The One You Fight For (The Ones Who Got Away)
Page 34
A door creaked loudly from somewhere, and both she and Liv startled, instinctively moving toward each other. Liv gripped Kincaid’s arm and raised her camera with the other, poised to use it as a weapon. Kincaid’s mind galloped ahead to all the pictures Liv had painted—ghosts, serial killers, demons. And of course, the ever present, always right near the surface image of boys with guns.
However, the voice that drifted down the hallway wasn’t male and wasn’t demonic in the supernatural way, just in the completely and utterly annoying way. “Gorgeous period detailing. Truly historic. I mean, this gem isn’t going to stay on the market long. I was barely able to sneak in a preview today. But I have my secret ways. It’s just so quaint, don’t you think?”
Kincaid’s stomach turned, wondering what she’d done to piss off the universe today. “Oh, Lord, give me strength and a shot of tequila.”
“What’s wrong?” Liv whispered. “Who’s that?”
Kincaid hoped she was wrong, but she’d know that nasal, syrupy voice anywhere. “Valerie Van Arden, top seller over at Wilder Realty. I have no idea how she’s here. It’s Ferris’s listing, and it’s not even online yet.”
“I take it we don’t like Valerie Van Arden?”
Kincaid eyed the entrance, Valerie’s too-high voice echoing off the ceilings like an off-key song. “We do not. She thinks the sun comes up just to hear her crow. Also, she hates me because I once dated a guy she had her eye on, claims I stole him. As if that’s a thing. Like a person can be stolen.”
“Fun,” Liv said with a grim look as she and Kincaid headed out of the kitchen and back into the living room.
Valerie stepped into the room, all dressed in violet—her self-designated signature color—and a well-dressed couple followed behind her. Val’s blue eyes went wide, and she put a hand to her chest as she spotted Kincaid and Liv standing there. “Well, I’ll be,” she said dramatically. “Kincaid Breslin. I didn’t know the house was being shown already. You gave me quite the scare.”
Kincaid put on a beaming smile and whipped out her own version of southern-style hostility. “Well, honey, our car is parked right outside. I’m sure you saw it.”
“Oh, is that yours?” she mused. “It looked so dusty, I thought it was abandoned.”
Kincaid’s teeth clenched as she held her smile. “You know how it is. I stay so busy, I just haven’t had time to bring it in for a wash. Clients come first.”
“Of course.” Valerie’s red lips twitched. “Well, we won’t get in your way. I’m just going to show the Nicholsons around.” She glanced at the couple. “Isn’t this place so special?”
“I don’t know. It’s pretty run-down,” Kincaid said with a dismissive shrug.
Valerie’s mouth pursed. “Oh, it’s just the surface that needs a little polishing. Jason here is an architect. He could make this place into a showpiece, couldn’t you, Jason?”
The man was scanning the space with analytical eyes. He nodded. “I could. The size is perfect.” He glanced at his wife, who was snapping a photo with her phone. “Sweetheart, we could strip out everything and start fresh, maintain the look outside. Go modern minimalist on the inside. White walls. Black and gray furniture. It would be so open and airy.”
Modern minimalist? Something died inside Kincaid. “You can’t be serious.”
The man’s attention swung Kincaid’s way, and he sent her an affronted look. “Excuse me?”
Liv made a choked sound next to her, but Kincaid couldn’t hold her tongue. “I’m just saying, if you want modern, get a loft in Austin or go grab one of the lots in Wilder and build from scratch. Why would you want to turn this into something it’s not?”
“Because we could turn it into something better,” he countered, his chin lifting a fraction like a little kid putting his little foot down.
“But this has character,” Kincaid replied, arms crossing.
“Oh, Kincaid, you’re too much,” Valerie said with faux lightness, the tension showing in the lines around her eyes. “She’s just messing with you, Jason. Better watch her, y’all. She’s a wily one. She’ll steal something from right under your nose. Just like that.” Valerie snapped her fingers, the sharp sound echoing in the cavernous room. “She probably has a client who wants it, and she’s just trying to scare you off. But we don’t scare easily.” She gave Jason a wink. “Let’s continue the tour, shall we?” Valerie pretended that Kincaid and Liv weren’t there as she passed them on her way to the kitchen, the Nicholsons and a cloud of Valerie’s lavender perfume following. “Six bedrooms. A mudroom. Beautiful deck out back with a pond.”
Kincaid stayed frozen to the spot. Something was beating at the walls of her brain, her heart pounding against her temples. She listened as the couple exclaimed over how great the kitchen would be if converted to an industrial look.
