Page 4 of Rugged Soul

“Here we go!” she calls out over her shoulder as she unlocks the double doors and throws them open in a dramatic fashion, revealing the wide open space of the first floor.

What is this tugging sensation in my chest? Why is my heart pounding so damn hard? Are my hands sweating right now? This woman has cast some sort of spell. Or maybe she poisoned me. All I know is that I’m not flirting and she doesn’t give me butterflies when I catch a glimpse of her sparkling green irises.

Calista clears her throat as if preparing for a speech. “This beautiful four thousand square foot building is nestled right between Old Highway Sixty and Plymouth River. As you can see, the open floor plan will allow for unlimited modifications depending on what you’re looking for.”

“Sounds like work,” I say flatly, trying to suffocate the wildfire that this woman apparently ignited in my soul.

“Do you mean it sounds like a space you can customize and tailor to your exact needs?”

My nostrils flare as I think about my exact needs at the moment. The woman flashes me a playful look, one that has me wondering what her lips taste like.

"What other spaces are here?" I ask, not sure I'm liking this property after all. I mean, it's fine. It would serve the purpose of a clubhouse somewhat removed from town while still having easy access to major roadways as well as a river and a massive forest in the backyard.

However, I don’t like all the windows on the first floor. I’m focusing on cleaning up the club and going straight, but we still have some shady dealings with contacts who operate in the gray area of the law. People like that don’t want floor-to-ceiling windows for obvious reasons.

“I’m so glad you asked,” Calista exclaims. “Upstairs there are several conference rooms that can be converted into studio apartments.”

“Converted?”

“Customized,” she says, looking at me over her shoulder with a sassy little grin.

“I’m starting to hate that word,” I grumble under my breath. Calista laughs, the sound doing something funny to my heart. It feels like my chest is too small for all the things this woman is making me feel.

Twenty minutes later, we completed a walk-through of the property. Calista is clutching a clipboard to her chest and rocking on her heels a bit as we stand in the entryway of the building.

“So, um, any questions?” she asks, clearly unsure how to land the sale or even end this conversation.

I’m suddenly irrationally angry at whoever sent her out here alone when she’s so inexperienced. Not just with selling properties, either. Calista has to be in her early twenties. Who the hell sent this curvy goddess to a property in the middle of nowhere to meet a strange man she’s never talked to? I’m not exactly a peach to deal with, either. I’m aware of how much space I take up and how intimidating my presence can be. What if I had ill intentions?

“Mr. Domino?” Calista asks, more softly this time. I told her not to call me Mr. Gabriel, implying for her to just call me Domino. Mr. Domino was the closest we got. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find it kind of cute. Goddamnit.

Instead of asking her a battery of questions about who her boss is and if they care about her safety at all, I simply shake my head no. “I’d like to see another property if you have one available.”

“I will go back to the office right after this and start the hunt,” she promises. “You didn’t like the windows,” she says more to herself than to me as she scribbles something down on the clipboard. “And the river was more of a selling point than the highway.”

“What makes you say that?” I ask. I’m pretty sure I never disclosed either of those opinions.

“You were a lot grumpier down here when you were glaring at the windows than you were upstairs where things were more private.”

“And the river versus the highway?”

Calista tries and fails to hide her smile. “That was just a guess based on the hatred of the windows and want for privacy.”

I look away from her before I do something stupid like pull her into my arms again and show her exactly how private I’d like to be.

“I have your email in my notes here–”

“Give me your phone,” I demand, startling myself as much as Calista. The idea of emailing this woman pisses me off. She should have my number. More importantly, I should have hers.

Crazy fuckin’ caveman, I tell myself as I type my number into her phone and call myself.

“Okay, then,” Calista says, taking her phone back. “So I’ll call you when I have the next property all lined up. It shouldn’t be too long.”

I nod, shoving my hands in my pockets as I walk out to my bike, leaving Calista standing in the doorway. I shouldn’t want to throw her on the back of my bike. I shouldn’t want to hear more of her laughter or see how sassy she really is. I sure as hell shouldn’t be distracted at a time like this.

And yet, as I mount my bike and rev the engine, the only thing on my mind is when I’m going to see Calista again.

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