He wanted to, so badly.
They’d moved outside. It was a dull night. Gray clouds walled off the moon. He was stretched out on a lounge chair. She sat at the pool’s edge, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles.
“My aunt pushed me into it,” she said in response to a question he’d forgotten asking. “I came home with a flyer one day and she went nuts. She thought I had a chance.”
“It might not have paid off—”
“It didn’t,” she said bitterly. “A lot of time and money wasted only to place as a runner up when it really counts.”
“You won a car. Most kids have to slave away at a fast-food restaurant to afford a used clunker.”
To hear her tell it, she’d wasted her entire life. And he suspected she was hanging on to her old car out of pride rather than necessity.
“Tell me you won’t look up any more photos.”
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear.”
She sighed. “I give up.”
He tried to reassure her. “I’m a little obsessed with you. What can I say?”
“I’m really not that interesting.”
“I disagree.”
She sat straight and solemnly confessed. “I put stock in all the wrong things. It’s a thing with me.”
He liked that she trusted him enough to share her weaknesses. “And I like complicated women. That’s my thing.”
“Like Marisol?” she asked.
Talk about territorial.
“Not like Marisol. But wasn’t it good to go up against her tonight?”
“So good!”
She smiled. A dimple appeared in her left cheek and vanished. He’d never seen it before. The more he studied her, the more secrets there were to discover.
“Do you think your client spent his nights this way?”
“By the pool?”
She nodded. “Talking.”
“Not likely,” he said. “Did I mention he’s a dick?”
“Then why fight so hard for him?”
“That’s the business, Leila.”
Just when he was sure she’d written him off as a heartless bastard, she surprised him with a question.
“How does it feel to win?”
“You’ll tell me someday.”
To most people he was the golden boy, born under a lucky star. “Success follows you,” an old boss once told him. Only he knew the effort that he put into building his career, and the skill it required to make it seem effortless. Leila had drive. He had no doubt she’d turn her luck around.
“Why are you single, Nick?”
It seemed that all the earlier questions had been leading to this one.
“Because I want to be.”
Such was his nature. He was bloodless in negotiations and unsentimental with women, but to his mind, these were positives. He didn’t have a ton of emotional baggage to weigh him down. You only had so many years to fully dedicate to work, and he had no intention of wasting them. He’d seen friends, men and women alike, make the mistake of settling down early only to get bogged down with kids and family obligations. But Leila was a mistake he was very willing to make.
“Have you ever had a broken heart?”
There was real hunger and curiosity in her dark eyes.
“When I was a kid I wanted a dog, but my dad is allergic. He got me fish instead.”
She looked confused, but played along. “That’s not a fair tradeoff. Fish don’t fetch or wag their tails when you get home from school.”
“Tell that to a marine biologist.”
“I see,” she said. “So your dad got you fish and what? You met a girl who also had an aquarium?”
“No. My dad got me fish and they died, surprisingly fast, even by fish standards.”
“Did you kill them?”
“I have a heart, Leila.”
“What does it beat for?”
Oh, babe...
They locked eyes. She turned away.
“Are you seriously telling me that your biggest heartache was having to flush away a few fish?”
“I’m telling you that I learned very early that I was better off alone. I’m not sure I’m the better for it. Do you understand?”
“More than you know.”
“Who broke your heart?” he asked.
“Ah!” She gave his question some thought. “My high school boyfriend stood me up for prom, and that was the end of it. I cried for one month straight. Lost ten pounds. Gained back twenty. I was a mess.”
“You’re so pretty. Who would stand you up?”
“There’s always someone prettier.”
She was quiet for a while. Then she gracefully rolled onto her bare feet, stepped into her high heels and approached him. Her dress gathered at the waist with a knot. Untie the knot and there you had it.
“I should get going,” she said.
“I’ll walk you out.”
“No, don’t.”
He questioned her silently. She fell into a pile of excuses. “It’s late. You have to lock up. I can see myself out. I’ll see you in the morning. Okay?”
It wasn’t okay. Was this how they were going to play it? Circling the well, careful not to fall in. He wasn’t cut out for the Romeo-Juliet thing. But he had to let her go. It was past midnight and his self-control was down to the barest of wires.
He stood and faced her. “What did I tell you about worrying about my feelings?”
She looked him in the eye. “It’s too late for that.”
Chapter 6
Every minute they spent together, Leila felt Nick circling around her, very strategically stripping her of her defenses. As of last night, he knew almost all her secrets and yet she still had questions. Where did he live? What did he do when he wasn’t working? Was he really single or just sleeping around? And, the next day, at their morning meeting, a new question popped up. What was the true purpose of all those trips to New York?
Greg had stopped by Nick’s office. He was the only other African American at the agency. Despite his frat boy ways, Leila liked him.
“Heard you had a great turnout last night,” he said. “I got a client who might be interested.”
Leila and Nick were on the couch, reviewing his calendar. Nick said, “Leila, please get Greg up to speed.”
