Ear Candy

by Carter, M. E.

  “This is why you work for me, Marge. You understand me completely.”

  “Which is how I know that before I give you a reminder”—I groan because if she’s calling me to remind me of something, it’s going to be important—“I need to update you on the office first.”

  “Always appreciate it when you start with good news. Hit me.”

  Marge spends the next few minutes giving me the rundown. The open house over the weekend resulted in a bidding war for my newest team member. I knew she was a good person to bring on. Selling the house for twenty-thousand over asking price is not too shabby, even in a resort town like this one. We’ve picked up two new listings in as many days, both priced over $500K, and four closings are scheduled for next week.

  “For the off-season, I’d say that’s pretty damn good,” I praise.

  “More than good. It’s only February. By spring break, things will pick up even more, so I’m keeping an eye on a couple more agents you may want to consider bringing on.”

  “Especially if the college follows through with the plan to expand the sports complex. I’m anticipating an explosion of rentable properties on the market once that starts.”

  “I’m on the same page with you,” she says, once again proving why I hired her in the first place. Marge understands the real estate market in this area like no one else. Why she never pursued her agent’s license is beyond me, but as long as she’s happy being my assistant, I can work with it. “Speaking of the convention center . . .”

  I groan. The lightbulb in my brain turns on and I know what she’s about to say.

  “You realize you are the keynote speaker at the Idaho State Realtors Convention in about three hours, right?”

  “Why do you sign me up for these things, Marge? Why do you hate me?”

  “No way, buddy. I’m not taking the blame for this one. You know better than to check your work email after margarita night on Taco Tuesday. I’m still curious how many typos were in your response to the organizers when you agreed to this speech. And how much salsa ended up on the keypad.”

  “It was whiskey sours that night.”

  “You remember that, but you couldn’t remember how to say no?”

  Indicating with my blinker, I turn the car onto the narrow road through the trees that will lead us right to the cabin. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Donna finally relaxes now that she can’t see down a mountain while driving. City girl.

  “That is not the point and you know it, Marge.” She tries to interrupt with a “Mm-hmm,” but I ignore her as I continue. “Moving on, though, if I’m going to make it on time, I’m gonna need you to send a car to get me at the cabin.”

  Because I haven’t written my speech yet. But I know better than to tell her that.

  “Already done. It’ll be there in an hour.”

  “What? How did you know I’d be here?”

  Marge’s laugh is a little too loud this time. I’d write her up for being insubordinate or something, but that would make her laugh harder and then she’d tell my mother. It’s not worth the effort. “You forget how small this town can be. I’ve gotten at least three phone calls today from friends who saw you shopping this morning. I hear she’s real pretty.”

  I look at Donna out of the corner of my eye, pretending this conversation didn’t just veer her direction. Besides, they’re all wrong. Donna isn’t pretty. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. And not just because of her looks.

  Of course I don’t say that to Marge, either. Again, she has my mother on speed dial. I’m already anticipating the third degree after she gets back from her cruise.

  “Nosy busybodies need to mind their own business.” Even though we all know some things will never change. “But I’m almost at the cabin now. I’ll be ready in an hour. Oh hey, do you know if my navy suit is still in the back closet?”

  “Yep. I had it delivered there last week. And Todd? Whatever you do, do not wear the tie you bought from Marcy.”

  I scoff. “But it’s my favorite. It has tiny little alligators that say ‘bite me’ on it.”

  “Exactly. This is a professional gathering. Get your businessman persona on and kill it, baby. You’re already on their radar after being one of the top five brokers in the region and the top ten in the state over the last year alone. You can pretend to be as power hungry as they are for a couple hours.”

  I sigh because she’s right. I love my job. I have built my business from the ground up and have a fantastic team under me, which allows me to work whatever hours I want. Our reputation is spreading far and wide and I’ve already started looking into expanding into other states. In some ways, I live a very charmed life. If turning into “Business Professional Todd” for a couple hours is my biggest sacrifice, I could be doing a hell of a lot worse.

