Safer Alone (The Safer Duet #1)

by Amy Rose

  “You seem to know quite a lot about this house, Miss White. The suggestions you are making in regard to improving the home are commendable. Is it a passion of your own to renovate homes?” His tone wasn’t at all mocking. Instead he seemed genuinely interested as to what I was going to say, even intrigued. I didn’t see the harm in answering one slightly personal question. It wasn’t as though it was anything that was going to reveal the inner workings of Angela White.

  “I would love to renovate an older home, one just like this, Mr. Sands. I find myself drawn toward history and I have a total appreciation and immense love of older pieces, especially antiques.” He nods slowly at my statement.

  “Interesting.” I arch my eyebrow, awaiting the rest of his speech. sensing I am awaiting more of an explanation, he continues. “It’s interesting, Miss White, because this is something that we have in common.” Finishing his statement, he smiles at me.

  We have something in common. What a pleasant surprise. I find that this makes me incredibly happy; I’m not sure why that is, though. One of the things that catches my attention about Elliot Sands is that he doesn’t act like someone who is worth millions of dollars. He dresses like one, for sure, but he doesn’t treat me as though I were beneath him, like so many of New York’s wealthiest members do. It made it easier for me to relax around him.

  I wonder what he would think of me if he knew that instead of him being in a totally different class than me, we were more like equals. More so than he could possibly imagine a Nashville real estate agent could be. My wealth isn’t common knowledge unless you know the family I belong to. When my grandfather passed, the people who knew us presumed that his fortune would all be passed down to my father and not me. That wasn’t the case.

  My mother and father are wealthy in their own right, mainly due to his successful career. They also received quite a large chunk of change from Grandpa and Grandma. Not as much as I did though. Mom and Dad were happy that I now had enough income to do as I please. They were not, however, happy that I decided to leave it all in the bank account that it was deposited into, and not use it. Instead, choosing to work for a living, rather than being out in society, looking for an even wealthier husband.

  I had told myself before Mr. Sands arrived earlier, that I would treat him just like I would a regular client. There was no need to treat him any different. So far. I have accomplished that task. For all I know, he didn’t have the faintest idea that I knew exactly who he was. Why would he suspect that I looked him up on the internet? He was in a different town, he wasn’t a local celebrity, it’s not as though he is well known in this area. Maybe he was, in certain circles; not any I am a member of, though. My father though, a certain possibility. Thank the lord my last name is common.

  He has turned away from me when I come back from my thoughts into the present. He is looking at the rear of the property from the large picture window. Its purpose was to provide a view of the back of the home, out onto the landscaped garden, and inground pool area. We were standing in what was being defined as the family area on my floor plan of the home.

  He places his crossed arms over his chest, the material of his suit jacket stretching just so to show the cuffs on his crisp white shirt. “The advertisement mentioned that it’s nearly two acres of land, isn’t it? I noticed the front yard was quite large as we drove along the driveway, however looking out this window I can see the backyard is even more expansive.” He spoke without looking away from the view out of the window.

  I take this as my cue to jump in and answer his question “Yes, Mr. Sands. As I mentioned at the beginning of the tour, the Belle Meade Homestead sits on just shy of two acres. You have around half an acre out in front of the home and approximately an acre and a half at the back. If you would like to, we can take a walk, and have a look at the backyard?”

  I don’t wait for an answer before walking across the room, into the kitchen where my folder is located on the granite countertop, plucking the house keys off the top. These would allow me to unlock the back door. I turn around and run right into him. With shock wracking through my mind, I drop the keys to the floor. Somehow, while I am getting the keys, he moves as quiet as a mouse and repositions himself just two steps behind me, facing into the kitchen. It happens so quickly, somehow, he has the time to put his arms up in front of his chest to protect himself from my collision and certain invasion of his personal space. After a second I bend down to pick up the keys which have landed just in front of my feet.

