Page 11 of Devil In A Suit

"Uh..." I shake my head to clear it, almost sure by now that I have already lost the sale, but I am determined to try. Even though I cannot for the life of me imagine selling anything to this man. I take a deep breath and step forward, holding out my hand.

“Let’s start again.”

He takes my hand, but a jolt of electricity sparks between us as soon as our hands touch and I pull away quickly in surprise. His eyes narrow and my heart sinks. I am making a total mess of this viewing. Everything has gone wrong. I’ve even messed up the handshake. I take a deep breath to calm myself and my nostrils fill with the scent of his cologne or aftershave.

It is a complicated sophisticated smell. The smell of great wealth. My mind files the spicy scent under Distracting And Poisonous because my brain starts malfunctioning. To my horror, my mouth starts sprouting complete nonsense.

"The foyer makes for a grand entrance, doesn't it? And just look at this beautiful flower arrangement. I got it from the flower shop around the corner from our agency. They make amazing arrangements. I can give you their address and they can come and change the flowers weekly, and it'll be the first thing you see when you come down the stairs. Flowers are an instant mood brightener."

His eyes widen slightly and I snap my mouth shut. Oh my God. What a disaster. Now I know for sure I am completely done. My job is to show the house, not the damn flowers, but even though I have glanced through Sasha’s notes about the property, not a single piece of information about the many special attributes of the house comes to mind.

With a frown, I look at the stairs then, trying to remember what I can say about it beyond grand and gorgeous and tall... really tall, just like you, I want to climb you and...

I turn away from him, shut my eyes and wonder if this is a result of the bang to my head I took last week when I fell off a ladder while trying to film a video. It must be a delayed reaction. I almost want to cry. I swallow hard. Very soon he is going to lose interest and walk away. I can't do this to my agency and to my father. I can't fail this monumental task. I would never be able to forgive myself. Even if I had to go on my knees to beg him to buy the house, I would, but I sincerely doubt kneeling down to get someone to buy a 120-million-dollar house has the potential effectiveness of minus zero. At that moment I hear Sasha’s voice in my head. Half the commission is mine. And just like that, I snap out of whatever disease has caught hold of me.

I turn to him then and force myself to look directly into his eyes. I am so close I can see the gold flecks in them.

"The stairs are one of the most beautiful aspects of this house. Made with black Caracalla marble slabs and hand-carved rosewood with a daring backdrop of salmon pink and European art. The magnificent chandelier up above is one of a kind. Fifteen thousand pieces of crystals and the main lamp was specially blown in Italy. Murano to be exact. Have you ever been there?"

"I have," he replies quietly. "Have you?"

"No, Mr. Ivanovich. I'm a Brooklyn girl and I usually don’t venture further than Manhattan." The second the words come out of my mouth I realize how unsophisticated I sound. And it makes me realize how strange it is that he has chosen our small and struggling agency when there are bigger agents in the city who can probably give him a much better service. Why did he want us? And why me specifically?

"Murano is overrated, Miss Fitzpatrick," he says. "You're not missing out on much."

"Oh!” A nervous laugh erupts from me. “Their craftsmanship though, with this chandelier and the other lighting fixtures inthe house, is breathtaking. I'm not saying they were all made in Italy, but they're all very unique and specially crafted."

"So you've said," he mocks, and I want to bury my head in the granite.

"Let’s move on to the living rooms.” My cheeks are hot as I turn and start walking away from him. “There are four, but this one is the loveliest. You have a fine view of the sea, and the glass walls almost make you feel like you’re outdoors. The sea is calm now, but in winter you could curl up here all cozy and warm with a glass of whiskey and watch the lightning and thunder break all around you. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?"

He doesn't respond.

I choose to take that as a blessing. If he doesn’t speak, I can pretend that he is not behind me and I am the only one in the house. That is the only way I will be able to form coherent thoughts and get through this nightmare of a viewing.

And so I keep talking, and as my focus returns, I am able to remember more details about the house.

He remains silent and I become even more intrigued by him. I have no choice then but to look frequently at him, needing to check if he is bored by my chatter. But it seems as if I am the main focus of his attention.

Chapter Eight

IVAN

Idon’t give a rat's ass about the house.

And if she is clever, she must already know that. If I had no interest in her, I’d have walked out by now. Nothing she has said so far has made the house more appealing to me. She is a terrible salesperson. I have a day of meetings ahead of me, so I get right to the point.

"Show me the master bedroom, Miss Fitzpatrick."

She whirls around with surprise, and something shifts in my chest. I ignore it and hold her gaze, but I have to admit I have never met a man or a woman who affects me the way she does.

"Master bedroom? That's on the first floor, Mr Ivanovich." She tries not to frown, but she knows skipping the rest of the tour to go straight to the master has to be a very clear indication that I don’t care for her presentation.

"Yes. That's what I want to see, Miss Fitzpatrick.”

She nods. “Of course.” I watch the sway of her hips as we head up the ‘black Caracalla marble and hand-carved rosewood staircase with its daring backdrop of salmon pink and European art’. Her hands tightly grip the bannister. She opens a pair ofdouble doors, walks in, and stands in the middle of a spacious bright room. Her body faces away from me.

We are finally completely alone. No bodyguards, no prying colleagues. Just the two of us—my desire and her nerves.

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