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“Yes, I’m sure. I’d rather have dinner with you.”
That sounded more personal than she’d intended.
“I’d rather have dinner with you, too.”
He said nothing else until they arrived at the restaurant. The hostess greeted Nick by name and showed him to a table on the terrace. He ordered the house burger and a beer. She ordered tuna sliders and a glass of Pinot. They shared an order of parmesan fries and he told her his plans for the Bayshore property.
“The listing goes live tomorrow. I want to hold the broker’s open on Thursday night. That house was built for parties. I want a bar by the pool, a DJ, everything.”
“I should take notes.” Leila reached for her phone, swiped past a text from Dr. No and opened the notepad app. She typed “Thursday, bar by pool, DJ, catering.”
“Do you have a caterer in mind?”
“We’ve used this place before with decent results.”
She lowered her hearty slider to her plate and offered some advice. “When I’m trying to look good at a party, the last thing I want is heavy food. Why not taquitos and margaritas?”
“I bet you don’t have to try to look good, Leila.”
She took it as a compliment and thanked him.
“How old are you?”
“Old enough to do this job.”
He’d caught her off guard and the lame one-liner was all she could come up with. She had a complicated relationship with her age. According to the scoreboard in her mind, she was trailing the home team by a lot. She’d gone from pageant girl to shop girl and now to office temp all in the time that her high school friends had earned advanced degrees and jump-started bona fide careers.
“But are you old enough to drink?” he asked, pointing to her half-empty glass of wine.
“Very funny. I’m twenty-three, soon to be twenty-four.” She paused. “Does it matter how old I am?”
“I’m just trying to get to know you.”
“Sorry. I’m a little jumpy.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “I’m thirty, and I like the tacos idea.”
“Taquitos.” She typed the word into her phone.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
Leila went still and laid down her phone. “That’s kind of personal.”
“Extremely personal,” he said. “Someone should’ve warned you about me. I’m about to hijack your whole life.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Someone did.”
He wiped his mouth with a black cloth napkin. “You can tell me to go to hell at any time.”
“You’re harmless,” she said, even though his eyes said otherwise. “And, yes, I’m dating someone. Sort of.”
He didn’t ask for specifics, leaving her disappointed. Instead he asked, “Will he mind if you have to work late?”
“I don’t know. I don’t usually ask a boyfriend before making career moves.”
“So, he’s a boyfriend.”
“I only meant—”
He reminded her that she was under no obligation to apologize or to explain. She could tell him to go to hell. That option was still open.
“We’ve got some time,” he said, again consulting his watch. “Is there anything you want to ask me?”
She reached for a fry and the opportunity to ask the one question burning inside her. “Whatever happened to Monica?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “How long have you been wondering about that?”
“Since day one.”
Nick took a sip of beer. His long fingers had a firm grasp of the frosty glass. “She got into it with Jo-Ann and things went south from there. She should’ve let me handle it, but Monica won’t back down from anything. We were together three years.”
Together three years...an odd way to describe a working relationship.
“I doubt we’ll be together that long,” she said.
“Planning to ditch me?”
“What I really want is to learn the business.”
“So this is a short-term thing?”
Leila worked to keep her voice steady. “Does that bother you?”
“I’m fine with it.” He leaned closer. “I know you have retail experience. Anything else?”
“No.” She’d worked at designer boutiques, selling sunglasses, scarves and handbags.
“Selling is selling,” he said. “But what drew you to real estate?”
“My aunt sold her home last spring. Her agent was my age. When I found out what she made in commission... I figure if I can sell pricey handbags, I can definitely sell condos.”
“Overpriced handbags.”
Leila’s hand instinctively went to her overpriced handbag hanging from the arm of her chair. The iconic logo was stamped into the buttery-soft leather. “That’s a matter of opinion.”
“That’s a matter of fact.”
“Says the man with a very expensive watch.”
He flashed an easy smile. “The watch is an investment.”
“Please!”
“We’re getting off topic.”
“If I can learn the ropes while studying for the exam, that would give me an advantage. The agency has a great reputation.”
