Page 506 of The Winslow Brothers

“You know, Eleanor, I truly think this is the apartment for you. It’s got everything on your list of desires and then some, and it has incredible potential to grow exponentially in value. I wouldn’t dare assert a decision on you, but I do want to express how big of a mistake I think you’re making if you walk away.”

My breathing is labored and my eyes suddenly feel incredibly watery, but I stand my ground as she works her glacial gaze across my face.

With one final nod, she spins on her toe and steps directly into the elevator without another word.

The doors close on the Wicked Witch of New York, and I all but jump for joy.

Thank everything.I might have blown my relationship with Eleanor completely, but at least I spoke up for myself, and right now, that’s something I’m going to choose to be proud of.

Maybe I won’t be when I’m trying to find a way to pay for private preschool and everything that follows, but for now, I’m at peace.

Before starting the process of shutting off the lights and locking up, I pull my phone out of my pocket and start to fire off a text,but I’m downright shocked when a notification pops up on my screen before I can manage to type a single word.

Eleanor Waverly: Tell them I’ll give them list, but I want the Picasso that’s hanging in the library.

Is she kidding me? She wants the fucking apartment?

Holy, holy shit. I can’t believe standing up to her worked!

There’s a part of me that wants to tell her to go fuck herself just to feel the buzz, but the big commission check that gleams off in the distance wins out.

Me: I’ll reach out to the listing agent now.

I quickly shoot Carl Morrow, the penthouse’s listing agent, an offer via text, but once I hit send, I don’t wait impatiently for his response like I normally would. Instead, I open my chat with Remy.

Me: How is Izzy? Are you still surviving?

Simultaneously, my phone chimes with two messages, one from Carl and one from Remy. I open Remy’s first. Inside our chat, I only find a photo. It’s a picture of Izzy, sleeping peacefully, with a note taped to her chest.I’m a very happy hostage. (Not fussy at all because I’ve been a little angel all day.) PS: You will only get me back if you agree to eat dinner tonight with a handsome, studly, amazing man named Remy.

A laugh bubbles up from my lungs and comes out as a cackle.

Me: You are nuts. And I already agreed to dinner.

Remy: Yes, but I need to make sure you’re going to follow through.

Me: When have I ever not followed through?

Remy: Ha. Lots of times, babe. Take today, for example. I told you on Saturday to call me when you needed help, but you didn’t. Luckily, I texted you this morning to see how things were going.

He’s not wrong, but that doesn’t make my reasons for not reaching out to him invalid.

Another text from Remy fills the screen.

Remy: How did your day go, by the way? Did you sell the apartment?

Oh shit, Carl!

Quickly, I open Carl’s last message.

Carl: Great news, Maria. Looks like we have a deal. Owner agrees. Draft up the contract and send it my way.

Me: Fantastic. Thanks, Carl. My buyer will be pleased.

Before I let Eleanor know the news, I update Remy first.

Me: Actually, yes. I did sell the apartment. So, tonight, dinner is on me. I hate to ask this, but can you manage Izzy for another hour or so while I get contracts finalized at my office? Meet me at my place around 6:30?

Remy: See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Asking me for help when you need it? And I can definitely keep Izzy with me. It’s not a problem. So don’t even bother asking, “Are you sure, Remy?” ;)

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