Working to straighten the tiller, Nick shrugged off his doubts. He had to remind her of what they’d had, and convince her they could get it back. He only needed a plan.
* * *
When Nick arrived at the Reyes Realty sales office on Monday, the receptionist handed him a message from Leila. Swelling with hope, he called her straight away. She answered with a nervous chuckle. “That was fast.”
“See how it works?” he said. “You call me, I call you right back.
“Sorry. I’ve had a busy couple of days.”
“Think you can make time for me?”
“Depends. What do you have in mind?”
“I have a proposition for you.”
“Nick.”
She said his name with a measure of distrust, as if any proposition from him could only lead to trouble.
“I’m looking to hire a real estate agent.”
“Really? Why?”
“I hate where I’m staying and it’s time to buy.”
“Why not do the work yourself, keep the commission?”
“I don’t have time to weed out inventory. I need someone to do the legwork, and you know my tastes.”
She said nothing. He swiveled around in his desk chair and took in the view of Freedom Tower rising into a hazy sky.
“Actually, Nick,” she said. “Until you know for sure where you want to be long-term, renting isn’t a bad idea.”
“Thanks for the advice. But are you really in any position to turn down business?”
“Why do I feel there’s a catch?”
“Because there is. You’ll have to cater to me now.”
Her laugh was throaty, sexy.
“I guess we should discuss this over dinner. Are you free tonight?”
“I can be,” he said. “How about eight? At Michael’s.”
Michael’s Genuine was the foodie destination in the Design District. One thing Nick knew, Leila loved good food.
“I don’t know if we can get a reservation—”
“I can,” he said. “See you there.”
* * *
Nick arrived early at the restaurant. He’d considered waiting at the bar when he saw Leila crossing the street, oblivious of oncoming traffic. She looked gorgeous in a simple blush-colored dress just short enough to show off her legs. When she came to stand before him, he couldn’t help himself. He grabbed her waist and kissed her full on the mouth.
She kissed back, maybe out of habit, then tried to wiggle away. He held her firmly. “I’m glad you called.”
She held up a manila folder. “This is work, not a date.”
“I don’t know the difference.”
“You’re about to find out.”
He guided her into the restaurant. Their table for two was cozy, guaranteeing she’d always be at arm’s length. He grabbed her chair by the seat and dragged it even closer. Then he reached for her hand and she pulled away. It was going to be a fun night.
To lighten the mood he ordered champagne. The restaurant’s casual vibe did not translate to casual prices. Catching her worried look, he said, “Dinner is on me.”
A devious smile spread across her face. “In that case, I hear the oysters are fantastic.”
“Then we’ll get those, too. I’m in the mood to celebrate.”
“Why?” she asked. “What’s got you going?”
“Two million dollars of Reyes property in escrow as of four o’clock this afternoon.”
“I hate you so much right now.”
He laughed and tried for her hand again. This time she waited a few seconds before pulling away. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you.”
She smoothed a cloth napkin on her lap. “I have something to tell you.”
Their waiter returned to fill their champagne glasses. He set the smoky-green bottle in a standing ice bucket and seemed to instinctively know to walk away.
“Do I want to hear this? Because I’ve given it some thought. Leila, I was wrong to grill you the other day. The past is in the past.” He proposed a toast. “Here’s to your secrets.”
She took her glass to her lips, painted a deep coral. “You make me wish I had a few.”
“So what’s this about?”
“I met Monica, your Monica, at a charity luncheon yesterday.”
“You did? How’s my money-maker?” he asked, and watched Leila flinch. Still so jealous...
“She had a lot to say.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“She seems to think Jo-Ann let me go because you pulled rank, demanding she keep me on at the agency.”
Nick considered this. He recalled that particularly contentious phone call to Jo-Ann while still on the plane at JFK. He’d very nearly bullied the woman into promising to keep Leila on staff. As to be expected with Jo-Ann, she hadn’t taken it well. He should’ve known that in a battle of wills, she’d win every time.
“Makes sense,” he said. “So I’m really to blame.”
“No.” This time she grabbed his hand and held it. “Back then I really appreciated you trying to save my job. I still do, and I need you to know that.”
He nodded. And since the time had come to put their hearts on the table, he had something to confess, as well. “I need you to know that I’m proud of you. Proud of what you’ve accomplished this past year.”
The waiter returned with marinated olives and asked to take their order. When he left she said, “You’ve been to my office. I really didn’t accomplish much.”
“You could’ve taken a job at any old real estate agency, but you went solo. You created something, and that takes guts. I’ve never done that.”
“Well, thanks.”
She made his heart melt with a lopsided smile. And from then on the night took on a more playful bent. The champagne worked its magic. Leila mellowed and when old acquaintances stopped at their table to say hello, he introduced her as “the thorn in my side.”
