On The House (Caldwell Brothers Book 7)

by Colleen Charles

  “Yes, and their ‘people’ probably will be watching,” Lincoln says. I can tell he’s getting frustrated, but it’s perversely fun to watch.

  “Maybe,” I agree. “But overall, we should be opening up our options to include families. And that doesn’t mean our prospective clientele will be coming from trailer parks and housing projects. We’re still talking CEOs, casino owners, entrepreneurs…maybe not ultra-rich, but certainly upper-class. I mean, would you rather sell one house to North West or twelve houses to people like her? Think of the referral base, which is gold in our business.”

  He seriously considers the question for a moment, then shakes his head. “Honestly? North West? She’s just coming off her first E! show. Because if she tells her friends, then maybe that’s eleven more Norths.”

  I put on a mock frown. “Is that proper English? You know, like ‘passersby’ or ‘courts martial?’”

  Lincoln sighs like a little fussbudget, but I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “You are impossible to have a serious conversation with; do you know that? And this fucked up situation defines the word serious. With lethal intent.”

  “Seriousness is overrated,” I inform him, crossing my heart with my pointer finger. I ignore how hot he looks with that twinkle in his eye. I wish it would stay, but I know something will happen to chase it away.

  “You know I’m right about this, though.”

  The banter engages me, and he’s the reason why I feel like my brain is firing on all cylinders. “No, Lincoln, I really don’t. In fact, I’m fairly certain that you’re dead wrong about this.”

  “I’d tell you how infuriatingly stubborn you are, but it’s a trait I tend to admire, at least where you’re concerned. In the interest of not standing here and fighting this out for the next few hours, though, let’s compromise. We’ll stage the downstairs area the way I want it, and we’ll do the upstairs rooms the way you want them.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’ll be swell,” I scoff. “Potential buyers will be able to picture a wealthy schizophrenic living here. When it comes to staging, consistency is crucial. Otherwise, subconsciously, people will feel strange about the place when they look at it. It’ll make them uncomfortable. It’s like watching a movie with bad CGI in it…it looks like what it’s supposed to, sure, but the eyes and the brain automatically rebel against it, to the point where you just can’t believe in it.”

  Lincoln raises an eyebrow. “Chloe, you’re an extremely intelligent woman…”

  “I’m an extremely intelligent person,” I snap. “There’s no need to qualify it. Don’t toss sexism into the equation.”

  He gives me a smile that’s almost a grimace and continues, “And I have no doubt that you know what you’re talking about. But we’re not making a movie here – we’re staging a house. And frankly, I think my solution is the best one.”

  I want to press the point, and ordinarily, I would. But ordinarily, that’d be because I received such a strong impression from the house at the start – and this time, I’m just winging it. So my vision doesn’t really seem like fighting for.

  “Okay, fine. We’ll do it your way.”

  He nods. “Thank you. And if you’d like, we can put a family area in the backyard too. That way, the difference between the upstairs and downstairs won’t seem so jarring.”

  “That’s a good compromise.” I stick my hand out. He shakes it, and his touch seems to travel up my arm like a jolt of electricity, spreading through the rest of my body until I’m tingling.

  I’ve never reacted to anyone’s touch that way before. But somehow…I knew it would feel this way between us. Further touches will most likely cause me to implode in a fireball of sexual energy.

  What’s happening to me?

  Chapter Ten

  Lincoln

  Four days after shaking hands with Chloe, we’re standing in the middle of the model home again. She worked day and night to get it ready in time for the film crew from Bravo, and the results are better than I could have imagined.

  She decorated the first floor exactly the way I pictured it, and I didn’t even have to say a word. A massive flat-screen TV dominates the main wall of the living room, flanked by a state-of-the-art stereo system with surround sound. A pair of sleek exercise bikes stand in front of it, and behind them, an aerodynamic-looking black couch and a matching designer coffee table in chrome and glass. A long aquarium full of colorful tropical fish sets flush against another wall with a built-in infrared sauna down the hall.

