She hadn’t quite reached Connor’s office at that point, and she didn’t bother to stick around and hear what else might have been said because it didn’t matter. She’d been devastated since she knew she’d be a good fit for the firm and wanted to be a part of its growth, and she’d tried not to wince when Connor called her a few hours later to tell her that it was best if the company didn’t mix business with family.
She’d played it off as if she didn’t care, but that rejection, coming on the heels of her humiliating breakup with Mitch, had lit a fire under her feet. That had been almost six months ago, and she might have been just starting out as a real estate agent, but since that day, she’d hustled her ass off. She’d been dedicated to building her career and proving to Wes what a big, fat, huge mistake he’d made by discounting her ability to be an asset to Premier Realty.
She’d known Wes for much too long, and he’d been best friends with her brother, Connor, for too many years for her to hold a grudge or allow her resentment to make things awkward between them. Instead, she’d put her big-girl panties on and she’d channeled her hurt feelings in a much more positive direction. She wasn’t the kind of woman who got mad. But she was the type to get even.
And with this bet, he’d thrown down the challenge she’d been waiting for, along with the chance to make him eat his words and regret not making her part of the Premier Realty team. She planned to win, which meant Wes would have to put his big-boy jock strap on and welcome her into the fold.
And if she didn’t win . . . well, she’d recently been contacted by a recruiter who’d been trying to woo her into taking a job with a high-profile real estate firm in Atlanta. She’d definitely entertained the offer. It would be a fresh start after Mitch, as well as the next step up on her career ladder. The biggest factors holding her back from accepting the job were leaving her family and moving to a new city where she didn’t know anyone.
“What’s the matter? Having second thoughts?”
Wes’s amused voice, which was just shy of being smug, pulled her back to the present. She wasn’t afraid to take his dare. In fact, she couldn’t wait to get started.
“Not at all, Big Shot,” she said, meeting his gaze across the table. “But I would like to clarify your wager. When you say you want me to do whatever you want or need, whenever you ask, are you propositioning me?” Not that it mattered, since he was going to lose the bet, which would make accepting the recruiter’s offer a moot point. But she was curious to know what he’d meant by his statement and if he was actually suggesting they finally do something about the undeniable attraction between them that he’d spent his adult life trying to pretend didn’t exist—even though she’d seen enough evidence to the contrary.
He slowly shook his head. “Not sexually.”
Bummer. A traitorous part of her—mainly, her damn neglected vagina—was disappointed with his answer. She crossed her legs beneath the table. “So, you’d want me to be your slave?” she asked incredulously.
Finishing the last drink of his beer, he pushed his glass aside. “Slave is such a harsh term.” He contemplated for a moment before a sly smile eased up the corner of his mouth. “Think of it as you being my personal assistant.”
She could only imagine the things he’d order her to do. Based on their childhood and the various torture tactics he and Connor enjoyed inflicting and the crazy things they’d dare her to do—which she’d done because she’d pathetically wanted to hang out with them—she was fairly certain he’d make her life a living hell for two weeks. Just because he could.
The cocktail waitress came up to their table to see if they wanted another drink, and they both declined. Before she could walk away, Wes stopped the other woman.
“Hang on, Tricia,” he said, taking his wallet out of his pocket. “Let me give you my card and you can close out my tab, along with her drink.” He handed over his American Express and gave Tricia a sexy wink that made her blush.
“Sure thing, Wes,” she said with a flirty smile.
Natalie wasn’t all that surprised he was on a first-name basis with the cute, perky server. He’d probably already gone out with her, because it was certainly his MO when it came to the fairer sex. He loved women, they adored him in return, but he was a serial dater, and most women didn’t care because the guy was ridiculously good-looking and hot as fuck. He was a shameless flirt. An unapologetic player. He was a man who’d never, to her knowledge, had a long-term serious relationship with a woman.
But did she mention that he was drop-dead gorgeous, which negated most of his more obvious flaws and his inability to commit to anything other than Premier Realty? His masculine features were chiseled to GQ standards, and the dark scruff along his jaw only made him look more attractive—and made her wonder, on more than one occasion, how that stubble would feel abrading her neck or the more sensitive skin along her inner thighs. His jet-black hair always had that slightly tousled look to it that was sexy, not messy, and a woman could literally drown in his mesmerizing blue eyes. She couldn’t deny that she’d been under the spell of that smoldering gaze a time or two herself, so she knew how potent it actually could be.
Around the age of sixteen, a wild and rebellious Wes quickly learned the power of a slow, sultry, panty-dropping smile that got him laid on a regular basis—which Natalie knew because she’d shamelessly eavesdropped on the many bragging and comparison sessions he’d had with Connor about the girls who’d put out at school. Over the years, she’d seen him use that sexy-as-sin, swoon-worthy smile on whatever woman he’d set his sights on.
Natalie had never been the kind of girl to shed her underwear for just any guy, but that sex-clenching smile of Wes’s . . . Jesus, it made her wet, every . . . single . . . time. And when Wes glanced at her after Tricia left the table, her body reacted to the residual effects of the charming, irresistible, half-hitched smile still tugging at his lips, and the goddamn smolder that would give Flynn Rider, from the Disney movie Tangled, a run for his money in a smoldering contest. There was no denying the slick moisture coating the silky thong between her legs or the needy ache that was totally inconvenient and impossible to ignore.
