me. “I’ve discovered the ‘paranormal activity’ problem…”
I could practically feel the color draining from my face and pooling at my feet.
“I’ll call you right back.” He slipped his phone into his pocket, and his gaze traveled from my eyes to my toes before hardening again.
Still thoughtless, I covered my breasts with my hands.
I waited for him to say something—but all he did was stare.
The silence made my skin burn even hotter.
“You must be lost,” he said finally.
I nodded.
“I see.” He walked past me and grabbed a towel, but he didn’t immediately hand it over. “So, somewhere between all of the units in the building that are not for sale, you slipped into the one that was?”
“Yes…”
“The most expensive one with its own set of keys and codes?” He narrowed his eyes and finally held out the towel.
I moved to grab it, but it slipped from my fingers and landed on the floor.
Shit.
I quickly bent down and wrapped it around my body.
“I’m going to give you five seconds to tell me how the fuck you snuck into my condo,” he said, “and then a generous set of thirty seconds to get dressed while I call the police.”
“There’s no need to call the police, sir.”
“That’s not what your first five seconds are for…”
“I didn’t sneak in—” I swallowed. “I mean, not technically, because I have a key.”
“A key?” His jaw tightened. “Who on this building’s staff gave that to you?”
“No one.” I shook my head. “I’m a real estate agent and I, well, you know.”
“No. I don’t know. Explain.”
“I just requested a showing and it granted me access, so—”
“So, there’s a real customer?”
“No.”
“And you only requested it so you could steal a fucking shower?”
“Steal?” I shook my head. “No, I was just borrowing it because my shower is a disaster and…”
I struggled to find the right words as his glare shifted from heated to glacial. “I always clean up when I come here, I swear.”
“You’ve done this before?”
Shit. “No. Never.”
“For how long?”
“I should really get going.” I glanced toward the doorway. “I’m running late.”
“Not before you give me what I asked for.” He stepped to the left, blocking the exit. “How long have you been sneaking into this unit without my goddamn permission?”
I bit my tongue. There was no way in hell I was revealing that information.
“Okay,” he said, his voice clipped. “Which real estate agency do you work for?”
Yours…
“You wouldn’t know it.”
“Try me.”
“I can’t really remember right now.”
“You can’t recall your owner’s name?”
“I can describe how terrible he is, if you prefer…”
“Okay.”
“He’s not very accommodating, the commission he offers on sales isn’t the best, and I honestly hate how he sends us—”
“My ‘okay’ was rhetorical.” He cut me off. “You can save the rest of your explanation for the police.”
“I thought we agreed that you weren’t going to call them?”
“Surely you didn’t believe that.” He pulled out his phone. “Get dressed and wait for the police to get here. You’re out of your mind.”
“No, you’re out of your mind…”
I rushed past the other door to grab my bag from the parlor room. Pulling on my blouse and jeans, I silently vowed to deal with the panties situation later.
Panicking, I shoved my shampoo and soaps into my stowaway bag.
This time, I didn’t tuck anything I owned into a special hiding place.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and slipped through the bathroom’s second exit.
I was halfway across the living room when I realized I wasn’t wearing any shoes.
No, no, no…
I rushed back to the bathroom and found Mr. Hudson standing in front of the shower—studying the glass like it was a crime scene.
“Yes, I know…” he spoke into his phone. “I would very much like to report a—”
His eyes caught mine through the mirror’s reflection as I slipped into my shoes.
“A fucking crime…” He hissed.
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest of his words.
With my heart racing hard enough to crack my ribs, I sprinted toward the private elevator and slammed my finger against the “door close” button so hard my nail chipped.
I pressed “garage,” and the elevator immediately shot downward.
Please don’t call it back up. Please don’t call it back up…
The final whoosh as it passed the second set of condos eased some of the knots twisting in my stomach, but I knew I wasn’t safe yet.
The moment the doors opened, I slipped between rows of expensive sports cars and carefully cut through the security cameras’ blind spots before rushing out onto the street.
As I hurried toward the nearest subway station, I silently begged the universe to retcon this entire day from my life’s history.
I’d officially learned my lesson: Only sneak into the mid-tier and basic units from here on out, not the luxury ones.
I promise, Universe. I promise.