“Mack Bowers, Merrill Lynch.”
Natalie shook his unpleasantly moist hand. “I was about to put these cookies on a plate. They just came out of the oven, but once they’ve had a minute to cool—”
“Don’t mind if I do,” he interrupted, grabbing one right off the hot tray. “Jesus!” he barked, his fingers spasming as the cookie scalded his palm. He dropped the cookie on the floor and rushed to the sink.
Even though she’d done nothing wrong, Natalie apologized and scooped up the ruined cookie with one of the fancy floral napkins she’d bought at the party store.
She plated two cookies and waited for Mack to dry his hands on the artfully folded tea towel. Natalie looked from the crinkled towel to the water droplets on the faucet and backsplash and pursed her lips to prevent them from turning down in a frown. Mack Bowers had been in the house for less than two minutes and he was already making a mess.
“Want to give me the grand tour?” he asked, breaking a cookie in half and shoveling it into his mouth.
Natalie smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”
As Mack moved through the rooms, he issued a series of dismissive grunts. Viewing the house through his eyes, Natalie realized all her cleaning and decluttering had been in vain. She saw only outdated paint colors, old carpet, and cracks in the bathroom tile.
Mack ate his second cookie in the living room. As he turned around, he created a circle of crumbs on the carpet. Natalie’s fingers itched for a vacuum. She’d love to suck up the crumbs and then press the metal nozzle to Mack’s mouth. It would be hard for him to look smug with a vacuum hose hanging off his face.
“The place has potential,” he said. “If someone was willing to fix it up, it could be real nice. Let’s see the yard.”
Natalie opened the patio door and followed Mack outside. He was about to speak when the doorbell rang again.
“Excuse me,” she said.
She retraced her steps to the living room, where an elegant middle-aged woman stood next to a cabinet stuffed withHummel figurines. The woman was very slim with a cumulus cloud of blond hair. She opened an engraved business card case and withdrew a card. “Joan Andrews. I’m from Daniel Gale.”
Natalie noticed the initials on the gold case. She noticed the way Joan held her card like it was a cigarette. Her nails were long, rounded, and red. She carried herself with a confidence that bordered on hauteur.
“Natalie Scott. Thank you for coming.”
Joan fingered the eyeball-sized pearls around her neck and glanced around the room. “The home of an older couple, I assume?”
“Yes. Would you like—”
“I’ll just do a quick wander.” Joan spun on her heel. “I can see what I need to see in five minutes.”
As Joan glided away, Mack came in from the patio. “Spacious yard,” he said “Plenty of room for a work shed or a swing set. You’ve got that going for you, at least.”
Someone knocked on the door three times and another agent entered the house. Stepping in front of Natalie, Mack pumped the newcomer’s hand. “Steve! How the hell are you? Oh, hey! I didn’t see your little guy behind you. You showing Junior the tricks of the trade?”
Natalie was surprised to see a toddler peeking out from behind Steve’s leg. She’d never heard of an agent bringing a child to a broker’s open house.
How unprofessional, she thought.
Steve, whose face was the shape and color of a chicken pot pie, gave Natalie a sheepish grin. “I’m dying to see the house, but this guy needs to use the bathroom real bad. Where’s the closest john?”
Natalie pointed down the hall toward the bedrooms and watched in horror as Steve scooped his son into his armsand hurried in that direction. The pair made it halfway to the bathroom before the little boy started to wail.
“I’m gonna take another look at the kitchen,” Mack said. “Maybe grab a cookie or two for the road.”
While Mack piled cookies onto a clean napkin, Natalie recited the key selling points of the house.
She had time to mention the school district and proximity to the beach before Mack cut her off. “My current buyers are looking for something more modern, but I’ll keep this in mind for future clients. Nice to meet you, Nat. I’ll show myself out.”
Natalie swiped the crumbs off the counter and refolded the tea towel. When she turned around, Joan was standing in the doorway, her finger pressed to the tip of her nose.
“Do they have dogs? There’s anodorin the master bedroom.”
“They do, but—”