  Still, pulling up the driveway, I can’t help but feel a little disappointed that I won’t be spending the rest of the day here. I was having way too much fun with Donna. Oh well. Eventually it would have come to an end anyway. Right?

  “All right, you’ve made your point.” Putting the car into park, I let the engine run for the rest of the conversation. Donna just sits there. I’m not sure what she’s waiting for, but I don’t mind sitting next to her before I get back to reality. “I’m back now so I need to wash off my natural charm and glam it up for a bunch of suits.”

  “Good boy. Give me a call when it’s over.”

  She hangs up, not even bothering to say goodbye. That’s one of the great things about Marge. She doesn’t waste my time with random pleasantries. She’s fun to talk to but if it’s not a) funny or b) the point of the conversation, she’s out.

  Dropping my phone in the center console, I let Donna in on our change of plans. “That was the boss.”

  She looks at me quizzically. “From the conversation, I thought that was your assistant or something.”

  “Same job, different title. She keeps me on track most of the time, so she can refer to herself however she wants.”

  “Good point.” She laughs lightly but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I may be seeing things, but I think Donna may have deduced the situation and is as disappointed as I am that I have to leave. Or I could have had one too many Irish coffee truffles from Mountaintop Confections and be having some wishful thinking.

  “So obviously I got called into work.”

  “They did give you the morning to hang out with me. At some point they were going to need you back.” She says it with a smile, but again . . . that Irish coffee is messing with me.

  “Are you going to be okay? You seem a little nervous.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine. You taught me how to rough it overnight if the power goes out again. Plus, I need to work and I’m feeling pretty inspired right now. Shouldn’t be hard to crank out a few thousand words now that I’ve been enlightened on small-town living.”

  I nod, still feeling a small pit in my stomach because our time together is over. Turning off the engine, we head inside . . . Donna to the living room to write, me to the bedroom to transform into Professional Todd.

  Chapter 15

  Donna

  Work. Todd has to go to work. Of course he does. It’s a workday for most people and he’s taken half the day to play tour guide to me. While I appreciate his sacrifice, guilt has nudged at me all day too. I’ve had a lot of friendships change over the years after leaving a traditional nine to five job in lieu of writing full time. My schedule, as much as I try to keep one, isn’t really a schedule at all.

  If I’m out with a girlfriend and an idea for a scene of my current work in progress or a new story pops in my head, I will usually have to pause our conversation and type notes into my phone. I’ve even written entire chapters on my phone during a movie. I admit I was surprised that the threat of being kicked out of a movie for being on your phone is just that—a threat. It worked to my advantage, though. Because in my line of work, new ideas and new scenes are what butter my bread so to speak.
If I don’t get the thoughts down as soon as they come to me, they may be lost forever. Like socks in the dryer.

  Where do those go anyway? I’ve heard they reincarnate as Tupperware lids that have no matching bowls.

  Also, I’m easily distracted. I was never like this in my former attorney life. I was structured and disciplined, never late and never without all my ducks in a row. Now that my full-time job is one of creativity, and I’m actually encouraged to take breaks, step away from my work to think, I have discovered some of the most ridiculous time sucks.

  Trash television? Check. Level 476 of a game on my phone? Double check. Online videos of cats shaking their tails to music? Super check. I do that every day. Don’t even get me started on social media. That is the biggest time sucks of them all but also one of the most vital parts of my business. Oprah has no idea how lucky she is to have started building her empire before the days of posts, likes, and comments.

  I’ve also become used to being on my own, spending my days chatting on the phone with an author friend or two and updating my social media accounts. That’s why today was so nice. It was fun to spend time with another adult, albeit one with a teenage sense of humor, and have real conversations. I laughed. I laughed a lot. Truthfully, I’m concerned about the status of my cheeks. A trip to an esthetician for a face massage may need to take place sooner rather than later.