Greg looked surprised. “So...what’s up, Leila?”
“As of nine o’clock this morning, the Bayshore property is in escrow.”
Greg whistled. “Good work, man. Congratulations.”
Nick threw up his hands with false modesty. “I try.”
“And that’s why she wants you back.”
Leila waited until Greg had left before asking what he’d meant.
“Who knows?” He turned his attention to the computer tablet resting on his lap.
Her chest tightened with anger. He was lying.
“Want to get out of here?” he asked.
“Oh, yes.”
That was all it took. He was forgiven.
* * *
Nick had a listing appointment with the owner of a condo on Collins Avenue. It wasn’t the sort of meeting he’d take his assistant to, but he’d grab any excuse to be alone with Leila. When he stopped in front of the building located directly across the street from the high-end mall where she used to work, she shook her head and murmured, “Of course.”
He pulled up to the valet and cut the engine. “What?”
She pointed to the sign. Bal Harbour Shops. The crisp white letters stood out against a black backdrop. “Maybe I should go say hello to my old boss. You never know. If this real estate thing doesn’t work out.”
“It’ll work out,” he said. “You’re learning from the best.”
He got out of the car and went around to open her door. She stepped
out and said, “I thought Tony was the best.”
He tried to laugh at the joke, but couldn’t. “Now you’re trying to start something.”
Before they went inside, Nick took a look at the building. It was wide and flat and looked like every other building on the street. They rode an elevator that jerked to a stop on the fifth floor.
“Feels old,” he said.
“It’s not so bad. The elevator in my building doesn’t work half the time.”
“Not so bad is not enough,” he said. “We’re here to appraise the apartment but also the building, and so far I’m not sold.”
A few feet down the hall, a woman stepped through a door. “Hey. I thought you were lost.”
Nick walked over and shook her hand. Turning to Leila, he said, “Carrie Hill, this is my assistant, Leila Amis.”
Carrie was short compared to Leila. She wore a T-shirt and stretchy pants. Her feet were bare.
“Come on in.”
Nick ushered Leila ahead of him.
With a sweeping gesture of the hand, Carrie offered up the main room for his inspection. The room felt cramped. Maybe the furniture was too large. Or maybe it had to do with the retro built-in bar that ate up so much space. The adjacent kitchen had obviously had a facelift with new fixtures and door pulls, but, sadly, it looked dated. The predictable apartment layout might have been saved by the views, but the views were not impressive. If the beach was out there, it was obscured by a row of palm trees.
Carrie opened a door off the hallway. “Guest bath. Updated with a new pedestal sink.”
“And the bedroom?” Nick asked.
“In a minute,” she said. “My boyfriend’s getting dressed. Let’s check out the balcony.”
They all stepped out onto the narrow balcony and, after a few awkward seconds of silence, stepped back inside. Nick’s first impression was confirmed. There wasn’t much to see beyond the landscaping.
“I’m thinking somewhere in the mid-eight hundreds,” Carrie said.
“Too high,” Nick said.
“For Bal Harbour? I don’t think so.”
“We’re across the street from a mall. I bet the day after Christmas it’s a holy nightmare.”
He was also willing to bet that congestion on the main road was the reason Carrie Hill was selling her one-bedroom “beach front” condo.
She wouldn’t back down. “Just last month a unit sold for—”
“Top floor. Better views.”
“Okay. What’s your number?” she asked, frustrated.
“Somewhere in the high six hundreds.”
Carrie’s boyfriend came out of the bedroom. His eyes narrowed on Leila. “Hey! I know you.”
Nick watched Leila freeze under the man’s scrutiny.
“You sold me that wallet.”
That was enough chitchat. Nick stepped between them, eclipsing the smaller man altogether.
“I don’t have a lot of time,” he said. “If we don’t agree on price, we don’t have to go any further.”
Carrie Hill shrugged. “Up to you. You’re not the first agent I’ve spoken to, and I’ve got plenty more on my list.”
“If they say you can get anything close to eight hundred, they’re lying.”
Carrie’s off-duty yoga instructor vibe vanished. She was an estate planner by profession, and her pragmatic side was now showing.
“I invested a lot updating this place.”
Nick pointed to the bar. “Invest some more and knock that thing out.”
She stiffened. “I think we’re done.”
Nick gestured for Leila to head to the door. “Call me if you change your mind.”
Out in the hall, Leila chastised him. “Can you really talk to clients that way?”
Nick pounded the elevator button. “She’s not a client yet.”
“Nick, you were rude back there.”
“Listen, Miss Congeniality—”
“Hey!”
“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”
Maybe she was looking at this from the retail angle, where the customer was king. But that wasn’t how he ran things.
“If it’s not priced right, it won’t move,” he explained. “I’m not taking a listing to have it sit on the market. It’s my name, my reputation.”
“But—”
“She asked for my professional opinion and she got it.”
“Okay, but—”
“I call the shots, Leila,” he said. “I’ll deliver if a client gives me something to work with.”