Good God, she needed to get laid. Badly.
“What will it be, Natalie?” Wes prompted. “Deal or no deal?”
Only one option existed for her. “I agree to your wager, so it looks like we have ourselves a bet. When do you want to start?”
“Right now.”
“Okay.” The sooner, the better, in her opinion. “Do you have a listing in mind?”
“No. Go on to the Premier Realty app and you pick the property you think you can sell before I do.” He gave her a slow, arrogant grin. “That way you’ll feel comfortable with the price range.”
She bristled at his implied suggestion that she needed an easy listing to win. “I don’t want any kind of special advantage over the competition,” she said, her voice terse with annoyance. “That defeats the whole purpose of this bet.”
He casually shrugged a shoulder. “Just trying to be a nice guy.”
Yeah, right. She rolled her eyes at him as she picked up her phone and opened the app, then went straight for the listings that were over a million dollars. While she’d built a solid client base and equally impressive connections within the realty business, Natalie knew she didn’t have a stable of buyers for a three-million-dollar home yet. She didn’t want her choice to be an easy transaction—what was the challenge in that?—which meant choosing a listing that was higher than anything she’d managed to sell thus far.
Tricia came by with Wes’s receipt to sign, and while they chitchatted—or rather, flirted—Natalie tuned them out to concentrate on finding just the right property. She stopped scrolling when she came across a house in Lincoln Park. A residential dwelling with four bedrooms, two and a half baths, and twenty-eight hundred square feet. The market price had been set at one-point-six million. It was a nice family home in a great neighborhood with excellent schools, which made it more app
ealing for buyers with kids.
As soon as Tricia moved on to another table, she handed Wes her cell phone so he could see the house she’d chosen. “Let’s go with that listing on Magnolia Avenue.”
His brows rose over those dark, dreamy eyes. “Are you sure you want to pick that property? That listing is quite a bit above your current average sell-through.”
He was clearly provoking her, and it only made her more determined to show him just how much he underestimated her ability to find a buyer for the high-end residence. “Yep, I’m absolutely sure. Go big or go home, right?”
He laughed, the deep sound making her insides shiver and her nipples tighten oh-so-traitorously.
“All right, then,” he said, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. “May the best Realtor win.”
Chapter Four
Early the next morning—hump day Wednesday—Natalie walked into the Espresso Shot, a small locally owned coffeehouse located in downtown Chicago that was nestled on a side street between corporate high-rises. The place was mid-size compared to the bigger coffee giant that was found on every corner, but the coffee and espresso here was the absolute best, in her opinion—smooth with just a hint of nutty and sweet, unlike the strong and bitter brew that most other businessmen and women in the area seemed to gravitate to.
She took her place in line, and even though there was a steady stream of customers who frequented the cafe, it was fairly quiet, which also appealed to her. She enjoyed drinking her latte at leisure while scrolling through her phone for industry news and checking the real estate section in the Chicago Tribune to keep abreast of the market. She also made her to-do list for the day, jotted down calls she needed to make, and checked her calendar for any scheduled meetings.
Today, however, was all about strategizing with her co-worker, Richard, who was also an agent at her Maxwell Real Estate office. The company they worked for was one of those franchises, a conglomerate of more than a hundred offices located throughout the country. And because Maxwell was a franchise, there was a business model to follow and corporate bullshit to put up with and hard-line quotas to make or risk being replaced. Which was another reason the Atlanta offer sounded so appealing.
Because of overhead costs, her commission was a few percentages lower than what a privately owned company like Premier Realty could offer, and some days—okay, most days—she felt like she was just a cog in the wheel of the giant corporation. Before becoming a real estate agent, she’d worked for a mortgage company as first a loan originator, then had been promoted to escrow officer. At the time, Maxwell had been a good place for her to make the transition to realtor, where she could learn the ropes and get her feet wet, and she’d hit the ground running . . . and selling. The experience, at least, had been invaluable.
Right after her change in job a year ago, Mitch had complained about her being way too ambitious, which had translated to him not being the center of her attention as much as he once had been when she worked a regular nine-to-five job. So when her brother, Connor, had caught Mitch cheating on Natalie with another woman, Mitch hadn’t hesitated to blame her for the affair. According to him, she was never around, she was always distracted by work, and he’d felt neglected. Poor fucking baby.
Realistically, Natalie knew she wasn’t at fault for his wandering dick, but his betrayal had been like a kick in the gut because they’d talked about marriage and eventually having a family, which was what she ultimately wanted. Yes, she was ambitious and goal-minded, but working hard had been all about building a future and a career, not just for herself but for them, so they could buy a house they loved without being financially strapped, and she could take time off to have kids when the time came without worrying about money.
After being with Mitch for a year and a half in what she believed was a committed relationship, she would have thought that he’d be man enough to talk to her about the issues he had with her career or whatever “needs” weren’t being met to his satisfaction. If he’d been that unhappy, he should have broken things off with her instead of fucking another woman on the side for the last three months they’d been together while still sleeping in her bed. Who knew how long he would have cheated on her if Connor hadn’t caught him feeling up a woman in a bar who clearly wasn’t his girlfriend.