  While my tour guide changes into his work clothes, which I can only imagine include a pair of khakis and a polo shirt with the name of real estate office he works for stitched above his heart, I open my gift. The small typewriter is wrapped in bright red tissue paper and although I’ve seen it, a little flutter of excitement ripples through me. Slowly, I reveal the ornament and I can’t help the smile that takes over my face. My heart is full as I realize this ornament will sit on my tree, or my desk because I doubt I’ll put it away without reminding me of today with Todd.

  A throat clearing startles me from my thoughts.

  Holy. Shit.

  Those aren’t khakis.

  Standing in the entry way to the living room is a gorgeous man dressed in a suit that if I were to guess, costs somewhere in the four-digit range. Dark navy, the perfectly tailored suit accentuates parts of Todd’s body I didn’t know existed. Broad shoulders, a tapered waist, and thighs that could easily crack a walnut.

  Wow, he wasn’t kidding about the temperature heating up. Only, I don’t think it’s this thick sweater I’m wearing, but the man standing before me, that has my skin flushed. He’s adjusting the sleeves of his shirt under the suit coat when his eyes lift and meet mine.

  Swallowing the lump that has formed in my throat, I openly stare at him. I should be embarrassed by my reaction. I should not be thinking about slipping my hands under that coat and pulling it off his shoulders before I slowly unbutton his shirt and . . . okay at this point there would be no slowly unbuttoning anything. I’d channel one of my lead characters and rip that bitch open just so I can run my hands up his pecs.

  Dear God. I’m having a sexual fantasy about Todd. Not Hawk Weaver. Not the recently named Sexiest Man Alive. Todd. The man who has shown me kindness, friendship, and encouraged me to do what makes me happy and not what is expected.

  I have a mad crush on a man who wears questionable shirts most days while practicing his method acting. He isn’t the type of man I meet on my dating app. He’s the opposite. Yet, as he stands before me, he isn’t. He’s sexier than any of the corporate executives I’ve gone out with since, well . . . maybe ever.

  How did I not see this plot twist coming?

  Opening my mouth to say something, I’m cut short when his phone rings. Instead of the previous quote from my favorite movie, it’s a standard ring tone. Tilting my head to the side as he raises his finger to stop me from saying anything, he answers the call.

  “Hello? Oh, good afternoon, Charles. Yes, I did have a chance to review your proposal and while I appreciate the offer, you and I both know it is far below asking.” Todd walks toward the wall of windows as he listens to the man on the other side of the call, shoving one hand in his pocket, which stretches the material of his fitted jacket a little tighter over his ass. What is happening here?

  “I don’t disagree, but you know me well enough to know I will not call my client when your offer is nothing short of offensive. Speak with your buyer and give me a call when you aren’t three below asking.”

  And my panties are soaked. Todd is a boss. I don’t think he’s literally a boss but, in that suit, speaking with authority, and holding himself with such confidence, I’m turned on beyond belief. I guess Clara was right. I do have a type, and he’s not only what I write, but he’s also come to life right before my eyes.

  “Sorry about that,” he says, pulling me from my quickly turning dirty thoughts.

  “Oh . . . uh . . .” I stammer, never really saying anything at all. That’s when I notice his tie is a mess. I don’t know how it’s possible, but the imperfection makes him even sexier. It makes him more—Todd.

  Slowly, I walk toward him, his eyes narrowing in confusion. I step up in front of him and raise my hands to his tie. The moment my hands touch the silky fabric, his body stiffens.

  “Who taught you how to tie a tie? This is a mess.” The raspiness of my voice is not lost on me.

  Instead of responding, Todd places his hand on top of mine. My eyes lift to meet his and as cheesy and fake as it sounds, time stops. I hear nothing around us except the beating of my heart in my ears.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I want to,” I say, cutting him off. Before I can fix it, the shapes on his tie focus into pictures, and I can’t help but smile. “Todd, why are there alligators that say ‘bite me’ on your tie?”