“I used to be the light of your life,” she said.
“You used to work harder to keep me happy.”
She laughed. “Get used to the new normal.”
He reached under the table and stroked her bare thigh. “I don’t want to.”
She slapped his hand away then ignored him and focused on the dessert menu. They ordered ice cream and when later she licked whipped cream off her fingers, he ached to take those fingers in his mouth.
“What are we going to do now?” he asked.
She pointed to the all but forgotten folder tucked under her purse. “Order espresso and go over the contract.”
“I thought I’d take you home with me. You’ll never guess where I’m staying.”
Her eyes lit up. “Tell me.”
“One hint. You’ve been there before. Took the grand tour and everything.”
“Oh, God, you’re at Ten Twenty Biscayne? The very building you’re being paid to sell out?”
He winced. “When you put it that way it sounds shady.”
“That view in the morning must make up for everything.”
“Come with me and find out.”
All evening, he’d been winding her up. He knew her well enough to know she was ready to be loved right about now. Or could it just be him? He was so easily stirred by little details: that look in her eyes, the curve of her throat and the way her hand lingered on his arm when she told a story. The cave, the desk, even her kitchen counter...those encounters were merely appetizers. He was ready for a full meal, all night in his bed, her hair spread on the pillow and her dress on the floor.
“I’m ready to get out of here,” he said.
Leila pushed aside her dessert plate and reached for the folder. “I don’t think we should wait on this. Unless you weren’t serious about hiring me.”
He rested his spoo
n. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
She produced a standard contract. “This is for exclusive representation.”
“I don’t want to work with anyone else.”
“I don’t want you changing your mind and meddling. Let me be your agent.”
“I’ll let you be whatever you want.”
She ignored his comment and pressed on. “The term is six months.”
“Let’s stick to a time frame we’re used to. Eight weeks.”
She drew her brows together. “That’s outrageous. You’re putting a gun to my head. What if I don’t deliver?”
“You will.”
“You don’t know that. It all depends on inventory. Who knows what’s out there?”
“The short deadline pushes me to the front of the line, where I want to be. It forces you to make me your priority.”
“You’re my priority regardless! There’s no line, and you know it.”
Nick knew exactly what to say to end this pointless discussion. “Are you asking me to go easy on you?”
“Fine!” With a stroke of a pen, she amended the contract from six months to two. “Okay. Let’s see. The standard commission applies.”
“Leila!” he cried. “Let me sign the damn thing.”
“There’s one more thing to cover.”
“What haven’t we covered?”
She took a sip of water. “Just this. I don’t sleep with my clients.”
He tapped the contract. “Show me the clause that says that.”
“I’m serious. No mixing business with pleasure.”
“Can’t we work around that rule?”
She shook her head. “Not this time. If we do this, I want to keep things friendly and professional.”
“Why would you want that?”
She pressed her lips together the way she did when mulling over something important. “Because we’ve fallen into our old ways, and I don’t want to fall any deeper.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“I got sucked into your world once and it spit me out.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Then take me into yours.”
She turned away, avoiding his eyes.
Since the night was about candid confession, Nick decided to go for broke. “Leila, if you’re worried I’m going to leave again, don’t be.”
“For once I’m not worried about you or anyone,” she said with a cool smile. “I’m focused on my career. My mentor taught me that.”
Nick closed his eyes. The world had gone red. Any swell of hope he’d had in the morning had died down.
“We need a hiatus, Nick.”
He didn’t remind her that they’d just come out of a hiatus. A long one.
“How long are we talking about?”
“For the life of the contract. After that we’ll see.”
“Is that why you were pushing for six months?”
“That’s a separate issue.”
“How are you drawing these lines exactly?”
Her eyes pleaded with him. “Why not trust me on this?”
Nick was done arguing. He reached for the pen. “Where do I sign?”
She let out a sigh of relief and flipped to the last page.
Relief. To be done with him.
Chapter 25
One week into their agreement and Leila was wondering why she’d signed on for another eight-week misadventure with Nick—as if the last one had ended so well. Nick was not the same since he’d signed the contract. His attitude had changed. No flirting. No joking. No cajoling. He didn’t show up with coffee. He didn’t call. To be fair, that’s what she’d asked. All she’d wanted was to pump the breaks a little, to avoid barreling over a steep emotional cliff. It was too late to go back and renegotiate. And he’d signed the contract, which meant she had a job to do.
Nostalgia brought her back to where it all began, the Venetian Islands. She systematically visited each condo building, ruling out the dated ones in favor of newer construction. Narrowing her search even more, she considered properties that offered dock space and indoor parking for the Maserati. It wasn’t enough for a condo to be accessible and attractive. It also had to reflect Nick’s growth as a professional, his standing in the world today.
