Page 2 of Daddy's Naughty Realtor

Before I can give some vague, professional non-answer, Jeremy slides his hands into his pockets and says, "We go way back, don't we, kitten?"

Kitten!

The pet name hits me like a slap. I haven't heard it in decades, and yet my body remembers it—the way it used to make me melt, the way it used to precede moments of delicious trouble.

"Mr. Ford and I were acquainted some time ago," I say, my smile so brittle it might crack my face. "Now, as I was saying about the master suite?—"

"Acquainted," Jeremy repeats, with a low chuckle that makes the Martinson’s exchange glances. "That's one way to put it."

I could kill him.

I could actually kill him right now, bludgeon him to death with my leather portfolio and dump his body in the bay. The jury would understand once I explained. Especially, if it was an all women jury. They would absolutely take my side.

Instead, I take a deep breath and turn to the Martinson’s. "Would you mind giving me just one moment with Mr. Ford? I think he may be confused about the showing schedule."

Mrs. Martinson nods eagerly. She's probably already composing the story she'll tell at her next book club and pulls her husband toward the kitchen. "Take your time, dear. We'll just admire that gorgeous marble some more."

Once they're out of earshot, I round on Jeremy, keeping my voice low but not bothering to hide my fury. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He leans casually against the doorframe, looking amused. "Buying a house, last I checked. That's still your job, isn't it? Selling them?"

"Not to you," I hiss. "There are plenty of other agents in this city." Anyone but me. I want nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with him.

"None as good as you," he says, and the compliment lands like a sucker punch because he actually sounds sincere. "I'm back in town permanently, Gina. Looking to put down roots."

"Wonderful for you. Call my office and one of my associates will be happy to help."

Jeremy steps closer, and even though every instinct tells me to back up, I stand my ground. I'm not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me retreat.

"I didn't expect to find you here today," he says, his voice lower now. "I had an appointment with the property manager, he must have accidentally double booked us. But seeing you again..." He pauses, his eyes taking a slow inventory of my face. "Reminds me that some things are worth waiting for."

My heart hammers against my ribs as if trying to break free and run for the hills. Which would be the sensible response to Jeremy Ford and his intoxicating combination of charm and danger.

"Let me be perfectly clear," I say, straightening to my full height (which, even in four-inch heels, still leaves me looking up at him). "Whatever happened between us is ancient history. I'm not that girl anymore."

Something flashes in his eyes. Challenge maybe, or recognition. "No," he agrees, "you're not. You're something much more interesting now."

Before I can respond, Mrs. Martinson calls from the kitchen, "Ms. Long? Could we see that famous view you mentioned?"

I break eye contact with Jeremy and call back, "Coming right away!" Then I lower my voice again. "My clients are waiting."

"By all means," Jeremy says, gesturing toward the grand staircase. "Don't let me stop you from doing your job." As I move to step around him, he adds quietly, "But this conversation isn't over, kitten."

The nickname slides down my spine like a caress, and I hate—hate—that it still affects me. That he still affects me.

"It is," I say firmly, then turn my back on him and walk toward the kitchen, summoning every ounce of professionalism I possess. “The conversation is definitely over, Jeremy.”

Behind me, I hear his low chuckle, and I know, with the bone-deep certainty that comes from having your heart thoroughly broken by someone, that Jeremy Ford is about to turn my carefully ordered life upside down.

And the worst part? Some small, traitorous part of me is looking forward to it.

CHAPTER2

I'm three glasses of wine deep when I finally break down and tell the Naughty Girls about Jeremy.

"He called me kitten," I type into our group chat, the wine making my fingers sloppy on the keyboard. "In front of clients. CLIENTS!"

The response is immediate. Three typing bubbles pop up like they've been waiting all night for me to drop this bomb.

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