Safer Alone (The Safer Duet #1)

by Amy Rose

  I am thankful for this interruption, it snaps me out of my memories and right back into the here and now. It’s go time, Angela. Here is your way in.

  “Of course. The sellers moved away a short time ago and I have complete authority to have both the gardens and lawns tidied up prior to closing.”

  She nods at me before picking up her cell phone that must have been vibrating on silent since I didn’t hear it ring aloud. Holding up a finger to me, she answers the phone.

  “Yes, I’m here at the moment.” A pause. “Yes, I’m here with the agent.” Another pause. “I’ll ask her now for you, shall I?”

  She pulls the phone away from her ear, placing her other hand over the speaker. “Are you available to show the property again tomorrow afternoon? At, say, 2:30 pm? I am representing an interested party here today, and they will be in town tomorrow. It is the only time they have available to view the property.”

  I blink twice and then twice again, I’m totally confused right now. I thought she was looking at the property for herself, the way she was talking. It was as though it didn’t suit her needs. It’s good news though. It apparently doesn’t need to suit her. Maybe all isn’t lost. Maybe this mysterious other party has vision, and can see past all the work required. Maybe, just maybe. I might get this property sold.

  I don’t usually work Sundays. It is the one day per week that I can stay home and relax. Looks like that won’t be happening tomorrow. I need to sell this house, badly, and I’m not about to turn down the possibility of selling this property. I produce the warmest smile I can and fish out one of my business cards from the black leather folder I am holding close to my chest.

  “Of course. 2:30 pm tomorrow will be fine. Here is my card. Please have your client email me their contact information. It is a requirement for all after-hour meetings. Safety reasons.”

  She takes my business card between her thumb and forefinger, which I notice are perfectly manicured and blood red in color. I also see a large engagement ring sitting pretty on her finger, lucky woman. I then look down at my own hands and decided that I really should apply some nail polish to my own fingernails occasionally.

  Raising my head, I notice out of the corner of my eye that she has once again put the phone back to her ear and is speaking with her interested party.

  I hear several snippets of the conversation. “Miss White has agreed to meet you tomorrow. I’m sending you her information now…You’re welcome.” Once she ends the phone call I watch her take a photograph of my business card with the camera on her phone. I presume she is either emailing or messaging it to her client. Once she completes her task she walks back to stand in front of me and offers her hand. I place my own in hers and she gives a quick feather-light handshake, informing me that a Mr. Sands will email me his details this afternoon sometime, in preparation for tomorrow’s property viewing.

  I thank her for her attendance and wish her an enjoyable weekend. At the finalization of our meeting I accompany her as she walks out of the house, and watch her get into a white rental car that has been parked in the driveway for the duration of the viewing. Once she disappears from view, I re-enter the home.

  I hadn’t realized that I had been standing so straight until I notice that my posture instantly relaxes now that I was alone. This viewing wasn’t a complete bust. There was a possibility that I would sell this listing after all. Knowing that I have another chance tomorrow, I smile. I have hope.

  By this time I have completely relaxed. I look at my watch to see that there are only a few minutes of the open house left and the remaining time passes quickly. I collect the promotional flyers from the kitchen counter and tuck them into my folder, make my rounds of the house to ensure every window and door in the house is locked, drawing the curtains closed as I go. Finally switching all of the lights off and pulling the heavy timber door closed behind me, I check twice to make sure that the front door is locked.

  I meander toward my car and hop right in. Betty is a gorgeous glossy black color and totally inconspicuous, the perfect color to ensure that I am not noticed. I loved her when I first purchased her six months ago and I still do now.

  Other agents in the firm have their faces plastered on their car with their names and phone numbers. I don’t. My car isn’t a form of advertisement. I like being able to drive down the street without garnering unwanted attention. I have my business cards and flyers that I mail out when I sell a property. They are enough.

  I certainly don’t need my face plastered on every item of marketing material available. I even objected to my work photo being on the website. Sandra, my boss, insisted I at least appear in the group photograph, so, I reluctantly positioned myself behind the agents seated in front. Luckily when the photo came back from the professionals, I was pleasantly surprised to see that I don’t jump out at all. I am there, in the back, smiling just like everyone else captured, but I’m not one of the people who catches your attention when you first look at it. To me, that was a huge sigh of relief.

  Even though all of the other agents at the firm I work at use many more forms of flashy advertising themselves then I do, I am able to keep up with their sales, some months even doing even better than they do. At this time I have the least number of listings, and that’s only due to the fact that I sold all of my others. I was lucky with what I listed, and every single home that I have ever sold was wonderful. I consider myself lucky to have had the opportunity to market and sell each and every one of them.

  Car on, seat belt fastened, I pull out of the driveway and head toward my next appointment, which is back closer to town. The weather had decided to be kind today; the sun had decided to show its face after all, and it is lovely. A nice surprise, especially for early November, when everything starts to cool down. I am sure the change in temperature is on its way, so I promise myself that I will enjoy the warmth for as long as it’s willing to hang around. The cold and I aren’t friends, although getting to pull out my beanies, scarves and jackets is a positive.