But this didn’t stop her from visiting his former building and asking to tour a unit, similar to his old one, that was sitting on the market. The agent opened the door and Leila’s inner scaffolding collapsed. She could not distinguish the present from the past. She wandered through the light-filled rooms, from the bedroom where she and Nick had first made love to the terrace where they’d shared breakfast the morning after. The listing agent stepped out to the hall to take a call and, to Leila’s surprise, she started weeping. Back then they’d had a chance. Today she wasn’t sure. Sofia had summed it up best. Breaking up is hard to do, getting back to together is nearly impossible.
* * *
Leila lined up three condos to show him and, on a sunny Tuesday morning, they met at a café. She’d intended to go over the pros and cons of each property. Nick wasn’t a gullible first-time buyer and likely wouldn’t make a decision based on impulse or emotion. Before she could launch into her rehearsed preamble, he reached over and absently toyed with the leather strap of her watch. It was a familiar gesture that worked to break the ice. They hadn’t seen each other in days. He looked sleep-deprived. His voice was husky and the lines at the corners of his eyes had deepened, making him sexier. No fair.
“How are you?” he asked.
His fingers brushed her skin. Her pulse skipped.
“Great. And you?”
He shrugged. “Okay.”
She couldn’t sit still. “Maybe we should just go and—”
“Let’s do it.”
He was uncharacteristically quiet during the tour. Leila rattled off data like a wind-up doll: square footage, price per square-footage, number of days on the market, amenities, homeowners’ association fees. Nick didn’t ask any questions. Something was wrong, but she didn’t dare ask. When they came to the last condo, a bit small but with a wraparound terrace that offered spectacular water views, she fell quiet, too.
“Why did you pick this neighborhood?” he asked finally.
Leila froze. “Because...you love it here.”
They were in the kitchen, the width of a counter between them.
“I used to, sure.”
“You don’t anymore?”
“I want to start over.”
What were they even talking about?
“I’ll research some other neighborhoods then.”
He rested his elbows on the counter and leaned close. “I know why you picked this one even though you won’t admit it.”
“I loved it here, too,” Leila said defiantly. She wasn’t afraid to admit it.
Nick’s phone chimed. He turned away to read and respond to a text message. Then he showed her a photo that he’d received. “Look. My mom sent this.”
It was a picture of an older man with silver hair and vivid blue eyes behind rimless glasses.
“Oh my God! Is that your father?”
Nick gave her a half smile. “He dyed his hair silver. I mean he’d gone gray. But mom says he went out, bought a kit and dyed it silver. I didn’t think the man had a vain bone in his body.”
“Whereas you have two hundred and six.”
He pocketed the phone. “A man ought to look good. Don’t you think?”
Nick favored his father. Judging by the photo, he’d look good for decades to come.
“I think you’d like my parents,” he said.
Leila straightened up. “I’m sure I would.”
To avoid any more talk about meeting his parents, she proposed they meet again in a week. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
&nb
sp; * * *
The following week they met in the lobby of Ocean Towers on Collins. The building’s architecture was retro to a fault, paying homage to old school Vegas glam. But the waterfront location allowed direct ocean access.
Nick was a little late. And when he showed up fresh shaven and hair freshly cut, he looked so good it hurt. But she’d come prepared, too, having spent as much time on her appearance as her presentation—this building offered two vacant units for him to consider and she knew the specs by heart.
She stood to greet him and buttoned her tailored white blazer. “Good morning.”
He rested a hand on her waist and, chastely, kissed her cheek. “How are you?”
“I’m excited to show you some options today.”
She led him to the elevators. Even though the tight cabin smelled like smoke, she couldn’t help but think of the fun they used to have in elevators. Nick turned to her and asked, “But how are you?”
Honestly? She’d had a rough week, knowing he was only a phone call away. And now his brief touch and kiss had sent heat through her body, kindling the dry wood of frustration.
She took a step back and leaned against the elevator wall. “I’m fine.”
Something flickered in Nick’s eyes. That unmistakable look of hunger.
The elevator stopped abruptly and opened onto the eleventh floor. Leila charged out and led him down the hall. The unit was well over sixteen hundred square feet, which was large by South Beach standards. There were three bedrooms and two baths. The floors were of the same veiny marble featured in the lobby, but at least the walls weren’t mirrored.
Nick followed her into the master bedroom where she pointed out the closets.
The master bath was a disaster with that awful marble tile climbing up the walls. “It needs updating,” Leila said nervously. “But remember, you’re buying the space.”
Nick pointed to the large oval tub. “I could have a party in that.”
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