  While looking at the timber floorboards, I apologize. “Mr. Sands, I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t know you had come up behind me. I hope I didn’t hurt you”.

  “There is no need to apologize, Miss White. No harm was done. I’m quite sturdy on my feet. I would enjoy walking the grounds a little later, but for now, I’d like to look at the kitchen and possibly take one of those delicious looking muffins. Shall we, Miss White?” Maybe I was overthinking it, but to me, the tone of his voice had changed. Was he possibly flirting with me? The grin across his lips definitely tells me that he didn’t mind what had just happened, and that maybe he had done this on purpose.

  Liam always tells me that I’m terrible at picking up these signs, but Elliot’s tone of voice had definitely changed, softened even. Could he really be flirting? No, surely not, I mean, looking at this man he could have his choice of anyone by just snapping his fingers, He isn’t about to start flirting with me, a plain Jane real estate agent, unless it was just a game to him. Well buddy, two can play that game, I think.

  “Absolutely, feel free to take one, even two, I made them last night.” Maybe he will be impressed I baked them myself? Forget it Angie, it’s time to get back onto the reason we were here. It is time to sell the house.

  “As you can see, the kitchen is almost entirely original. The pot belly stove sits in the original fire hearth, the cabinets are completely handcrafted; the ones you can see with glass inserts were added in by the current owners, along with the open shelving. The current owners did choose to update a few other items, including electrical connections for today’s appliances, and have also allowed for a dishwasher to be installed, just here.”

  I walk over to the dishwasher space. Bending down, I point out the plumbing connection. He follows closely behind and bends down on his haunches. At this level you wouldn’t know there was a height difference between us. Here we were at the same eye level. I stand back up, almost losing my balance, recovering before he can notice. I then back out of the kitchen a couple of steps, providing him more room to have a good look around. He opens a couple of the bottom cabinets, runs his hands along the fronts of the glass, stopping occasionally to jot something down on his notepad. I desperately wanted to know what on earth it was that he was writing.

  Once he has finished checking the entire kitchen, he stands back up with grace, something I’m not able to accomplish even on a good day, let alone today while wearing these wedges. He turns around to face me.

  “That would be easy enough to cover over with cabinetry if I don’t want to install a dishwasher.”

  I nod in agreement, “Absolutely, Mr. Sands, a dishwasher would look slightly out of place in this kitchen as is. However if a full remodel is completed, it would fit in nicely along with other new appliances, and you could always choose an integrated model.”

  I pull the container with the muffins towards the edge of the kitchen counter. Unclipping the lid, I offer them to Elliot. “Will you join me, Mr. Sands, in a double chocolate chip muffin?”

  Without hesitation, he speaks. “I believe I will. Thank you, Miss White.” He reaches out and takes one from the container, lifting it to his lips. His mouth opens wide and he takes a bite, while I continue with the small talk.

  “I have been looking forward to these since this morning.” I pick up a muffin for myself. You can always trust me to ramble on when the other person is happy in silence.

  “Shall we go have a look at the backyard?” Without giving him time to
reply, I walk to the back, standing in front of the French doors that lead to the cottage’s garden and pool area, Placing my hands on both of the handles, I pull down, then push them open in unison. I stand to the side, wanting to give Elliot the chance to enter the garden first.

  ~ Chapter Five ~

  Stepping out onto the back porch, I take in a full breath of fresh air. I feel it fill my lungs to full capacity, and then I slowly exhale, emptying the air once more. It feels heavenly. You really can’t beat the air once you’re out of the city limits. It even feels cleaner. The porch is a feature that was added by the current owners, providing an undercover entertaining area, a great place to sit while watching whoever was in the pool. I continue forward and step down from the porch onto the patio below. Looking down at where your feet meet the hard surface you notice that it has the same cobblestone floor as the front pathway leading to the front door. These stones here were laid a lot closer together, to allow for furniture to be placed on an even surface. Possibly a table and chairs, an outdoor setting; there is even room for a barbeque or an outdoor kitchen.