  While driving towards town, one of my favorite songs comes on the radio so I turn it up. I know all the words to this song by now, so I sing along with Carrie Underwood. I don’t proclaim to have a fantastic singing voice, but here in my car no one can hear me, as the windows are all up. No one can see me bopping along either, thanks to the dark window tint. A few other songs come on that I know and the drive to the next showing goes rather quickly. It won’t be long now, Angela, it won’t be long.

  ~ Chapter Two ~

  I arrive at my showing with ten minutes to spare. After parking my car, I walk to the front door of the town house and knock twice. The door opens and I am greeted by the sellers, Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins. We speak for a few minutes, mainly exchanging pleasantries and discussing the weather. They explain that they are going to grab a coffee while the viewing takes place, not wanting to be around while the prospective purchasers eye their home. I advise them that I will give them a call as soon as the viewing finishes to provide an update. I watch them walk across the street, heading toward the coffee shop on the next block.

  This townhouse is a brand new listing. It isn’t even advertised on our website as yet, nor is a “For Sale” sign on the front lawn. The only reason I am showing the property today is because I already have a possible purchaser lined up, one I expect will be pulling into the driveway at any moment. I go about my usual routine, preparing myself for this appointment. As this property is still occupied, it still has all of the owners’ personal possessions on show, with the exception of photographs. I always advise my clients to place all the family photographs away during showings. That way those viewing the property don’t know who resides in the property.

  The furnishings are tasteful, so the home presents beautifully. An occupied home has some advantages over a vacant one, mainly because it isn’t as hard to imagine yourself living there. As clear as day, you can see someone already is. Being furnished with the right sized items also has another major benefit, which is maki
ng all of the rooms appear to be even larger than their actual measurements. You see, if you were to place a large corner sectional into a small living room, then nine times out of ten, all you would see is the sectional. You replace that with a smaller three-seat sofa and a single wing chair, then right away the room appears to have grown in size—a great optical illusion.

  This is one of the many reasons some agents suggest staging of the residence to their clients; it works wonders on a vacant home. Not everyone agrees with this method, though. For example, the owners of the Belle Meade Homestead. As soon as I suggested this option to them, they turned it down, advising they would rather the house speak for itself. Admittedly, I don’t really blame them. It is so hard to find items that wouldn’t overpower the room; the architecture in that particular home should speak for itself. I just hoped that they would have considered a couple of key rooms, the living room, dining room, master bedroom, and kitchen. Oh well, there is only so much I can do.

  I keep wandering through the residence and am pleasantly surprised that these owners have taken my advice. All of the draperies are already open. This is another great technique as it allows lots of natural light to flood the home. After my final check is complete, I make my way back to the entrance. I open the front door just as I see a car pulling into the driveway, I recognize the vehicle immediately. When the car doors open, I wave. My best friend Liam and his fiancée Jessica are walking away from their vehicle towards me, hand in hand. When they notice me on the front porch, they wave back.

  Liam and Jess are the epitome of a good-looking couple. Liam is tall, standing at around six feet tall. He has the most beautiful shade of strawberry blond hair, large hazel eyes, and freckles across his fair skin. Where Liam is tall, Jess is the opposite, the top of her head coming up to his shoulders. Her long, blonde curly hair is free and moving in the breeze today, her blue eyes full of excitement.

  Jess and I are friendly enough with each other, although nothing like my friendship with Liam. He is, no doubt about it, my best friend, and he has ended up being more like a brother. We have known each other for over fifteen years, having gone through school together. When everything went down with Dylan, Liam was the first person I called. He was the one who suggested I should give a new town a try, so I did.

  When I first moved to Nashville, I moved in with him. It worked for a year, but when he met Jessica it started to get a little bit awkward because she was always over. I would constantly witness how happy they were and even hear it sometimes too. This is incredibly hard to do when you’re nursing your very own broken heart. In the end I gave them the best gift of all and I made the decision to purchase my own place. I shifted out and Jessica moved her things in.

  As soon as they get to the front door, Liam releases Jessica’s hand and wraps me in one of his bear-crushing hugs. It takes me all the way back to when I first arrived at his home; one look at me all battered and bruised, and he enveloped me in his arms in one of these exact same hugs, only gentler, and I have to admit that it made me feel a little better. He steps back and smiles at me, “Damn girl, have you lost weight?, I swear it’s getting easier and easier to wrap my arms completely around you for a hug.”

  Most girls would be offended by a comment regarding their weight; I however give a small laugh. He noticed; that was a good sign. “A few pounds. Thanks for noticing.”

  He nods, waving a hand towards the house he starts again. “If it’s as nice on the inside as the outside looks, then I think it’s a slam dunk, Ange.” This was what I was hoping for. I couldn’t help but get a little bit excited.

  When I originally appraised this home I instantly thought of Liam and Jessica, who, speaking of her, is now leaning in to give me a warm hug, I happily reciprocate, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  “Well, are you two ready to have a look at what could possibly be your new home? Step inside guys, I know this will suit you both.”

