“The natural course of things in many relationships. And you didn’t.”
“I don’t oppose getting married…but not to her. She’s a great person, and it’s my fault I led her on and didn’t consider what she wanted. I really like her, but I don’t feel strong feelings.”
“Like you would beat up a stranger at a grocery store for her?”
“What?”
She chuckled. “I’m a pacifist. I swear I’m not hitting anyone. I’m just saying—you know that high, when you’re so into someone, you do something completely crazy for them.”
He watched her in silence, like he cataloged her facial features one by one, then a smile curled his sexy lips. “You’re an interesting person, Manuela.”
She licked her lips. He had no idea…
3
“How do you feel about this one?” Nate asked, as they strolled into the third McMansion overlooking the ocean.
Clarice Sampaio wrinkled her nose, like she understood what he said even if her English wasn’t good. Manuela did a quick translation, and told him, “Not to her liking. The living room is too small for entertaining. And not enough bathrooms.”
“There are five bathrooms in this place,” he said, then finished with a smile. Keeping Mrs. Sampaio happy would be his key to getting her recommendation and working with her friends and family in the future. She had moved to California after her son had made many millions in the technology industry. In less than six months, she’d become a valued person in the upscale Brazilian community—a market he’d love to tap.
What did he need? Manuela. She spoke Portuguese and had natural charisma. With the kind of money he’d make from this sale and the many others in addition to his already hefty income, he’d be able to sell his business and retire early. Enjoy life. Create a future for him much different than his late father’s, who’d worked well into his eighties.
Manuela leaned closer. “Yes, but she wanted more bathrooms for guestrooms. As you know, she has a big family and lots of friends, and this will be a good home base for vacations and such. In Brazil, big homes like this tend to have more bathrooms than the US.”
“Of course. She can also add to it. There’s enough square footage, unlike other residences for sale in this area.”
Manuela tilted her head to listen to what the elegant woman in her sixties said. He watched his assistant, the sensual way she spoke the foreign language, and wondered if she spoke it with Gustavo.
Bile floated up his throat, and he touched the area under his breastbone, surprised at how fast the sour acidic sensation assaulted him. His hot assistant had a live-in boyfriend he knew nothing about. Was that the reason why she’d insisted on the immediate vacation? Not a family emergency, but to spend time with her new man?
Irritation skated up his spine.
He popped his knuckles, tense.
The thought of a man touching Manuela, kissing her, sleeping with her was like a freight train coming his way—and he was tied with his hands behind his back. Or was he?
He blinked himself out of that nonsense. Why did her having a boyfriend bother him so much? She was a luscious young woman. She had every right to date whoever she wanted.
He touched his chest, the nagging feeling still there. Damn it. Logic didn’t kill his curiosity. Something had changed, something about his dynamic where Manuela was concerned. And he had to get his head straight—what good was it to ruin his reputation, to lose her as his assistant and interpreter? If he tried anything, she could put a bad word out about him. He’d lose Mrs. Sampaio’s account, and all the others that might come with it. Goodbye early retirement.
“She’s ready to see the next house,” Manuela said, bringing him back to reality.
“Right. Of course.”
They drove in different cars to the impressive Spanish style home. Though he preferred to drive his clients, using the opportunity as a good way to small talk and establish rapport, Clarice had insisted she drive her own tricked out Tesla.
So that meant another fifteen minutes in a closed space with Manuela, without a buffer zone. Sure, they talked about the weather—dark clouds remained strong in the sky, and now the weather expert on the radio talked about an unexpected thunderstorm. But he couldn’t keep from thinking about a strange tension between them. Maybe it was all him. He wasn’t reading the room properly—or in this case, the car.
“What I thought would be heavy rain by the time we drive back turns out could be a bad thunderstorm,” he said. “Hopefully it’ll clear by the time we’re done showing her the house.” He’d done overnights before, obviously, it came with the job. But the idea of spending the night in a hotel with Manuela added one more obstacle in his already hard to keep resolution.
“If she doesn’t like it like the other ones, we’ll be out really quick,” Manuela said, an undercurrent of snark in her voice.
“That’s true. Does she tell you anything in particular, anything I should look out for? She’s a hard lady to please.”
A hard lady to please. He heard his own words, but refrained from making a distasteful double innuendo joke. He never had any problems in that area, and wondered if Manuela would—
“She wants it to be perfect. When she sees it, she’ll know,” Manuela said.
