Misadventures with a Biker

by Scott Hildreth

  “Where’s the money?” I asked. “He had to do something with it.”

  “He was conned out of it.” It seemed talking of it was draining the energy from her entirely. Looking defeated, she continued. “We were supposed to be buying into a land deal on Marco, but it fell through. He trusted the wrong people.”

  There was no doubt someone trusted the wrong person, but I doubted it was him. My guess was that he never invested a dime and used someone else as the scapegoat.

  “I’m sorry that happened,” I said. “Out of curiosity, where is he now?”

  I hated to ask but felt I must. If I hadn’t heard the story already through Kate, I would have asked without a second thought.

  “He’s still selling real estate in town.” She met my gaze with glassy eyes. She was on the verge of crying. “He’s been in a few times.”

  “Been in?” I asked. “Where?”

  “The office.”

  My eyes went wide. “Excuse me?”

  She dabbed her eyes with her index finger. “He’s been in on a few co-listings and when he’s sold property I’ve listed. It sucks, but it’s part of it, I guess. He sold one of my listings the other day. He’ll be in again soon.”

  He might have used real estate as an excuse to come into the office in the past, but he wasn’t going to do it in the future. Finding him and resolving matters was going to have to happen sooner than I expected.

  Seeing her go through such grief was difficult. Knowing she’d have to do it anytime he came into the office made matters much worse.

  I reached for her hand. “I need to ask you to trust me, okay?”

  She squeezed my hand lightly. “Okay.”

  “I’m going to take care of this,” I assured her. “Believe me. I will. But you’re going to have to tell me his name.”

  “I don’t want you to—”

  “Listen, Teddi. I like you. A lot. I want to fix this. Trust me when I tell you I can. But you’re going to have to tell me his name.”

  “How are you going to fix it?”

  “I’m resourceful.”

  “Your biker friends?” she asked. “You’re going to have them beat him up?”

  “No.”

  “What, then?”

  “I look at things this way. You’re my responsibility now. To take care of you, I have to take care of this.”

  “I like being your responsibility.” She managed a soft smile. “His name is Britt Wescoff. He’s easy to find.”

  “Thank you.” I leaned over the table and gave her a kiss. “You won’t regret this.”

  I hoped like hell I was right.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Teddi

  Being blindfolded by a man had been on my wish list for a long time. Being blindfolded and led into one of my listings didn’t quite qualify. Holding Devin’s hand in mine, I stumbled along the brick drive.

  Upon stepping inside, I was met by a faint odor of fresh paint. “It smells like paint.”

  “I took the liberties to have them do a little painting when they were in here,” Devin said. “I hope you like it.”

  “I hope I do, too,” I said, surprised he’d take the initiative to paint without consulting me. After a few more steps, I paused. “Can you take this thing off yet?”

  “We’re almost there,” he said. “I want you to look at it from the kitchen.”

  Having promised not to visit the home until it was finished, this was the first time I’d seen the interior since the work began almost two weeks earlier. I hoped like hell the changes would allow me to market it to a wide range of clients. I had less than forty days to sell the home and save my career.

  I tugged against his hand. “Are we there yet?”

  He released me. I felt him fidget with my scarf. Then he pulled it free. When my eyes adjusted to the light, my mouth flopped open. “Oh. My. God.”

  The hideously dark ornate trim—eight-inch crown and base moldings—had been either replaced or painted. The new color, a beige so light it was almost cream, was a perfect choice for blending with the cabinets and dark marble countertops.

  “Good Oh My God, or bad Oh My God?” he asked.

  “Good. Better than good.” I alternated glances between him and the newly painted trim. “You had them paint the kitchen? Can they come back and do the rest?”

  “The entire house is done. Upstairs. Downstairs. Bedrooms. Bathrooms. It’s all done.” He gestured to the floor. “Look at the flooring.”