  We enter the home together and I start the tour, walking through the four-bedroom home. I can’t help but notice the looks they shoot each other, especially when we enter the master suite. Jessica’s eyes almost bug out of her head. It is a double-sized bedroom with enough room to also have a sitting area. A crystal chandelier hangs in the center of the room, giving it some opulence and bling, as Jessica likes to call it.

  The view is something else that I know Jessica will love. It looks out directly at the reserve at the rear of the home. It would provide her with that sense of privacy that she was hoping for. With no neighbors to the rear of the property, the peace and quiet would be a huge benefit for her, when she sleeps through the day after her night shifts at the hospital.

  Jess is a registered nurse at the main hospital in Nashville, working in the children’s cancer ward. Her bright and bubbly personality helps the children when they are feeling down, and I just know that when she and Liam decide to have children of their own, she will be a great mom.

  We continue the tour and look at the garage, which has a small room at the back. It is perfect for storage or would easily convert to a workshop. The main attraction though, I saved for last. The heart of any home is and always will be the kitchen, and in this home it truly is. This was a kitchen fit for a chef, and Liam is that chef. He lets out a whistle, squatting down to open the oven, reaching up to caress the range, running his hands over the stone counters. Finally turning away, he crosses the room to where I stand beside the dining table and gives me a high five, quickly followed by a kiss on the cheek.

  “Angela this is it, the one we have been searching for! It’s absolutely perfect. From memory they are asking $375,000 for it, aren’t they?” I knew at that very moment that I had the sale in the bag, I had Liam, hook, line and sinker.

  “I’m so glad it’s what you’re after, guys. Yes, Liam you are correct with the price. What are your thoughts, Jess?”

  Jessica turned her attention from the walk-in pantry to me, upon hearing her name. “I love it too, Ange. I’m so glad you thought of us.”

  I smile widely at them both. “Why don’t you both have another look around? Imagine where you would place your furniture, envision yourselves living here by pretending to cook in the kitchen.” I raise an eyebrow at Liam who smirks back at me at this comment. “Any questions you might have, feel free to ask. Take your time, though. I’ll wait here for you.”

  They nod in unison. Taking each other’s hands, they walk back toward the second level of the home; no doubt back to the master bedroom that captured Jessica’s full attention at first sight.

  I retrieve my cell phone from my skirt pocket and notice that my notification screen is advising that I have a new email. I unlock my phone. The email shows that it is from an Elliot Sands. For some reason, that name rings a bell. I know that I have heard it somewhere; it isn’t someone I was currently dealing with, though. Maybe someone from the past? Wracking my brain, I just can’t place it. Giving up on that angle, instead I consider another possibility. It might be my client for tomorrow’s viewing, the mysterious interested party that I will be meeting at the Belle Meade Homestead. I proceed to open the email.

  Dear Miss White,

  My assistant looked at the house located in Belle Mead, with you earlier today and has arranged a viewing for me tomorrow at 2:30 pm.

  It was advised that I send you the appropriate contact details, as you require them before our meeting.

  Please see below all the information you will need.

  Until tomorrow.

  Regards,

  Elliot Sands

  CEO Sands PTY Limited

  I was correct, it is for tomorrow’s viewing. At least he didn’t waste time sending this. He is punctual, a trait I respect. I hope that it also means that he is interested in the property.

  I can see within his signature that he had his details noted, I quickly forward it to my work computer at the office. It is required that they have the details of any clients we meet with, for safety reasons. Jenny, my assistant, will check my com
puter on Monday morning, more than likely before I even get into the office. This procedure had been brought in by our boss, Sandra, for the safety of each of us agents. We work out in the field, after all, and we could be meeting a serial killer for all we knew. It had happened a couple of years ago, an agent conducted an open house. She was found later that afternoon by the homeowners, bludgeoned to death on the living room floor. It was later discovered that she was, in fact, murdered by someone who had attended that day’s viewing.

  It made complete sense to me, and to be honest I was one of the agents who felt better knowing that if something ever did happen, they would know where we were and who we were with; all being well that the person attending provided us with the correct details. It was so easy nowadays to create a fake identity, after all. Identity theft was running wild, not just across the country, but across the world. All it took was someone to steal one of your bills from your mailbox.

  I can see a phone number and an address for his workplace at the bottom of the email. The address seems vaguely familiar. I click on the link and sure enough, it is. A photograph of the address comes up, it is a gothic style sandstone structure with cathedral windows to the front. I remembered it well as I had taken a photo of this architectural beauty on one of my last days in New York.

  It is located in an area that I used to drive past most weeks on my way to Dylan’s apartment. I don’t need to think about that right now, though. It seems a lifetime ago.

  I shake my head in an effort to clear those thoughts from my mind. I am wracking my brain trying to remember the name of the building. The photo showed a sign, but at the angle it was taken, it was almost illegible. I pinch then pull the photograph on my screen, in an effort to zoom in on the sign. I can barely make it out. Sands Tower, possibly? If it does indeed share a name with this Elliot fellow, then it is more than likely not just a coincidence that he works there. He might be some relation to the person who owns it possibly, or maybe he owns the building himself?