She’d done her research. Kane & Madison, headquartered in New York City with branches in Miami and Los Angeles, racked up impressive yearly sales. She didn’t expect to stay on with the agency. All the associates were seasoned business professionals. But wouldn’t it be awesome to someday be the single woman associate who could give the boys a run for their money?
“We’ve got the best inventory,” he said. “And I’ll teach you everything I know. How’s that?”
That was actually pretty damn nice. “I appreciate it. Really.”
He waived down the waiter and handed over a card. “To be clear, you’re using me as a stepping stone.”
She could kick herself. Why hadn’t she kept her big mouth shut? “Is that okay?”
“If you’re going to use me, go ahead and use me,” he said. “Don’t worry about how I feel about it.”
Within the span of a meal, he’d shown her that she was way too earnest. Apologizing, explaining, stumbling over her words. She was nowhere as sharp as she believed herself to be.
“You must think I’m really green.”
“That’s not what I’m thinking.”
The bill arrived. He signed it and left a heap of cash as a tip.
“I’m going to be the best assistant you’ve ever had.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “The bar is really high.”
“Don’t underestimate me.”
“I promise I won’t.”
Their waiter cleared the table of crumbs but, as far as she was concerned, they were alone in the restaurant.
He asked if there was anything else she wanted to know. Leila would have liked to ask if he was seeing anyone, but came up against the blunt edge of a double standard. He could push the boundaries all he liked, but she’d be dumb to try. She played it safe and asked what had drawn him to real estate.
He took a minute before answering, tapping the table with the credit card held loosely between his thumb and forefinger. “I started out in finance, as an analyst. Made good money. But routine kills.”
“You’re restless,” she said almost without knowing it.
He looked up, surprised. “You’re right.”
Yes! She clenched her fists under the table, thrilled she’d scored at his game.
Chapter 4 (#u5db82b87-8f37-574d-898a-5d97bf0c8aa5)
Nick listened as Leila enthusiastically gave him an update on the broker’s open house. She’d used a contact list prepared by Monica to call the top local brokers. No invitations were extended; she offered to add them to a restricted guest list.
“It’s the fastest way to create a buzz,” she said. “Getting on a list—any list—drives people crazy.”
They were in his office with coffee. The night before, they’d agreed to daily meetings, if only for a few minutes. Nick was happy for an excuse to sit with her.
“I like the way you think,” he said.
“We have fifty confirmed guests.”
“That’s enough. No one shows up alone, and then it’s a big mess.”
“I’m going to order the food.”
“Get in touch with Sofia Silva for the bar. She sets it up, picks the wine, the whole thing.”
Leila jotted down some notes. Then she asked, “Who pays for all this?”
“The agency. Didn’t Jo-Ann tell you about our expense account?”
“No. See why these daily meetings are important? There’s so much I need to know.”
Nick thumbed through his wallet and handed her a corporate credit card. “I’m glad this is productive, but I could talk to you all day.”
She looked up from her lists and notes and smiled. He wondered if the feeling was mutual. But there was no time to dig deeper. He had a busy couple of days ahead.
* * *
He arrived to the open house with Sofia, the event planner. A little red roadster was parked out front and he hoped it was Leila’s. He was impatient to see her again and barely took the time to inspect the house, as he should. It was Sofia who noticed the candles floating on the pool’s surface. She asked whose idea it was. He wasn’t sure, but it had Leila’s delicate fingers all over it.
“You’re here.”
Leila walked up from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of her in a red dress.
It was going to be a long night.
“Did you do that?” he asked, pointing through the French doors to the pool in full view.
“The candles? Do you mind? When the sun goes down it’ll look really nice.”
“I don’t mind. It’s genius.”
“I agree. It’ll look gorgeous,” Sofia said.
Nick had forgotten Sofia. He introduced her to Leila. After she left to help the bartender set up, Nick turned to Leila and said, “I’m starting to think you believe in this sale.”
“You made a believer out of me.”
They stepped outside and wandered past the pool, toward the seawall.
