Exclusively Yours. Nadine Gonzalez
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saw her with fresh eyes. Her demeanor, walk, even her smile, all of it very practiced and sure. “Yes. I see it.”
Her face crumpled.
“It’s a compliment,” he assured her.
His phone rang. Before taking the call, he said, “We’ll talk later. Put a pin in ‘pageant,’ because that’s where we’ll start.”
* * *
Leila watched Nick walk away, laughing with the caller. What did he see? she wondered. Was she running around town with an invisible tiara on her head? The thought caused her unbearable embarrassment. Tonight, of all nights, she wanted to impress him.
She’d come early to prepare for the party. They’d opted not to hire a DJ but to show off the outdoor sound system, so she hooked an mp3 player up to the stereo. While the caterer set up the food, she had slipped into the guest bathroom, changed out of her jeans and flats, and come out in a ruby-red Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress and heels.
When he’d glanced over his shoulder and caught her staring, a symphony of emotions erupted inside of her. His eyes were as clear as morning, without even a cloud of suspicion or surprise. When he called her simple idea genius, she’d been transported with joy.
Leila didn’t have much time to dwell on her feelings because very soon, the guests arrived, seemingly all at once. At first she kept to the margins, too intimidated to speak to anyone. But when approached, she was prepared.
“List price?”
“Four million.”
“Is that firm?”
“Very much. We believe it’s priced to sell.”
“How many bedrooms?”
“Three bedrooms, including a master suite, and three fully renovated bathrooms.”
“Square footage?”
“Roughly twenty-eight hundred.”
“I need an exact number.”
“Two thousand, eight hundred and seventy-three.”
“There’s no garage. Am I right?”
“There’s a carport.”
“A four-million-dollar house with a carport? Where does the Bentley go?”
“In the carport. The yacht goes on the dock. Have you seen the boat lift? State-of-the-art.”
“Is the seller willing to make any concessions?”
“You’ll have to ask Nick.”
The last couple of questions were from an agent named Marisol Sanchez. Earlier, Nick had introduced her as an old friend. Marisol stood as tall as Leila and wore cigarette pants and high-heeled pumps to better show off her long legs. Leila wanted to know his definition of the word “friend.”
“But he’ll likely say no concessions are necessary,” Leila added. She couldn’t help herself.
“My client will be the judge of that,” Marisol said.
The other agents were equally annoying. Leila was shocked by the behavior of these so-called professionals. They trampled the grass, stomped on the newly polished floors and slammed the kitchen cabinet doors. They pointed to hairline cracks in the ceiling and quizzed Leila on the local zoning laws, as if the only reason their clients would not put in an offer was because they’d likely want to convert the porch into a Florida room.
The most appalling behavior was from one of the agency’s own, Tony Manning. He showed up late.
After chatting with Nick for a while, he came looking for her. “Nick says you’re responsible for this impressive turnout.”
Leila took a look around. The party was in full swing. Now that business was out of the way, everyone appeared more relaxed, drinking and munching on taquitos. Her job was done.
“How would you like to take on my next open house?” he asked.
“Sorry. Nick keeps me busy.”
“I’m sure he does,” Tony said wryly. “That might not always be the case, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just want you to know you can always switch camps.”
“Nick’s been very nice to me. I wouldn’t think of switching.”
“I’ve known that guy a long time. He’s a lot of things, but nice isn’t one of them.”
Leila looked him in the eye. “Tonight’s signature drink is a classic margarita. Would you like to try it?”
“I can find my way to the bar,” Tony said with a snicker. “I always do.”
Nick called out to her from the house. “Leila! I need you.”
Tony let out a playful whistle. “You heard the man. He needs you.”
Leila’s gaze swept from Tony to Nick. She was the rope, stretched taut, in their tug-of-war. When she was close enough to see the scowl on Nick’s face, she very nearly laughed.
“You needed to see me?”
“That’s a careful edit. I said I needed you, period.”
“Well, here I am.”
“Marisol says you’re tough,” he said. “I’m impressed. You might be a natural.”
His approval raised her two feet above ground. “I think the open house is a success.”
“Success is a confirmed offer, but this is a very good start.”
The music stopped, Sean Paul’s raspy voice cut off mid-chorus, leaving the party din bare like teeth.
“I think the mp3 player died,” Leila said. “I’ll go check.”
“One more thing,” he said forcefully. “Be careful around Tony.”
She should have known he wouldn’t tap-dance around the issue. But she was familiar with guys like Tony and wasn’t concerned.
“I can take care of myself, Nick.”
“I can take care of you better.”
“How is this a competition?”
“Don’t you know me?”
“I’m not sure.” Who was he? The shark that Jo-Ann and Tony described, or the nice guy who bought her coffee, offered to mentor her and complimented her achievements?
Marisol joined them. “What’s going on here?” she asked nastily. “I thought Monica was your one true love.”
Nick turned to her. “Monica’s gone. Now Leila’s the light of my life and if she says we’re not willing to make any concessions, it’s because we’re not.”
* * *
While a cleaning crew returned the house to its former pristine condition, she and Nick sat at the breakfast bar with a platter of leftover appetizers and three open bottles of wine.
“What if Marisol’s buyer doesn’t come through?” Leila asked.
Nick filled their glasses. “I already have an offer.”
Even before the open house had started, an offer had come through by phone: the call that had saved her from having to regale him with tales of her pageant days. A woman who’d grown up in the house was hoping to raise her kids in it.
“That’s so sweet. I’m rooting for her.”
“You’re rooting for me, remember?” Nick said. “It’s a low offer.”
“How low?”
“Three