Enough time had passed for her to think of Mitch as an asshole and a whiny man-child, and while her brain knew she was better off without him and his womanizing ways, at the time, his deceit had been a blow to her self-esteem and had definitely made her more cautious where men and her heart were concerned. Did she still believe in love? Absolutely. One day, she wanted the kind of passionate marriage her parents had, even after thirty-one years together.
So, in the meantime, while she was waiting for her Prince Charming to arrive and sweep her off her feet—which could be months or it could be years—it made sense to focus on her career. There was no telling how long it would take to find a guy who was secure enough in his own masculinity and career that he didn’t feel threatened by her being a strong, successful woman in her own right.
Now, after a year of experience with Maxwell Real Estate, she was ready to dive into deeper waters. She was tired of treading her way through the shallow end of the company pool and getting overlooked, despite her recent successes. Selling the listing she’d chosen for her bet with Wes would not only be a really nice feather in her cap but would justify all her hard work the past year. Oh, and it would also get her hired on at Premier Realty, she thought with a smile, which was her end goal, after all.
She took another step forward toward the barista taking orders and glanced around the cafe. Finding Richard sitting in a cozy nook area with two overstuffed chairs next to each other, she gave him a quick wave to let him know she’d arrived and would be right over. The customer in front of her moved away from the register with his pastry bag and hot coffee, and Natalie took the guy’s place.
“Hey, Penny,” she said, greeting the younger girl who worked most mornings at the coffeehouse. “I’ll take my regular.”
“You got it,” Penny replied as she rang up her order. “A medium vanilla latte and a lemon scone coming right up.”
Natalie paid for her morning indulgence, dropped a generous tip in the jar on the counter, and a few minutes later, with her breakfast in hand, she was heading toward the quiet alcove where Richard was waiting for her. He had his laptop open in front of him, and he was staring at the screen while he drank from his paper cup with the Espresso Shot’s logo on it.
She parked herself in the chair beside his and set her purse on the ground by her feet and her beverage and scone on the table between them. Since she was wearing an above-the-knee brown fitted skirt, she crossed her legs to keep the material from riding up on her thighs, then glanced over at her colleague, who still had his eyes on his computer screen.
“Anything interesting happening this morning in the industry?” she asked as she reached for her latte and took a drink of the warmed milk, espresso, and vanilla flavoring.
He finally turned his head to look at her, his light green eyes peering at her from behind a pair of black-framed designer glasses that made him look incredibly sexy. Especially when paired with his fitted navy suit and silk tie.
“Nothing earth-shattering,” he said with a grin that revealed perfectly straight white teeth. “But it’s early yet.”
“So true.” In this business, things could change on a dime, but she enjoyed that spontaneous aspect of her job. Every day was a different adventure. Sometimes exciting, sometimes frustrating, but always exhilarating.
“So, you ready to put a game plan together to take down Mr. Big Shot?” he asked with enthusiasm.
She returned his grin as she broke off the corner of her lemon scone. “Let me enjoy my breakfast before I have to think about my nemesis.”
Richard chuckled and went back to whatever he was doing on his laptop, giving her a few minutes to finish her latte and biscuit before they talked business.
&
nbsp; Last night when she’d gotten home from the Popped Cherry, she’d called Richard as she’d promised she would and told him all about the bet. Her co-worker had started at Maxwell right around the same time she had, and they’d formed a close friendship. He was apprised of her antagonistic relationship with Wes because Richard was always the one who seemed to get the brunt of her rants about something Wes had said or done to annoy her.
Natalie had plenty of girlfriends, but Richard was her best guy friend. They met in the mornings for coffee, hung out together after work quite a bit, and had even gone to dinner and movies together a few times. He was gorgeous and charming and currently single. He was a good listener, as well as funny and supportive, and he even brought her chocolate cake when she was moody and it was that time of the month.
The man was perfect boyfriend material for any woman . . . except for the fact that he was one hundred percent gay. To look at him—from the sharp, impeccable way he dressed to the deep, rich timbre of his voice, to his very masculine mannerism—he was all male. It cracked Natalie up the way women fawned over him, outright propositioned him, and even sent appreciative glances and smiles his way, which he always handled tactfully.
He didn’t openly broadcast his sexual orientation, but neither did he purposely hide it. But sometimes, when he really wasn’t in the mood to fend off female attention at a business mixer or company function, she’d attend as his date—i.e., his beard. That’s what she enjoyed the most about their relationship, that there was no pressure or expectations. Just a solid friendship that worked for both of them.
She finished off her lemon scone, took another drink of her latte, then retrieved her iPad from her oversized purse that Richard always joked could carry around a small country. She turned the tablet on and pulled up the notes she’d made last night before going to bed. She had no intentions of letting Richard do any of her legwork on this listing—she wanted to win this bet on her own merit—but she was grateful to have someone to brainstorm ideas with.
The Book Boyfriend Series Box Set Page 3