  “Don’t tell Marge,” he whispers. I smile again because even in his power suit, he makes no apologies for who he is. It’s endearing and oddly sexy.

  Slowly, I adjust his tie so it isn’t halfcocked to the side and the pattern askew. Thinking of the word cock suddenly sends a volt of sexual awareness through me. Todd’s hand slides from where it rests on my hand up my arm and then down my side, coming to rest on my hip.

  Satisfied with the status of his tie, I slowly run my hand down the soft fabric, settling it on his waist. Our eyes connect, and I wait for a count of three, giving him an opportunity to make a move. Okay it was more a count of two before I rise to my toes and place my lips on his.

  Warm soft lips kiss me back and when his tongue nudges the seam of them open, I give myself to him fully. His arms envelope me and my hands link behind his neck. I’m not a young girl and have had my share of first kisses. The first being in the fifth grade on a dare with Tommy Angelino. It wasn’t the greatest first kiss, but it sure beat some of the others as I got older. Don’t get me started on the high school jocks. Sloppy is being kind.

  But this. This first kiss with Todd, it is slow and sensual. Strong and powerful. Promising and hopeful. We kiss for what feels like an eternity but when he pulls back, his hand lifting to cup my cheek, it feels too short.

  With a soft peck to my lips, my eyes flutter open, looking up at him through my lashes where a smile greets me. “That was unexpected.” Shyly, I smile and look down. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

  “I’m not embarrassed,” I mumble.

  Before he can respond, his phone chimes in his pocket and he lets out a long sigh. “That’s my car. Will you be okay here while I’m gone?”

  Nodding I ask, “What exactly do you do, Todd?”

  “I sell houses.”

  “Dressed in this?” I ask, running my finger across the lapel of his suit coat.

  Chuckling he steps out of our embrace, and I already miss his hands on me. “Not always. Today I have to play the part and talk to a group of stiffs about the market and what I project is coming in the next year.”

  “Wow. You’re quite a mystery, aren’t you?”

  Leaving me standing in my spot, he makes it to the door and turns to me. “I’l
l be back in a few hours. Don’t go anywhere.”

  As the door closes behind him, I say to only myself, “Not a chance in hell.”

  When Todd left for his meeting, I had no idea what to do with myself. I was wound up tight, my hormones running rampant. I contemplated a bath and a nap. I’m on vacation after all. But, instead, I sat down at the dining table, powered up my laptop, and . . . wrote. I wrote for hours, never stopping. The words flowed from my fingertips like they never have. Even my first book didn’t come to me as seamless as this one.

  The sweet romance. The one book my agent will kill me for submitting. It’s also the only book in two years that has made me feel like I may actually have something great happening.

  My highest word count in a single day was eleven thousand and I sacrificed a lot that day. Mostly, sleep, food, and relaxed muscles. Today though, as I look at the lower left-hand corner of my computer screen, I see that if I keep this up for a few more hours, I will surpass that goal.

  Allowing myself a ten-minute break, I rise from the table and use the restroom before heading to the kitchen for something to drink. Glancing at the clock on the microwave, I am at that awkward part of the afternoon. I’ve missed a reasonable lunch hour and am hours from dinner. Opening the refrigerator, I see the blocks of cheese from Todd’s awful attempt at snacks from last night and smile and pull the block from its perch along with a bowl of grapes.

  Once I’ve put together a little plate of cheese, crackers, and grapes, I pour myself a glass of iced tea and return to my work. Immersing myself into the story, I polish off the plate of food and suck down my tea without realizing it.

  I’m not sure how much time has passed, but soon the sun is setting, and the room begins to darken. Since I’m at a good stopping point in the story, I click the save button and close my laptop. Standing from the table, I eye the fireplace and pile of wood nestled next to it. I’m an independent woman. I can easily build a fire by myself. Contemplating exactly how one goes about starting a fire, I do what any modern woman does. I open my laptop and consult the internet.