Industrial. Deep breaths.
“Kincaid,” Liv said, putting a hand on her arm. “Are you all right? Your cheeks are all flushed.”
Kincaid pressed her lips together, her eyes still focused in the direction of the kitchen. She had trouble pinpointing the emotions coursing through her. Anger was one. But the other one felt like…loss. Like this was her house those people were tromping through. Her dreams they were traipsing upon.
“Are you worried you’re going to lose the sale?” Liv continued. “Should you call your client? Maybe she can move fast if she loves it. I can send the pics to her as soon as I get to a laptop if she can’t make it out here quickly enough.”
“This house is not for them,” Kincaid declared.
“I agree,” Liv said, nodding. “I love modern, but this is not the house for that. Even if they had a good vision for it, I wouldn’t want that horrible woman to make the commission. Call your client.”
Kincaid shook her head. “It’s not for my client either. She won’t understand it.”
Liv’s brow wrinkled. “Understand what?”
Kincaid spread her arms out. “That it’s already beautiful and just needs some help getting back to its glory, not to become something else entirely. Why is the world so obsessed with making things into what they’re not?”
Liv frowned. “Well, does it really matter what someone does to it as long as you’re the one getting the sale? That’s the main point, right? Sell the house. Make the money.”
That should be the main point. Kincaid needed this sale if she wanted to keep her gig at the agency.
“Oh, sweetheart. I think this is the one,” the woman client said somewhere in the distance. “We should snatch this one up before anyone else can.”
Valerie made a gleeful sound. “I think that is an excellent idea. You have brilliant taste. Let’s talk offer.”
Liv made a face. “Oh shit. They’re going to buy. Call your client, Kincaid.”
Kincaid pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed Ferris.
He answered on the first ring, the sounds of a keyboard clacking in the background. “Talk to me, gorgeous. Tell me you’re going to make us both money.”
Kincaid wet her lips. “I have an offer on the farmhouse.”
“That’s fantastic. You’re an angel,” he said, the typing stopping. “Bethany’s putting in an offer?”
“No,” Kincaid said, swallowing hard. “I am. Full price if they take the offer without waiting for others.”
“You?” he asked, concern suddenly filling his voice. “Oh, sweetie, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You know how dangerous it can be to get heart eyes for a new property. Believe me, I’ve been there. That’s a lot of money you’d need to come up with. Maybe you should take some time—”
The suggestion that she didn’t have enough, that she couldn’t afford it pushed an old sore button and launched her right over the railing of the already sinking ship.
“Put in the offer,” she said, voice brooking no argument. “This isn’t about h
eart eyes.”
Ferris paused for a long moment but then sighed. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that right now.”
“Thank you, Ferris.”
She ended the call and turned to Liv, who had a horror movie expression on her face. “Girl, what are you doing?”
Kincaid swallowed, the phone call catching up with her and a full panic rolling through her. “I think I just bought myself a bed-and-breakfast.”
One she hadn’t planned on.
One she couldn’t afford.
One she simply could not walk away from.
COMING DECEMBER 2019
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Acknowledgments
To my husband, Donnie, for loving me, for always being there, and for having the confidence that I will be able to find the right story even when I’m doubting myself at every turn.
To Marsh, for being so lovable, sweet, and amazing. You’re my favorite.
To my parents, for being my cheerleading squad and an endless well of support and love.
To Dawn and Genny, for the laughs, the support, and for helping me get through “Dark January” without throwing my computer into a ditch.
To my editor, Cat Clyne, for her wise input, her enthusiasm for these characters, and for not freaking out when I had to ditch thirty-thousand words and start over with a new story line because I was telling the wrong story.
To my agent, Sara Megibow, for always being in my corner and for her ongoing enthusiasm for the stories I want to write.
And, to you, dear readers, thank you, thank you, thank you for continuing to read my books and joining me on this journey. I hope we’re together for a really long time. :)
About the Author
Photo: Charm Me Photography
Roni Loren is a two-time RITA Award winner and a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author.
She wrote her first romance novel at age fifteen, when she discovered writing about boys was way easier than actually talking to them. Since then, her flirting skills haven’t improved, but she likes to think her storytelling ability has.
She holds a master’s degree in social work and spent years as a mental health counselor, but now she writes full-time from her cozy office in Dallas, Texas, where she puts her characters on the therapy couch instead.
Roni loves connecting with readers. Find her at:
roniloren.com
Facebook.com/RoniLoren
Twitter: @RoniLoren
Instagram: @RoniLoren
Pinterest.com/RoniLoren
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