And surprisingly, I felt no pity for the man.
He whipped his attention back to Mom as he began hobbling off in the direction of his office. “I’m sorry, Kate, but I’ve got to resign.”
Mom went after him, asking for a better reason than whatever one he had or hadn’t given, and I stepped in behind the front desk, lifting my bag from my shoulder and tucking it under the desk.
Putting on a shocked face, I asked, “What happened to him?”
Candice hadn’t sat down yet, drifting over to the hallway to listen out for any possible gossip about the situation, much like the other realtors who poked their heads out of their offices.
“Apparently, he tripped up the front stairs of his house— I’ll be back in a minute. I have to do something in the kitchen...” Her words trailed off as she wandered down the hallway to listen closer.
Alone in the foyer, I didn’t bother hiding my little smile as I opened my emails and tasks for the day. James was leaving and I couldn’t have felt happier. Though I knew better than to believe he just tripped.
A figure approaching the building pulled my attention to the glass doors across the foyer, where Dean, similarly to two mornings ago, strolled into the room. Except this time, he overlooked the flyers and headed straight for the front desk. The corner of his mouth lifted into a lopsided smile when he saw me.
“Hey.”
It was such a simple word, yet it poured a million little butterflies into my stomach. I quickly schooled my features though, reminding myself what he did wasn’t exactly something that should be celebrated. It was wrong, but also extremely satisfying in an unsettling way.
Keeping my eyes on my computer screen, I refused to look at him. Even if his presence was making me a little flustered. “I know what you did.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” I could hear the coyness in his deep voice as he continued. “I’m just here to pick up those keys for Julia.”
Raising my eyebrow slightly, I kept my face blank as I looked at him, and then slid my chair back towards the drop box on the edge of the desk. The keys and paperwork for the Bay Ridge mansion, with its spiral stone staircase, were all concealed in a blue folder. Stamped with the Whitmore Real Estate Agency logo across the front.
I stood to bring it back to him, finding him watching my every move with his head tilted a little to the right. His brow quirked.
I failed to hide my smile this time as I placed the folder on the counter in front of him. “You are—”
James hobbled into the foyer and my smile dropped.
The meeting between the two men was far different from the first time. The tables were turned. James was no longer smug, and Dean didn’t look like he wanted the realtor to walk off a skyscraper.
James froze at the sight of Dean leaning casually against the front desk. The box of his office belongings visibly shook in his hand as his eyes widened in horror, relying solely on his crutch to keep him upright as his legs quaked too.
Dean frowned a little, nodding to the realtor’s mangled face and faking every bit of concern that came from his mouth. “That looks painful.”
James let out a whimper, an actual high-pitched whimper, before he made a dash for the door, avoiding eye contact and hobbling as fast as his bad leg could carry him. As we watched him leave, the reality of the situation settled over me.
“Dean...” I was flooded with uncertainty. When he turned his head back to me, his smile faded. “What if he talks? Or goes to the police?”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Trust me.” His eyes never left mine. “He won’t.”
I stared at him, trying to gauge exactly why he was so assured, and then hesitantly asked, “What did you do to him?”
“Bumped his head on his steerin’ wheel.” A ghost of a smile graced his features as he crossed his arms on the counter surface. His biceps flexed naturally with the movement before he shrugged. “Then showed him how to use his pocket knife.”
I kept my voice quiet. “You can’t just go around beating people up... It’s not right.”
“I can if they’re hurtin’ the people I care about.”
My heart squeezed but I couldn't fight the voice in my head — my father's voice. “There’s a lawful way of handling these things.”
“That’s true.” He studied my face as his brow creased. “Were you gonna talk to your dad about him?”