  The new tile floor was gorgeous. Standing on it and looking down at the product, I would have never guessed it was made of vinyl. My expectations had been exceeded tenfold.

  “I want to cry,” I said, walking the length of the kitchen. “This is remarkable.”

  “Before you ask… The paint has to be paid for if the home sells for within ninety-five percent of ask. If it does, it’s twelve thousand five hundred. If not, it’s free.”

  “Twelve grand for paint? That’s nothing.”

  “This place will sell now.” He looked at me in wonder. “Don’t you think?”

  “If it doesn’t, I’ll be shocked,” I admitted. “Doing it in less than forty days might be tough.”

  “Get new pictures taken and do an email blast,” he said. “That ought to help.”

  I laughed. “What do you know about email blasts?”

  “More than I should. I’ve been doing some reading.” He put his hands on his hips and admired the work. “I like it.”

  I didn’t like it. I loved it. I looked at him and smiled. “You’ve got good taste.”

  He smirked. “Conceited much?”

  “I meant the house.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” His gaze floated around the room. “My father used to build homes just like this. Some were thirty-thousand square feet. He didn’t actually build them, I guess. He had them built.”

  I knew his father had passed away, but I didn’t know what happened to the company. “Is his company still around?”

  “No. It was named Stone-Wall Builders. Cliff Stone and my father, Daniel Wallace. After he died, it became Riverstone or Rambling Stone or something. Cliff retired and sold it a few years ago.”

  I’d heard of, sold, and admired countless Stone-Wall homes. I couldn’t believe it. “Holy shit,” I declared. “I bet I’ve sold more than a dozen of his homes. I had no idea.”

  His eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “There’s one off Pine Ridge, on that winding street that goes all the way to Lowdermilk Beach…” He rubbed his temples. “I can’t think of the name now.”

  “Crayton?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Crayton. I worked on that house when I was in high school, as a carpenter’s assistant. It was my first one. I was sixteen.”

  “Oh, wow. There’s some nice homes on Crayton.”

  “He built several along there. As soon as he got done with one, someone else would want one. They ended up picking up another crew and then another. By the time I was twenty-five, there were three crews going at all times.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “I did.”

  “Well, there’s nothing to say you can’t go back sometime.”

  “For now”—he glanced around the kitchen—“I’ll stay right where I am.”

  I hoped he never left. I realized one day he might, but I didn’t want to think about it happening. It seemed like my thoughts of late had been a bunch of ridiculousness, but since our decision to see one another, I’d been happier than I ever remembered being. Admitting it seemed cliché for a woman in a rebound relationship.

  “If I’ve been single for a year, is this a rebound relationship?” I asked.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know what the timeline is for qualifications, but I’d say not.”

  “Good. I want this relationship to be for all the right reasons.”

  “I think it is,” he said. “We’ve cleared quite a few hurdles to get here, that’s for sure. I
was prepared to butt-fuck you just to teach you a lesson after that meeting.”

  My face flushed. Teaching me a lesson with anal sex as the punishment sounded like a good idea. “Umm. Yeah. You might still need to do that sometime. You’ll have to be gentle, though.”

  He looked me up and down. “Say the word.”

  “I think I just did.”

  He glanced around, admiring the work and then met my amorous gaze. “I’ve got another surprise for you.”

  I giggled. “You’re going to teach me a lesson?”

  He laughed. “Not right now, no. I’ve got a guy who wants to see it.”

  “See this?” I asked excitedly. “The house?”

  “He does. As soon as it’s done. I’m not sure of his qualifications, but he knows what the asking price is, and he wants to see it. I told him we were making updates. He knows today’s the day it’ll be done.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Vinnie the gangster,” he said with a laugh. “He’s a Jersey Italian.”

  “Oh, he’d be perfect,” I said. “And you never know with those guys. I had one try to pay me five million for a home in Bonita with a few shoeboxes filled with various denominations of cash.”

  “Did you do it?” he asked. “Take the cash?”