  Not a speck of dust or item out of place anywhere the eye can see with everything in its place and plenty of blank walls and negative space. Not only doesn’t it look lived in, it doesn’t even look as though it’s ever been touched by human hands.

  In short, it’s exactly like the kind of home a celebrity or billionaire would appreciate. I know I appreciate it.

  “Well? How does it look?” Chloe asks.

  I let out a low whistle. “Expensive.”

  “Good.” She narrows her eyes as she glances around and nods. “That’s the idea.”

  “Where on earth do you get all of these things?” I try to keep the wonder out of my voice and cringe when a note of awe creeps in before I can chase it away.

  She gives me a coy sideways glance, as though she intends to keep that secret to herself. That look. My dick twitches inside my dress pants. I want to know all of her secrets. Especially the ones she thinks she’s hiding. Her voice breaks me from the throes of the fantasy of peeling back all of her layers. “I have working relationships with a lot of rental places.”

  I know I sound like an idiot, but all my blood has just rushed straight south. “They rent exercise bikes and tanks full of tropical fish?”

  A grin tickles the corner of her lips, but she bites the bottom one to fight it which just makes my lust roar louder. “No, in cases like those, I have to improvise a little. I told the store owners that these things would be featured on a show on Bravo, and that of course, I’d be happy to give them credit.”

  I walk toward the tank to admire a colorful clownfish. “But the producers and editors could end up cutting those segments from the show.”

  Chloe shrugs. “Well, the store owners don’t need to know that, do they?”

  “With an ethical compass like that, maybe you should be working with Dante after all.” I turn and give her a questioning look.

  She sticks her tongue out at me. An immature gesture, and it should annoy me, but for some reason it sends even more of my wall crumbling down around me. Probably because I imagine the naughty things that tongue could be doing.

  “So what happens to the fish when this is all over? I mean, maybe they’ll take the tank back, but will the fish go back to the pet store? Will people buy secondhand fish?”

  Chloe wags a finger in my direction. “Hey, these fish will have been on television by then. They’ll be celebrity fish. I imagine people would pay even more for them. Who doesn’t love hanging out with finned celebrities, right?”

  “Speaking of which,” I murmur, pointing to the door as Jamie walks in. “It’s part of the dynamic photobombing duo in the flesh.”

  “Well? Does he like it?” Jamie chirps at Chloe as she walks deeper inside the room.

  “Yes, ‘he’ does,” I answer before Chloe gets the chance.

  Jamie blushes slightly. “Well, um, good. Because the people from Bravo are pulling into the driveway. I’ll, uh…greet them, I guess?”

  “You do that,” Chloe agrees. “Oh, and Jamie? No photo-bombing today.”

  Jamie’s face falls. “But Andy Cohen’s going to be here! Do you know how many points he’s worth? He’s a television God.”

  “No, and I don’t care. This project is too important, and we’re not going to risk it for some silly website. Understand?”

  Jamie opens her mouth, then snaps it shut and meekly says, “All right.” As she slinks out the front door, I hear gravel crunching under the tires of the network vans.

  Chloe step
s toward me. I feel the electricity crackle between us. I struggle but finally shove it away since our relationship has to stay purely professional for the sake of this career defining moment. If all goes well, perhaps we can explore whatever this is between us after the show gets off the ground. I clear my throat of the emotion that starts to build.

  “You know, you took a big risk, waiting until this morning to check the place out. You could have come last night, so there’d have been time to change things around if you didn’t like it.”

  I give her a reassuring smile. “I trust you.”

  The hell of it is, as the words come out, I realize I mean them. I’m not big on trusting people, even ones I’ve known for a while. So why do I suddenly seem to have so much faith in Chloe and her abilities?

  Who are you and what have you done with my ego?

  She raises her eyebrows, surprised as her lips curl into a repressed smirk at my expense. “Do you want to take a quick look at the upstairs rooms before they come in?”

  “See previous comment.”

