Page 10 of Daddy's Naughty Realtor

"I guess," I finally admit. "He's very... authoritative."

"I knew it!" Christine sounds triumphant. "Oh, honey, you've landed yourself a real-life Christian Grey, minus the helicopters and questionable consent issues."

"I haven't 'landed' anything," I protest. "And even if I were interested, which I'm not, I’m not sure I could trust him again and I never get involved with a client. It’s one of my rules I never break. It would be completely unprofessional."

"The project is almost finished," Karen points out. "Soon he won't be your client anymore. Then what's your excuse?"

“He broke my heart before.”

“Sometimes, people change. Are you the same person you were in your early twenties?” Elizabeth asks softly.

“What if he apologizes? What if he has a good reason? What excuse will you have then?” Melissa asks.

I don't have one, which is terrifying in its own way.

"Just promise us one thing," Jackie says, her voice turning serious. "If anything does happen, when something happens, you'll give us all the details."

"Nothing is going to happen," I insist, even as a small voice in my head whispers,Liar.

* * *

The next day, my phone buzzes with a text while I'm showing a waterfront property to a young couple who can't afford it but insist on looking anyway.

Jeremy: Wear the green dress tonight. The one from the charity gala last month.

I nearly drop my phone. How does he know about that dress? It was a splurge. I don’t normally spend this much on a dress. But, the emerald silk hugs my curves and makes me feel like a million bucks. I'd worn it to a real estate charity event where I'd delivered a speech about urban development. Jeremy hadn't been there. I'm certain of it. I would have noticed.

Me: How do you know about that dress? I text back when my clients are distracted by the view.

Jeremy: I’ve made it my business to know everything about you, kitten. Especially how good you look in silk.

A shiver runs down my spine. This is crossing lines. Professional lines. Personal lines. Lines I've carefully drawn to keep myself safe and independent.

Me: That's intrusive and inappropriate.

My racing pulse suggests my body disagrees with my assessment. Why is my body a traitorous bitch? Thinking of Jeremy makes my nipples harden and my pussy clench while, simultaneously, my heart is broken and my mind enraged.

Jeremy: Is it? Or is it what you've been waiting for? Someone to see past the polished professional exterior to the woman underneath? Someone who knows you, at your core. Someone to come along and treat you like the woman you are while addressing the naughty girl you’ve been?

His words hit too close to home, echoing thoughts I've never shared with anyone. Not even the Naughty Girls know how lonely it sometimes feels, being Gina Long, successful real estate agent, always in control, always self-sufficient. My marriage hadn’t lasted long, my ex-husband long since moved on with his second wife and their children. He’d been a decent father to my daughter, and a good co-parent. But, we didn’t work out. After the divorce, I dove into my work and never dated again. I don't respond. Can't respond without revealing too much.

My phone buzzes again:

Wear the dress, Gina. For me.

For the rest of the day, those two words circle in my mind.For me.Not a request but not quite a demand either. An invitation to step over a line I've been teetering on since Jeremy walked back into my life. I still don’t know why he left. I thought he’d been the one. I thought he’d propose. Instead, one day, he just ghosted me. Walked out of my life, without looking back. At least, that’s how it felt. How am I to ever trust this man again?

At 6:30, I stare at myself in the mirror, wearingthegreen silk dress. It makes me feel both powerful and feminine. My hair is down, curves highlighted, lips painted a deeper shade than I'd wear to the office.

"This is still a business dinner," I tell my reflection sternly. "Professional boundaries. Clear lines."

My reflection looks unconvinced.

Jeremy's penthouse is exactly as intimidating as I imagined. It’s glass and steel and breathtaking views, a perfect reflection of the man himself. When he opens the door, his eyes sweep over me in a slow, deliberate appraisal that makes heat bloom beneath my skin.

"You wore it," he says, and I can’t miss the satisfaction evident in his voice.

"I had it on, anyway," I lie, stepping past him into the apartment. "Had another event that I left early to come here." Why? Why did I just lie like that?

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