Page 19 of Square Deal

Welcoming wicker furniture was staged perfectly for lounging and sipping wine on summer evenings. The left side of the porch had a gazebo with a turret roof. Situated right in the middle of theoctagon was a hanging porch swing dotted with weatherproof pillows. Her home looked like it came straight out of the pages ofSouthern LivingorBetter Homes & Gardens.

Luxury real estate was my game. Beaufort may have been a quaint little fishing town, but the waterfront houses here sold well into the millions. I studied up on the local market when I helped Luca get his mansion on Davis Bay.

It was rare for me to be directly involved in getting a buyer into their new home these days. I oversaw a company that employed an army of realtors who pulled in obscene commissions on high-dollar properties. Most of them were commercial properties or large estates. Occasionally, though, I would manage a sale if the client was a big enough deal.

Hannah Jane’s house was small potatoes compared to the estates that came through our listings. Still, I could appreciate the charm and character.

I helped myself to a bottle of water from her refrigerator, noting the meticulously organized shelves. Of course she was a meal prepper.

I wouldn’t have expected anything less. Each reusable container was clearly labeled with the contents and the date. I was slightly disappointed that I couldn’t find a single thing in her fridge to make fun of. But I wasn’t giving up—there was a whole house to explore still.

Uncapping the bottle, I took a drink and looked around the kitchen. It was spotless.

I could get a photographer in here to shoot the rooms and have it sold in minutes. The whole place was perfectly styled and looked virtually untouched.

Did she actually live here? Or did she have a coffin propped up against the wall that she slept in upright? It sure would save time making the bed in the morning.

My housekeepers kept my place looking spotless, but Hannah did it all herself.

I wandered through the living room. Dark hardwood floors were accented with cream couches and leather armchairs. It was oddly masculine, but tastefully put together.

She had plants scattered on the coffee table and the fireplace mantle. Vintage books were stacked neatly on the end tables—clearly just for aesthetics and not for entertainment.

Huh.She didn’t have a television in the living room like most people did.Interesting.Instead of a flat screen on the wall above the fireplace, she had a magnolia leaf wreath.

I ignored her home office.Probably more of the perfect same.It was obvious that appearances were important to her. Then again, weren’t they important to everyone?

I grabbed my suitcase and made my way upstairs and paused.Where most people would put photos, Hannah had plants.

She had vases filled with fresh-cut flowers, figurines, and first edition novels—but not a single picture.

Even when I walked through estates owned by the richest of the rich, there were pictures. Hell, even my old man had pictures in his house, and he was the least family-oriented person I knew.

I poked my head into the guest room and left my bag just inside the door. It was exactly as I expected.

A basket of mini toiletries, snacks, and two bottles of sparkling water were perched on the corner of the bed. Fluffy white bath towels were rolled, sitting ready on top of the vanity.

I would have been flattered, but I knew she didn’t do that for me. Being prepared was just who she was.

Back to snooping.

I was determined to find just one fucking personal item that proved she wasn’t a damn robot. The bathroom and the other spare rooms were a bust. Which just left the master bedroom.

I ignored the impulse to judge her carefully curated decor. Instead, I went straight for the nightstand. I slid open the drawer and smiled.

My naughty girl.I pawed through the menagerie of vibrators and dildos and chuckled. She and I would be discussing this later.

I couldn’t let her get away with that holier-than-thou attitude when she had a sex dungeon in her bedside table. Notions of a repeat performance of our night together after the wedding floated through my mind.

Fuck.

No way that was happening. I was a one-and-done kind of a guy.

I wasn’t the love ‘em and leave ‘em type—I didn’t love them to begin with.

I, Isaac Lawson, did not fall in love.

Love was for suckers and chumps. Sure, my best friend was one of them, but I didn’t hold it against him. Maddie seemed cool.

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