  I turn, hoping to catch a glimpse of where Elliot’s attention is, and maybe read on his face what he is thinking. Instead I catch him looking at me, again. Unlike before, this time he looks as though he is trying to read my thoughts or see into my soul. Feeling a little self-conscious and uncomfortable, I decide to divert his attention elsewhere.

  “As you can see, the back porch is quite generous already. However, there is plenty of room to set up an additional outdoor entertaining area here and it would be easy enough to erect a timber pergola in this space to utilize in less lovely weather.”

  He nods in response, a grin beginning to show on his mouth. “Seems as though we have the same train of thought, Miss White, as I was thinking along those very same lines just now.”

  I feel myself blush at the confirmation that one of my ideas was accepted by this man. Better yet, it was the same one he was having. Maybe we weren’t so different, except for the fact that he clearly was happy to spend $2.4 million dollars on this house. Whereas I haven’t even been tempted to purchase it. Even though I do love it, I won’t be cracking into my trust fund. Instead of just pulling out money when I needed it, I would just wait for my commission check to drop into my account. That way I can pay my mortgage, oh and get my hair done. That way, I know that I earned it all by myself, from hard work.

  Needing to break eye contact, I contemplate my options, finally deciding that looking away from Elliot seemed safe. So I shift my gaze out to where an antique loveseat sat on the lawn under the shade of a massive maple tree, facing the inground pool. One corner was angled out just enough to grab the warmth of the sun, while the other would enjoy the shade. “Isn’t this loveseat gorgeous? It’s original to the home, having been here when the property sold for the first time. It’s another one-of-a-kind piece.” I knew that I was looking at it lovingly. Even though it was right at home here, I myself would love to place it on the small balcony at my apartment. But it would be a crime, a tragedy really. It deserves to be in a garden, where you could sit on it and enjoy a view, just as it was here.

  I look up to see if he, too, was paying attention to this ornamental piece of furniture. Instead his eyes were on his hands. Following his line of sight, I notice that he was holding what was left of his muffin. He had almost finished the treat; maybe three or four bites were left. That had to be a sign that he was enjoying it.

  When he finally speaks, it is not in reply to the comments I made on the loveseat. “Will you accompany me for a walk around the grounds, Miss White?” He looks at me momentarily and then turns away again, popping another piece of muffin in between his lips, chewing twice before looking back again to meet my eyes. What was a little walk going to hurt? I was the one who had suggested earlier that I could show him the gardens

  “Sure, let me show you the fruit trees. There down this way, toward the rear of the property,” my hands signaling the direction.

  We start to walk in blissful silence, the only sounds around us besides footsteps were the birds singing in the trees. “These are quite established gardens, overgrown though. My assistant mentioned you will have them trimmed prior to closing. Is that still the case?” This kind of question annoys me greatly; why wouldn’t it be the case when I had only said it yesterday? I know it shouldn’t worry me, but I hate having to go over things that have already been discussed. Hold on, pause a second, he was just talking about closing. Wasn’t he? I hope that means that he is swinging toward purchasing the property.

  It is selfish of me to think this way, but that will mean more commission, extra money for me, some extra funds I could put away just in case. You know, for a rainy day, or if I had a dry spell. I can’t allow myself to think about getting paid right now. Instead I need to stay focused. It’s not a done deal yet, Angela. After all, it’s not sold until the contracts are signed and the deposit is paid.

  “Yes, Mr. Sands, you are correct. The lawns will be mowed, and the gardens will be given a tidy-up prior to closing. Nothing overly drastic, though. This will only happen if you want the work to be done, of course. You may decide that you want to remove some of these plants and replace with other shrubs. Make the gardens a little easier maintenance. After all, not everyone has a green thumb.”

  I wave my arm, indicating one of the less healthy garden beds. A low chuckle comes from his throat, clearly trying to keep it from bursting out his lips. He speaks “I’ll consider those options, Miss White.”

