Page 83 of The Broker

I lifted an eyebrow. “I think Google Maps is doing the navigating.”

Her response was to simply grin and turn the volume up another click, letting Taylor’s voice drown out any other protests I might make.

I allowed it until the song was over and then turned the volume down so we could talk. “I got called into a last-minute meeting today.” She pivoted in her seat to look at me. “I was in such a rush, I grabbed the first suit in my closet, which happened to be the one that needs to go out for dry cleaning.”

“Uh oh.” She chuckled.

“It was the one I wore to Club Eros.”

Her amusement dried up. She didn’t understand the danger, but my serious tone sobered her.

“I was sitting there at lunch next to your dad when I needed a pen. So I reach into my pocket, pull it out, and your pair of panties fell on the floor.”

I hadn’t given them back to her that night, and she hadn’t asked, and perhaps we both liked how I’d hung on to them. But that had been more than a week ago, and I’d temporarily forgotten they were still tucked in that pocket.

Her pretty face filled with alarm. “Oh, shit. Did my dad see?”

I shook my head. “No, thank fuck.” I flashed back to that moment when my heart lodged itself in my throat. “It was dumb luck he was facing the other way. I picked them up as fast as I could and shoved them back in my pocket, but Christ. It was awkward as hell.”

The rest of the lunch, her underwear had been burning a hole in my pocket. The hit of panic it had given me made it hard not to question what the fuck I was doing with her. But it was too late, and I was in too deep, wasn’t I?

We were on our way to our date with Patrick and Shannon, and she was just as excited about it as I was.

I turned into the parking garage and grabbed a ticket from the machine while Charlotte checked her phone. Her gasp was so sudden, I tapped the brakes and looked at the parked cars, searching for whatever I’d missed. “What? What is it?”

“It’s an email from HomeHappy.”

I relaxed my tense grip on the steering wheel and continued up the ramp, searching for a parking spot. “Yeah? What’s it say?”

HomeHappy was a small business that sold cleaning towels for glass, because as Charlotte had explained to me, what you used to clean mirrors and windows made a big difference. I’d been in talks with them on her behalf for the last week.

“They want to do a giveaway post on Instagram, and they’re offering me five hundred dollars for it.”

“Nice,” I said. “I’m about to be fifty bucks richer.”

We’d settled on a ten percent broker fee for me, since I was handling her admin work. I’d tried to talk her out of it though. She needed the money a lot more than I did, but she’d insisted.The plan was to keep our business relationship separate from our personal one, and that went for her cleaning services and my business management.

This was the first deal I’d facilitated for her, but I had others in the works... and plans of what to do with my cut.

I found an available parking spot, parked, and shut off the engine. Charlotte didn’t move, though. She made no effort to get out of the car, and I shot her a questioning look.

“Thanks for all your help.” She said it like I’d had to move mountains to make the deal happen.

I laughed softly. “You’re welcome, but it was nothing. All I did was send a few emails. You’re the one doing the work.”

“You don’t know what a big deal this is for me.” Her gaze shifted away, and she stared through the windshield at the bland concrete wall of the parking garage. “Usually, when I get emails or messages like this, I’m terrible about answering them. Sometimes I flag the email to handle later, when I’ll have more time to come up with the perfect reply.” She spoke like she was revealing an awful secret. “I don’t think I’m subconsciously avoiding it, but I get nervous about what to say. And then time passes, and now I’m embarrassed about how long it’s been without a response. Which, of course, makes it even harder to write back. So a lot of times I... don’t.”

I tugged my eyebrows together. “You’re missing a lot of opportunities doing that.”

Had that sounded lecture-y? That wasn’t my intent. Her head tilted down so she could stare at her knees. “I know. I just get scared sometimes.”

On some level, I understood this. She had a paralyzing fear of failure, and it was safer to not even try. But without risk, there usually wasn’t a reward.

“You know, this is basically what your father does for a living. Kind of surprised it didn’t rub off on you.”

The second the statement was out, I cringed internally, but she didn’t seem bothered by it.

“He tried to teach me,” she shrugged, “but, honestly? It was easier to let him take care of it.”

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