  “Between you and me?” I asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Of course,” I replied. “We had to get pretty inventive, but we made it work.”

  “Just be prepared for a foul-mouthed, over-the-top, in-your-face showing,” he said. “This guy’s a real piece of work.”

  “Will you be here?” I asked.

  “Actually, I prefer to spearhead the meeting if it’s all the same.”

  It sounded silly to admit, but I was extremely proud of Devin. He’d shown initiative, talent, excellent taste, and considerable knowledge throughout the changes to the listing. I gazed at him admiringly for a moment as he surveyed the home.

  “What’s the happiest you’ve ever been?” I asked.

  I wanted him to feel the same way I did but felt childish for asking the question. I waited nervously for him to respond.

  “Happiest or most satisfied?” he asked, still focused on the home.

  “Aren’t they the same?”

  “I don’t think so,” he replied, facing me. “Being happy is a joyous state. Being satisfied is more a feeling of contentment. Happy is a stage above satisfied, I guess.”

  “Okay. Satisfied. When were you the most satisfied?”

  His gaze dropped to the floor. After a long period of thought, he lifted his eyes to meet mine. “When I got out of prison.”

  I wasn’t shocked. Not really. I was more surprised that he admitted it to me. “I imagine it was pretty satisfying. It would have to be.”

  His brow furrowed. “You’re not going to ask what I was in for?”

  “If you want to tell me, you can.”

  “I was scared to tell you,” he said. “I want this relationship to be transparent, though. I don’t want to keep anything from you.”

  It was a relief to think that someone was going to be honest with me. “Thank you.”

  He scowled playfully. “I expect the same from you.”

  “You’ll get it.”

  We toured the home from top to bottom. It looked remarkable from every angle. At the top of the steps, I paused. “Can I have a kiss?”

  “Sure.” He kissed me twice and then pulled away. “I’m guessing you’re happy?”

  I laughed to myself. “If you only knew.”

  He gave me a funny look. “What does that mean?”

  “I’ve never been happier than I am right now,” I admitted. “Never.”

  “In seeing this house?”

  “This house is insignificant,” I replied. “I’m talking about since you and I started this. You make me happy.”

  “What about me?”

  “It isn’t one thing. I like the way you look, the way you act, the way you carry yourself. It’s pretty much everything. Yeah. I’ll go with that. I like everything about you.”

  “That’s nice to hear,” he said, seeming a little embarrassed. “You want to hear something that’s going to sound ridiculous?”

  “Sure.”

  “I feel the same way,” he said. “About you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Devin

  Vinnie stepped inside the door. His eyes widened as he took in the grand entrance. He gazed at the twin staircases that flanked the entrance. “Che figato!”

  “You like it so far?”

  His eyes darted from one area to another, taking in everything that was within view. “The medigan who had this fuckin’ place musta been nuotare nell’oro.”

  He acted like I spoke his native tongue. I gave him a funny look. “What does that mean?”

  “I said the idiot who owned the place musta been swimmin’ in fuckin’ gold.” He waved his hand toward the upstairs handrail as he walked along the hallway. “Look around, would ya? Venetian plastah. Imported mahble. Fuckin’ place looks like a million bucks, huh?”

  “Sixty,” I said with a laugh. “Looks like sixty million bucks.”

  “I think he likes it,” Teddi whispered.

  “Whattabout the beach?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder as he walked toward the living room. “Do all these fuhkas along here have beach views?”

  “There’s a beach view from the entire west side of the house,” Teddi said. “Each of the bedrooms and the master bath all have views as well.”

  He peered through the west-facing sliding glass windows. Beyond the swimming pool, the luscious landscape gave a remote tropical island feel. A few footsteps beyond the yard’s final row of palms, the Gulf of Mexico stretched for as far as the eye could see. The deep blue water glistened beneath the afternoon sun.

  “That section of beach?” he asked, gesturing to the sand in the distance. “It’s the homeownahs?”