“Okay, I get it. You’re the shot caller.”
“She can call someone else.”
But she didn’t. They were waiting for the car to be brought around when his phone rang. He showed her the display. Carrie Hill.
“Yeah, she wants me,” he teased.
“Everybody wants you,” she said.
A current passed between them. How he wished that were true.
* * *
Saturday afternoon, Leila lugged four bags of groceries up three flights of stairs to her apartment. The unit she shared with Alicia faced a courtyard with a basketball hoop. The neighborhood boys were engaged in a clumsy game of pickup basketball. Before she’d left for the supermarket, she’d watched them saunter onto the court, boasting of skills they’d yet to demonstrate. They reminded her of herself.
Alicia was curled up on the couch, clutching a box of Kleenex. Her naturally wavy hair was braided in two messy rows that snaked along her hairline.
“I’m ordering pizza and watching those car chase movies. You know the ones,” she said, her voice coarse.
“Which one?” Leila asked. There were seven at last count.
“All of them.” Alicia raised the remote like a scepter. “Are you in?”
“Sorry. I have a date.”
“Why so down? If I had a date I wouldn’t be watching every car chase movie ever made.”
“How about I make you some soup?” Leila offered.
“From scratch?”
“From a can! Do I look like your mama?”
“No, thanks. I prefer pizza.”
Pizza and a movie sounded tempting after the busy week she’d had, but there was no way she could back out of meeting Dr. No. She showered and dressed, putting extra effort into her appearance to make up for her lack of enthusiasm. She came out of her room in a red halter, skinny jeans and high-heeled sandals, just in time to open the door for the pizza delivery guy.
“Why can’t your date pick you up like a gentleman?” Alicia asked. Consulting the delivery guy, who was seventeen tops, she added, “Am I right?”
The boy shrugged.
Leila replied, “He’s working late. It would take him too long to get here. It’s easier this way.”
“And you want your car to make a quick getaway,” the boy said. “Am I right?”
Alicia tipped the kid. “The truth always comes out of the mouth of babes.”
Everyone was onto her. She decided to be more positive, and started by ditching the negative nickname Dr. No. His name was Dr. Carl Knowles. The problem was that she felt obliged to date him. If a young handsome doctor asked you out, every grandmother alive would agree that you had to say yes. She’d dated bad boys and cool guys, it was time she dated a smart man.
They met at a pop-up bar put together by a team of local mixologists. The downtown location had been announced on Twitter only the night before. Carl was waiting at the unmarked entrance, freshly shaved and looking handsome in a striped button-down shirt and black jeans. They had no problems finding seats at the ground-floor bar. But then it didn’t take long to realize that most of the action, music and mingling was happening on the second-floor loft. Leila, determined to give the good doctor her full attention, didn’t mind at all.
At the bartender’s
recommendation, they ordered tequila and pineapple cocktails and standard bar food, buffalo wings for him and flatbread pizza for her. In the harsh light of naked bulbs, Carl’s wide eyes glowed. His tawny-brown skin was smooth and blemish-free. He kept her entertained with gruesome tales of emergency-room trauma, but something in his tone irked her: the suggestion that his work was more important than hers or, frankly, anyone else’s. Nick wasn’t exactly saving lives, but he worked hard. Leila took a long sip of her cocktail. Why was she even thinking about Nick?
Her phone, face-up on the bar, buzzed angrily. The display read Trouble. There was her answer. She couldn’t stop thinking about him because there was no escaping him. He was at the office. He was on the phone. He was in her dreams at night. He’d promised to hijack her whole life, and he’d kept his word.
Leila grabbed the phone and mouthed an apology. “I have to take this.”
Carl was gracious. “That’s fine.”
She turned away from him and answered. “Hello?”
“Look up.”
Even as her heart sank, she raised her eyes, scanning the second-floor loft. It took only a few seconds to spot him—one hand holding a phone to his ear, the other buried in the pocket of faded jeans. His handsome face was partially shadowed.
“Don’t stare,” he said.
She quickly averted her eyes, aware that Carl was watching her, too.
“I’m leaving for New York tomorrow night and won’t be back before Wednesday.”
“Thanks for letting me know.”
“No problem. Enjoy your night.”
“You, too.”
“Leila?”
“Yes?”
“You’re beautiful. He’s a lucky guy.”
She looked up again and he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.
Carl cleared his throat in an effort to grab her attention. She politely indulged him, packing the phone away, knowing his luck had run out.
That night, as she undressed, Leila turned Nick’s words over in her mind. Of all the things he could have said—“You look beautiful. You’re beautiful tonight. You look beautiful in red.”—he’d said, You’re beautiful.
Chapter 7
Nick left the bar, climbed into his car and tore out of the parking lot. It wasn’t even ten, but he wasn’t going to stick around. He was this close to setting the place on fire. Seeing Leila out with that guy was like swallowing hot coal. From his vantage point on the second-floor loft, they’d seemed like the perfect couple. And that, he’d admit it, scared the hell out of him.
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