The Agent – Chloe
THE AGENT
CHLOE
“Alright, here you are, lovely!” A brunette in a ‘F*ck Dante Hudson Forever’ T-shirt handed me a binder. “Here’s everything you need to know to fight this man with your every breath.”
“Thank you.” I smiled as she moved to the end of the table.
Flipping it to the first page, I blinked a few times to make sure that my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.
Top Ways to Fight Hudson International DAILY
1. Whenever you see a Dante Hudson building, check for police and security. Then walk down its connected alleyway and piss on it. Piss on it A LOT.
(This attracts rodents. Makes him pay more money to remove them.)
2. Write a 1-star review for one of his mid-tier or lower-tier apartment properties.
(They deserve it anyway since he only cares about the luxury ones.)
3. If you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend, scream Dante’s name during sex so they can hate him, too.
I shut the binder before I could read the rest of the list.
“As you all know, Mister Greedy Fuckface has set his sights on The Holden,” the brunette spoke loudly, “and we will not let him turn another one of our beloved buildings into a dwelling for the elites!”
“Fuck him and his money!” “We won’t let him buy it!” “He has enough!” Other people chimed in.
“Some leaders at the Housing Authority and I have a well-thought-out plan to block him for all eternity,” she said. “Please flip to page seventy-five and read along with me.”
I obliged, and with every word she read, I found myself agreeing with them. I almost felt guilty for accepting payment upfront from him.
Almost.
I leaned back in my chair as they continued talking shit about him and truly hoped he wasn’t expecting me to take his side in this war at all.
Three and a half hours later, I was shaking the hands of people I wished I’d met years ago. People I couldn’t wait to see again.
“Our next meeting is in two weeks,” a guy named Sheldon said to me. “It’s a mass piss event, so be sure you get super hydrated the night before.”
Okay, maybe not.
I tucked my binder under my arm and followed them out of the café.
The moment I stepped out, my phone buzzed.
Mr. Hudson.
Shit.
I moved away from the attendees, down three storefronts, so they wouldn’t hear my betrayal.
“Hello?” I answered.
“So?” he said. “What all did they say about me and The Holden today?”
The truth… “Oh, um, I’m sure it’s the usual stuff you’ve heard before.”
“Well, tell me so I can know for sure.”
“They’re determined to do whatever it takes to block you from buying it, and they’re very well connected and organized—unhinged at times, but um—” I paused. “I’ll still try to make this new image thing work for you, but—”
“But what?”
You might be shit out of luck on this one. “But I think if you just keep believing in yourself and working hard like you said in your latest Property Mogul interview, your dream of buying The Holden might come true someday.”
“I don’t believe in ‘might’ come true, Miss Sterling,” he said. “Now that you’ve seen these people in action, what are you planning to do to get them on my side?”
I said nothing.
“Miss Sterling?”
“I um—” I looked around. “I can’t really hear you. The service is really bad right here.”
“I can hear you just fine.”
“Oh noooo.” I clicked my tongue a few times. “I’ll have to call you in a few minutes, okaaaay?”
“Don’t you dare fucking hang up on me.”
“Are you there?” I asked. “Mr. Hudson, I’m sorry, but I can’t hear you anymore. Bye!”
I ended the call and let out a breath. I placed my phone on silent, needing a minute to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do, and before I could walk away, a sleek gray Lamborghini pulled up next to me.
The window rolled down, revealing Mr. Hudson in the driver’s seat.
“Get in my car,” he said. “Now.”
I hesitated. Just stared at him.
Then I stepped back.
As if he could see the wheels turning in my head, he put the car in park and stepped out.
The sight of him striding toward me in a dark gray suit rendered me useless all at once, and I hated how fast my body forgot every reason I should’ve been afraid of him. Before I knew it, he was grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the car.
He opened the door and gently pushed me inside.
“Put on the seat belt,” he commanded, and I obliged.
He gazed at me in a way that made me forget our power imbalance entirely—and for one dangerous second, I forgot how to breathe.
Letting out a sigh, he took off his blazer and laid it across my exposed thighs.
“Keep that right there, or we’re going to have more problems than we already do…” He shut me inside and returned to the wheel.
He pulled off, keeping his gaze straight ahead, and I tried to ignore the intense beating in my chest.
Ten minutes later, he pulled over in front of one of his parks and looked over at me.
“So,” he said. “Want to be honest about what they were saying about me?”
“Not really.” I swallowed. “But I can show you.”
I handed him the notebook, and he flipped it open.
He gritted his teeth as he read, and I could practically feel the heat rising off him with every page he flipped.
Unsure of what to do or say, I pulled out my phone and started playing a new word game.
Superfluous. Check.
Superation. Yep.
Superegoist? How fitting…
“No wonder you don’t get that many clients.” Mr. Hudson’s voice interrupted my next round. “Why are there so many cracks on your screen?”
“Because I’ve dropped it a few times.”
“That looks like more than a few.” He closed the binder. “They sell screen protectors these days.”
“I’m aware, sir,” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “But since the back of my phone is broken in three places, I’m going to replace the entire phone when I have the time.”
“Allow me to replace it now,” he said. “You’re going to be extremely busy working under me, and I’m not going to play another bullshit round of the ‘I can’t hear you’ game again.”
My cheeks flushed red. “I really couldn’t hear you.”
“I’m sure.” He placed the folder in my lap. “You have until tomorrow evening to come up with a plan to counter all their silly points about me.”
“I think it’s going to take a bit longer than that.”
“Then how much should I deduct from the money I paid you?” He looked over at me. “Dock fifty thousand for every extra day.”
“It might be possible by tomorrow.”
“I thought so.”
He drove through the morning traffic, never looking over at me again, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened every time I shifted in my seat.
I swear every time we hit a stoplight—or maybe it was every time I crossed and uncrossed my legs—he bit back a growl.
Or maybe this is all in my head.