4. Michelle #2
“My wife would love this,” Dean adds, gesturing through the glass doors. “She’s big on natural light. But me? I just want a yard where I can teach my kid to throw a ball without worrying about breaking a neighbor’s window.”
Liam chuckles, a little more relaxed now. Mary softens, her gaze drifting outside as if she’s already picturing it.
Dean steps closer to the door, pointing toward the patio. “You could put a safety gate right here,” he says. “Still keeps the view open. And when the sun hits that back corner in the afternoon? That’s the spot for a splash pool.”
“How old are your kids?” Mary asks.
“One on the way,” Dean says easily. “But we’re planning for a full house. The whole minivan lifestyle.”
They laugh. I don’t.
Because I have no idea what this not-actually-married man is playing at. But I know better than to cut in now. They’re comfortable. At ease. Interrupting would only make me look pushy. And Dean knows it.
So I stand and watch while he continues to charm my clients. They’re nodding along with everything he says, their eyes moving around the room like they’re seeing it for the first time. As if they hadn’t noticed how warm and livable this place is until he declared it.
“The wife wants a place where we can grow,” Dean says, his voice dipping into something quieter. “This one…this feels like somewhere we could stay. Long-term.”
Liam’s nod comes slower this time, more thoughtful. Oh no. He’s seeing it. Seeing Dean in this kitchen. In this future.
I feel the shift happening in real time. Dean’s selling it too well.
That’s enough.
I cross the room with my practiced smile and step in just enough to disrupt their circle, placing myself between Dean and the couple.
“Can I show you the primary suite again?” I ask. “The walk-in closet configuration really is worth a second look.”
They glance at each other, then follow. I shoot Dean a look over my shoulder. It’s cold and pointed. Stay put.
He holds my gaze for a second but he doesn’t follow.
Good.
Once we have a bit of privacy, I lean in with a confidential tone.
“He’s one of our dreamers. Bless him. He visits so many properties, just to imagine a different life for a little while.
” I add a sympathetic shrug. “Of course, a place like this is well beyond his means. But I think it gives him hope. It’s quite sweet, in a way. ”
Mary’s eyes soften immediately. “Oh,” she says, her voice thick with sympathy. “That’s actually rather touching.”
Liam looks at Mary, and his expression shifts from assessment to something warmer, more decisive. “There’s a lot of potential here,” he says.
It’s not the words, but the tone that tells me everything. They’re going to make an offer. I carefully mask the electric buzz that hums just beneath my skin as we schedule an appointment for tomorrow morning. As they leave, a quiet surge of triumph settles in my chest.
When the place clears out, I lose track of where Dean has disappeared to. I take a moment to reset the space, straightening a chair and re-centering a vase on the mantel, trying to settle the low hum of adrenaline still vibrating through me.
When I finally step outside, I find him sitting on the hood of my Porsche, one leg bent, the other planted firmly on the ground.
“You’re welcome,” he calls as I turn the key in the front door. I don’t answer right away. I take my time stepping off the porch. I might have thanked him if he weren’t so arrogant about it. He makes it impossible. A simple “thanks” would go straight to his head, and I’m not about to feed that ego.
“I don’t need you to sell a house for me,” I say, stopping a few feet from the car. “They were already interested.”
“And now they’re not just interested. They’re emotionally invested. They can see their life here.” He doesn’t move from his casual perch on my hood. “You’re welcome,” he repeats.
This is exactly what I mean.
“You really think you’re God’s gift to the world, don’t you?”
His mouth curves into a maddening half-smile. “You’re saying it like it’s a bad thing.”
“Get off my car.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t move. Then slowly, he pushes off the hood of my car. Straightens and closes the space between us. I glance away, needing the distraction, and spot the only other car in the drive.
A faded green Range Rover, sun-bleached to a dull olive and dotted with dents. It looks like it’s survived a war or two.
“That’s yours?”
He shrugs. “Gets me where I need to go.” He reaches past me and opens my car door. “Besides, I don’t need a flashy car to impress women. I’ve got something better.”
“Right,” I say, sliding into the driver’s seat. “The famous Carter charm.”
He leans down, bracing a forearm on the roof of the car, his grin pure arrogance. “No. My cock.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, jabbing the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life. It’s an angry sound that suits my mood.
“So,” he says, not moving from the open door. “When’s our date?”
“I’ll let you know the second I lose my self-respect.”
“I don’t scare easy, Michelle.” The way he says my name sends heat creeping up my neck. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”
“You know, the only thing less attractive than your arrogance is your persistence.”
I yank the door shut and peel out of the driveway. He’s an absolute moron. And yet, as the wind whips through the open window, a slow, unwilling smile creeps onto my face. It’s the sheer audacity. That has to be it.
Nothing else.