  “The homeowner?” Teddi asked.

  “That’s what I said,” he said, seeming almost irritated. “The fuckin’ homeownah.”

  “Yes,” she said with a smile. “It is. That’s your own private beach. You own it.”

  “Pahties on the beach,” he murmured, directing his comment to no one.

  He gazed through the glass for some time, leaving us to wonder about his thoughts. Teddi and I shared a few awkward glances while Vinnie enjoyed the solace that only the ocean could provide. When he was satisfied, he turned to face us.

  “Where’s the kitchen?” he asked.

  “The kitchen is a chef’s dream,” Teddi said. “Subzero and Wolf appliances. The best of the best.”

  We toured the kitchen, upstairs, each bedroom, and then walked to the beach. Standing barefoot in the sand, Vinnie faced the home. Fitted with wall-to-wall windows and balconies crafted of the finest stone, the home was breathtaking from the rear.

  “Whattabout an offah?” he asked. “Where’s the home ownah on offahs?”

  “Since the revisions,” I said, “we’ve got two parties interested at ask. There’s nothing solid on the table yet, but we’ve got—”

  He gave me the same wild-eyed glare as when he was stomping Josh’s face in. “I fuckin’ told ya I wanted to be first one in this fuckin’ place, you fuckin’ gidrul.” He looked at Teddi. “What the fuck’s wrong with this guy, huh?”

  “It wasn’t him,” Teddi replied, lying even more than me. “It was me. My apologies. I didn’t understand your sense of urgency.”

  “You in chahge?” he asked. “You the ownah of the agency or whatever?”

  “I am.”

  “Whattabout occupancy? When could a person take occupancy?”

  “The furniture isn’t the owner’s. The home is staged,” Teddi said. “Occupancy could be immediate. She and her husband have relocated to another local residence. Also, just to be clear, I’m the owner’s agent, not yours. I’m looking out for the owner’s best interest. Devin, on the other hand, is a neutral party.”


  “Neutral or not,” I said, “it’s going to have to be an offer at or above asking price, or I’m—”

  He thrust his arms in the air. “Do I look like a fuckin’ peasant? You think I’m a fuckin’ gidrul?”

  “Not at all.”

  He gazed at the back of the home for a moment. “I’ll think about.” He glanced at his watch. “Tell the puttana I’ll make an offah tomorrow.”

  Spanish and Italian were similar in many respects. From my exposure to Hispanics, I knew the word puttana translated to whore. If he was calling Teddi a whore, he wouldn’t be buying the home.

  He’d be buying a new set of teeth.

  “Who are you talking about?” I asked, trying to squelch my anger. “The puttana?”

  “The fuckin’ home ownah,” he replied. “Who else?”

  A sense of relief washed over me. Regardless of who Vinnie was or what Teddi stood to gain from his purchase of the home, I couldn’t let him speak of her in such a manner. I’d lose my job—and my freedom—to protect her or her image.

  “The earlier the better,” I said.

  “I get up at four thirty,” he said. “What time you open?”

  “I get there at nine,” I said.

  He slapped me on the shoulder. “A domani.”

  “I can’t take this,” Teddi said as she strode past my desk. “I’ve never been this nervous in my lifetime.” She passed in the other direction. “If he doesn’t buy the home, I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

  “Whatever happens, happens,” I said. “If he walks in and sees you pacing the floor, he’s going to know he’s the only one interested and that we were bullshitting him yesterday. It’s just after nine. He’ll either call or show up soon, I’m sure of it.”

  She raked her fingers into the sides of her hair. “What if he doesn’t want it?”

  “He wants it,” I said. “My guess is it’s going to be a matter of what the owner’s willing to accept. I just hope he doesn’t submit a lowball offer.”

  She blew me a kiss. “I’m going to go vomit.”

  “Don’t forget to brush your teeth afterward,” I said with a laugh.