He comes to a stop on her other side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “The acoustics are phenomenal,” he says. “Are you thinking the sunroom for your setup?”
Meg is across from me, barely containing her grin. When Christianna glances at her, Meg mouths, See?
Christianna looks between Erik and the realtor and nods.
The realtor’s name escapes me. Brigitte? Bambi? Brandi?
I’m starting to get as bad as Erik.
The realtor scoots closer to Erik and lays a hand on his arm. He sidesteps smoothly, placing Christianna between them, one arm settling around her waist as he peers over my shoulder. While she stiffens slightly at the contact, the frown she shoots at the realtor's presumptuousness is telling.
“How long has this been on the market?” I ask.
“Oh, I don’t think that long. I’d have to check.”
Meg pipes up. “It was listed in January for one point two more than they’re asking now. Last sold in 2022 for three million.”
“Thank you.”
“They renovated extensively,” the realtor continues. “I know you haven’t had a chance to really see it yet, Mr. Robichaux, but…”
“Please excuse us,” I cut in. “I need to speak to Tianna privately.”
I catch Erik giving Christianna a reassuring squeeze as she startles at the old nickname. She hadn’t realized I remembered it.
Flushing slightly, the realtor murmurs, “Of course,” and retreats toward the door.
“You know?” Christianna whispers, carefully stepping away from Erik.
My voice softens. “Yes. But let’s talk about it after we get rid of what’s her name.”
“Brittany,” Meg supplies helpfully.
“Her,” Erik says. “Let’s make your offer so she can leave.”
Christianna looks at me. “I don’t have to stay until they accept it, do I?”
“I’d offer about one point three less,” I say. “Cash. Close quickly. Waive inspection.”
Her eyes widen. “That fast?”
“I can talk to her,” I add. “Unless you want to. I don’t want to take this moment from you.”
She shakes her head. “I hate this part. You do it. Please.”
I head for the door to find what’s her name.
I am officially as bad as Erik.
Chapter fifty-one
Remy
The realtor is trying to look calm. She is failing.
“They countered,” she says, folding her hands like this is a church meeting. “Four point five. Cash. Keys at closing.”
I wait.
