Page 16 of Daddy's Naughty Realtor

"Tomorrow. We have a final walk-through at the property before signing all the paperwork." I hesitate, then admit, "and then dinner after."

The chorus of squeals makes me hold the phone away from my ear.

"It's just dinner," I protest.

"Honey, it hasn't been 'just dinner' since the first time," Elizabeth points out. "You like him. He clearly likes you. What's holding you back?"

Thirty years of guarding my heart. The fear of being vulnerable again. The niggling doubt that his explanation for leaving, while plausible, doesn't quite explain the completeness of his disappearance.

"I'm being cautious," I say instead. "We have history."

"Sometimes history is worth repeating," Karen says, uncharacteristically earnest. "Don't let fear keep you from something that could be amazing."

After we hang up, I lie awake thinking about her words. About Jeremy. About the wall I've built around myself that's starting to show dangerous cracks.

* * *

It’ll be much later this afternoon when I meet up with Jeremy to do the final walk through. This morning, as I show a potential buyer the Richardson estate, I can’t get him off my mind. I’m in auto mode, spouting out the facts about the house but my heart is elsewhere. It’s playing a what-if game. What if he’d never left? What if he leaves again? Finally, the longest day in existence is over and I’m headed to walk through the multi-hundred million dollar project I’ve been working on for over a month.

The walk-through goes perfectly. The property is everything we've worked for. Jeremy is in his element, pointing out details, explaining features. His passion for the project is infectious. He looks amazing in a pair of tight jeans, with a crisp white button down tucked in and the sleeves rolled up to right above his muscular forearms.

"We did it," he says as we stand on what will be the rooftop terrace. "You and me."

The pride in his voice makes me smile. "You’re going to make quite the profit. This view is beautiful."

"It is." But he's not looking at the property. He's looking at me.

I should look away. Instead, I hold his gaze, letting myself acknowledge the thing that's been building between us.

"Jeremy—" I begin, not sure what I'm going to say.

His phone rings, cutting me off. Again. The man gets more calls than the President.

"I have to take this," he says apologetically. "It's the investors. Two minutes."

He steps away, leaving me alone on the rooftop with my thoughts—and the realization that I'm tired of fighting whatever this is between us. Tired of pretending it's just business. Tired of being afraid.

When he returns, I've made a decision.

"Let's skip dinner," I say.

His face falls slightly. "Oh. Do you need to reschedule? I can–"

"No," I interrupt, gathering my courage. "I meant... let's go to your place instead."

The change in his expression is immediate. Surprise giving way to heat, to intent. "Are you sure?"

Am I?

No.

Yes.

Maybe. I'm sure that I want him. I'm sure that I'm tired of wondering. I'm sure that whatever happens next, I'm done pretending this is just a professional relationship.

"I'm sure," I say, and mean it.

* * *

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