  We continue to walk together among some of the more mature oak trees, I also point out a small fish pond toward the back fence of the property, surrounded by large pieces of rock. We take a peek inside and see there are no fish swimming around, before turning back toward the house.

  We are both quiet for quite a length of time that I almost jump out of my skin when his voice breaks the silence. “Miss White, would you mind terribly if I were to ask you something? It’s not related to the house, it’s actually a personal question.” He doesn’t look at me after making this request; just continues to walk slowly, shifting his head slightly, looking at the gardens, the trees, anywhere else but me.

  As we begin to pass the small rose garden, I realize that we are almost back at the house. If I am going to answer, it had to be soon. Just what is he going to ask me, though? Was I seeing anybody? I can’t believe my mind just went there. Talk about wishful thinking. It couldn’t be too personal if he hadn’t bothered to stop and look me in the face. Figuring it was just going to be some random, nothing-too-interesting question, I decide to give in to his request.

  “Sure, just so you know though, I might not be able to answer. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  He stops at my comment and turns to face me. Uh, oh, does this mean it’s going to be serious? I take a breath and hold it, waiting for his question to come “Would you be available to look over the property for me every now and then while renovations are taking place? I would also want you to take some photos to send to me. It would save me the hassle of having to come out every week for updates. Only if you agree to assist me with this.”

  A look of confusion must slip across my face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” Offend me? No, I’m not offended. I must have looked upset, which wasn’t my intention. Shock maybe, but not upset.

  Automatically feeling bad for him apologizing to me, I have to set this straight. “There’s no need to apologize, Mr. Sands, I’m not offended, it’s just that it wasn’t one of the questions I had expected you to ask. To be perfectly honest with you, sir, I am quite busy with my listings. However, I am more than happy to help coordinate some local tradespeople to come out and have a look at the property and draft up some quotes for you, if you would like me to, of course. Oh, and there is a wonderful interior designer who I have in my contacts that I can forward to your email address…”

  He cuts me off mid-sentence, “If I proceed with this project, then I’m not going to want just a
nybody working on it. I want you, Miss White. You seem invested in the history of this home. Just a moment ago you pointed out that antique loveseat in the garden. A normal person wouldn’t realize that it is close to two hundred years old and more than likely would have thrown it away. That shows me you have an eye for this sort of thing”.

  Speaking of eyes, I couldn’t help but get lost in his baby blues. He was looking directly at me, those eyes, the color of the ocean, looking back into mine. It felt like I was locked into place, right where I stood, as though our eye contact was the only thing holding me in place. Without it, I would fall over. More than that, the way he said he wanted me. Me! Inside I’m freaking out just a little. I want him too, so badly. Down, libido, down you go. I mean to sell the house, of course. Yes, I badly want him to buy the house.

  “I would be happy to pay you a consultation fee. Would that help you make a favorable decision in my direction?” He looks away, and with that, the connection I am feeling is broken. Luckily for me I don’t make a fool out of myself by falling over, or pouting. What are you doing, Angela? You need to get a grip, think of the positives. In terms of work, this would mean I would get to see the progress of this home as it was brought back to life. I would be paid for my time. And then the personal positives were screaming in my ear. It would also mean that I would have regular contact with him. Elliot Sands would be on my speed dial. I can’t think of one female who would turn down that opportunity.

  I immediately know that I will need time to weigh up the pros and cons with this request. For one, it is incredibly rare these days to have an investor on your books who has readily available funds. Knowing that you are able to phone or email them when a property becomes available that suits their criteria, it’s something that most agents never get, definitely not any of the agents in the firm where I work. And here, in this moment, I have someone asking me to keep on top of things here for him. If this all goes well, he may want to purchase another property. Then I could work with him again. Not to mention, staying in his good graces would mean that he would more than likely choose me to then sell the property for him when the time comes, thereby earning me a double commission.