  “Well, that’s probably for the best,” she admits. “We should be here to greet them when they come in, and with this leg, I can’t exactly go up and down stairs very quickly.”

  For once, someone stands before me who worries more about their physical limitations than I do. That’s reason enough to like this woman. Maybe even more than like her. “Me either. But I’m sure it’s perfectly fine.”

  The door opens, and we both turn around, expecting Cohen and the rest of the Bravo crew. Instead, Jon looms in the foyer with an eager grin on his face.

  “Bro-Ho-Ho and a bottle of rum,” he exclaims boisterously.

  “No,” I reply, slapping my hand on the door jam in the vicinity of his head. “No bro today. I beg you. And you’re not supposed to be here. So get out.”

  His shoulders slump. “Oh, come on! Please? Do you realize how many…?”

  “I don’t know how many points Andy Cohen is worth, and I don’t care.” I echo Chloe’s earlier sentiments with a surly growl. “There’s too much money riding on this, to say nothing of my professional reputation. I’m not going to let you mess this up.”

  He throws his hands up in the air, backing away. “But I won’t mess up anything, I promise. No one will even know I’m here. Just let me do this quick photo-bomb, and then…”

  Jamie runs in behind Jon, out of breath and furious. “You! I thought I saw you here,” She turns to Chloe in a huff. “You’re going to let him photo-bomb Andy Cohen, but not me? That’s not fair! It’ll put him in first place.”

  “Damn straight it will,” Jon shoots back.

  “No one’s letting anyone photo-bomb anyone,” Chloe states firmly, pointing a finger at the front door. “Period. Now, Jamie, you go back to work, and Jon, you just…go.”

  Jon looks at Lincoln with a wounded expression. “You’re going to let her talk to me like that? It’s supposed to be bros before hos.”

  “Honestly, I’m amazed at her restraint,” I tell him, my patience slipping down a hill into the gutter. “Now go on, get out of here. There’ll be plenty of other opportunities to photo-bomb people that don’t involve ruining my career.”

  Jon and Jamie exchange dirty looks and leave. I can hear them whispering angrily at each other right outside the door.

  “You know they’re both going to try to do it anyway.” My observation doesn’t go unnoticed.

  Chloe sighs and for a flickering second, she just looks sad. This is just as important to her as it is to me. But I’ll come through for her. Hell, we’ll come through for each other. “Yeah. I know. I guess we just hope for the best and pray they don’t make asses of themselves. Or, you know…us.”

  The front door opens again, and this time Andy Cohen walks through, surrounded by a small army of producers, directors, and camera operators. “Hi,” he says cheerily, shaking our hands. “You must be Lincoln Caldwell and Chloe Sanderson, right? Andy Cohen, pleasure to meet you.”

  “I’m so glad we’ll be working together on this,” Chloe gushes. “I’ve been a big fan of your work my whole life.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” he replies, looking around. Although he’s nearly seventy years old by now, the guy holds his age well with that salt and pepper hair and mega-watt smile. “Wow, you did a wonderful job staging this place. I could definitely see myself living here.”

  Chloe shoots me a glance including a raised eyebrow, and I can tell she wishes she could stick her tongue out at me again.

  I step forward to shake his hand. “I was surprised to hear that you were hosting a new Bravo show, since you resigned as their head of development quite a few years ago.”

  “I was a bit surprised myself,” he answers with a laugh. “They asked me to do it, and at first, I figured I’d be too busy. I mean, between hosting Watch What Happens Live and all the cameos I’ve been doing on TV lately, I barely have any free time left, you know? But I’ve got a new Real Housewives, Space Edition coming out soon, so I figure the more exposure I can get, the better it’ll be for book sales. And I guess I can sleep when I’m dead, right?”

  Chloe laughs a little too loudly at the joke, and I realize how nervous she must be. I know I should be nervous too, but the stakes with Dante seem so high that the show’s success feels secondary. We glance at each other, and the warmth of shared goals and camaraderie settles over the room.

