“I’ve offended you.” His lips thin in a straight line, and while I can’t see his eyes, I know they are still on me. His gaze basically burns right through me. I don’t reply; instead, I turn to my driver, Matty, who nods at me in greeting.
“We should go. I have plans later, and I would like to get this sorted sooner rather than later,” I state, giving him a tight smile before I climb into the car. He walks around to the other side and slides in next to me.
Pulling out the brochure again, I open it to the listing I plan to show him. “As you can see by the photos, I think you’ll like this property. It has all the specifications you listed. And it’s actually below the price you mentioned to Layla.”
“Good. Though price isn’t really an issue.”
“Okay.” I close the brochure.
“You’re avoiding looking at me,” he points out.
I clench my teeth before replying, “No, I’m not.” And then I turn to face him. He’s taken his sunglasses off, and he’s staring at me again. Why does he have to look like that? Why does he have to make my pulse race so fucking fast I can hear it beating in my ears?
No man should hold that power over a woman.
“How much?” he asks, maintaining eye contact, and I don’t dare look away.
“Twenty million,” I tell him, letting the number hang in the air like a challenge.
He doesn’t even flinch. No raised brow, no shift in his stance, just calm, calculated silence, as if I’d said twenty dollars instead. And it rattles me more than I care to admit.
“I can pay in cash by the end of the day if the property meets my needs and expectations.”
“Great. That’s good to know.” Now, I do look away. Grabbing my phone, I check my emails, and without glancing his way, I still feel his stare.
“How long have you been in real estate?”
Small talk. That I can do. I think.
Locking my phone, I glance out the window before I turn back to him. “Fifteen years.” Then I ask, “And how long have you been practicing?”
“I went into it straight out of college. Seems I have a knack for people.”
“What do you mean?” I ask curiously.
“It’s like I can read what people want to say without them having to say it.”
I think about that for a moment. Can he read me right now? But if he can, why is he asking me questions?
“What about me?”
“You?” He raises a brow, and I simply nod. “Well, you seem to be harder to read than most.”
“Is that a compliment?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer.
FOUR
ARLO
Confidential — Personal Use Only
OBSERVATIONS:
If I cracked her open, would she be easier to read?
I need to be mindful of this impulse.
