Page 8 of Home Game

“We can make this house stunning with some simple restorations and small renovations,” Nathan said, glancing across the house. “You weren’t kidding when you told us it has good bones.”

“Ready for the walk-through?” I asked. “Didn’t you guys say your new marketing guy was joining today?”

Nathan squinted down toward the street. “He’s usually always early to meetings, but I haven’t seen his car pull up.”

I set Oreo down, expecting her to saunter back toward the front door as usual, but her ears perked up, looking over toward my neighbor’s house.

“What have you got, girl?” I asked her. “Is it another fox?”

Oreo trotted off toward the cluster of pines that dotted the border between my property and the neighbor’s. A few moments later I heard the crunch of gravel coming from that direction, and Nathan made a noise of recognition.

“Oh! There he is. Emmett!” Nathan said, leaning to look through a clearing in the pine trees. “You’re at the wrong house. It’s this one, over here.”

A man ducked through the pine tree clearing.

…A man dressed like he was about to go to a seven-course dinner at a freaking English royal castle.

Oreo bounded over toward him and jumped up on his leg, begging for attention like she always did.

“Oreo. Hey,” I said in a commanding tone, noticing the dusty pawprints she was leaving on suit pants that were likely thousands of dollars. “Down. Get down. Sorry, haven’t taught her not to jump on people’s nice suits yet.”

“Don’t worry about the pawprints,” he said, reaching down to ruffle a hand through Oreo’s hair and dust off the pawprints. “I’ve got plenty of other custom suits in my closet.”

“Got a custom suit for each day of the week?” I joked.

“More than that.”

I looked back up at him expecting him to laugh or wink or at least crack a smile—but it turned out he was being completely serious.

Fuck. He was strikingly handsome, like a movie star, but he apparently didn’t have a sense of humor to save his life.

Rich guyandno sense of humor?

Not a good combo.

“Storm, this is Emmett,” Shawn said. “We’re going to be working closely with him for marketing the Fixer Brothers brand going forward.”

Emmett gave me a look, his shrewd green eyes scanning over my body. Was he already judging my clothes—my simple athletic shorts and a loose tank top to give my new tattoo room to breathe?

He looked like Leonardo DiCaprio in the Great Gatsby movie, or something. The kind of guy that should have a blonde supermodel on his arm and a martini glass in his hand. Handsome, probably Ivy League educated, and most likely soulless.

Exactly the type of person that had always looked right through me, back in the day.

Like I was nothing.

“Nice to finally meet you, Storm,” Emmett said, holding out a hand to shake mine. “Regardless of whether or not you end up ultimately working with the Fixer Brothers, I’m glad to finally meet my new neighbor.”

Double fuck.

I had an inkling that the guy might be my neighbor, judging by the suit and that he’d walked over rather than driven. And what the hell did he mean bywhether or notI ended up working with the Fixer Brothers? I was excited to be their client, and thought it was all but a done deal.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand. “I’ve tried to come over to your house a couple of times this week with a gift of a fancy bottle of tequila, but you don’t seem to be home much.”

“I do keep busy,” he said. “Your little fluffball’s been in my yard almost every day this week, though.”

“Oreo’s been over there, too?” I said. “Shit. I thought she just kept escaping to the front.”

“Something needs to be done about the fence,” Emmett said, glaring over toward the backyard.

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