  “So, should we take a look at the second floor?” Andy’s eyes scan the fish tank to the shiny coffee table as he ambles around the space. “The cameras are going to follow us up there, but don’t mind them…they’re just shooting preliminary footage, mostly for B-roll and reference so they can get a better sense of the space and the best angles to capture it. We’re not really ‘on’ yet, if that makes sense.”

  “Definitely.” Chloe leads him to the stairs as I follow close behind. “You’ll, um, probably want to go up ahead of us. Neither of us do stairs very well, and we wouldn’t want to hold you back.”

  “Oh? What’s wrong?” Andy asks, genuinely curious. I can see why he made a good talk show host for so many years. The guy drips empathy and concern.

  “Old war wounds,” I reply, keeping things light. I never want my disability to take center stage, and I know Chloe doesn’t either.

  Andy looks from one of us to the other, uncertain of whether I’m joking. Finally, he nods and says, “Thank you for your service,” as he heads up the steps. Chloe and I move more slowly behind him.

  “I hope watching us slowly limp up and down the stairs won’t bore the crap out of your audience.” Chloe wobbles a little, and it seems natural to reach out and place my hand on the small of her back. She doesn’t even flinch away from my touch. I ignore the heat running between us as if on a conduction line.

  “No need to worry about that,” Andy assures her, waiting patiently at the top of the steps. “That’s what the editors are for. I just hope shooting all of this won’t be too hard on you two, though.”

  “We’ll be fine.” The expression on his face triggers my old emotional wounds, rubbing salt inside them, even though I know he means well.

  Chloe leads us to the bedrooms, and I can’t hide the admiration in my eyes at her attention to detail.

  Classic books clutter the boy’s room, even including an old-fashioned Underwood typewriter next to reams of blank paper and legal pads filled with scribbled story notes. In my mind’s eye, I can easily picture a nerdy high school boy sitting at the desk, banging out short stories and submitting them to literary magazines.

  The girl’s room is more modern but no less messy. There are cute outfits laid out on the bed on top of each other, as though she’d tried on multiple choices before slipping one on before she left for a date. Makeup and hair accessories clutter the top of the dresser, concert ticket stubs, greeting cards, random scraps of paper that look like notes passed in class, and pictures of middle school girls posing and smiling – her friends, no doubt – cover the mirror. A continuous colla
ge of posters depicting pop music stars and handsome young celebrities adorn the blank wall space.

  “This is amazing,” Andy observes breathlessly. “I mean, what you’ve done downstairs is really cool, but this…jeez, it’s almost a little haunting, you know? Like we’re actually standing in people’s rooms while they’re not at home. What incredible work.”

  “You’re too kind.” A ghost of a smile tugs the corners of Chloe’s mouth, and I detect an edge of triumph in her voice.

  “Where did you get the photographs?” Andy reaches out a finger to touch the pictures. “That’s a nice touch.”

  “My assistant Jamie has a niece,” she tells him. “She was kind enough to let me borrow these. The ticket stubs and stuff too. Um, and speaking of Jamie…”

  “Yes?” Andy raises his eyebrows encouragingly.

  “She’s…well, look, there’s no way to say this without sounding silly, but she’s very into this website called, uh, photobombardiers.com.”

  “Sure, I know that site.” He smiles and runs a hand through his hair as if Chloe’s expert design distracted him. “It’s my job to stay current with pop culture. I’ve even been on it a few times myself, thanks to some particularly dedicated photo-bombers.”

  “Right. You might want to prepare yourself for the possibility that you’ll be on it again. She’s pretty obsessed with it.”

  “You might want to watch out for my friend Jon too,” I add. “I’m fairly certain he’s skulking around here with something similar in mind.”

  “We tried to tell them not to bother you with this stuff,” Chloe says apologetically.

  “They’re not going to do anything negative or homophobic, are they?” Andy asks.

  “No,” Chloe says.

  “Definitely not,” I chime in. “Annoying, certainly, but nothing like that.”