Page 7 of Some Like It Hops

A glass of Evans’ newest release—a coffee stout—and a pint of their summer blonde, accompany me over to the redhead on the couch. Josephine Gallagher is prettier in person than she was in the photos Brad texted me a few moments ago. She’s also observant, watching me like a hawk. She’s sizing me up, seeing what kind of client I might be. I can respect that.

From the Tom Ford three-piece to the Patek on my wrist, she sees a cash cow. She’s right, of course, and I’m here to prove—once again—that cash is king. Whatever her buyer paid for that location, I’m ready to double it. I plan to buy up that whole strip of warehouses, and this is the one that will get me in the door.

I hand Ms. Gallagher the pint of blonde ale and settle on the couch across from her. I have a clear view of the adorable brunette’s back, but she has yet to turn around again. Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and focus on this woman instead. “Ms. Gallagher, thank you for meeting me under such short notice.”

“Please, call me Josephine.” She takes a sip of her beer, then sets it down on the table and pulls her tablet out. “And you are?”

“Griffin.”

“Griffin…?”

“Just Griffin is fine.”

It’s obvious she wants more from me by the arch of her brow and the distrustful look in her eyes, but I’m not going to divulge more than I have to just yet. “You have a property that I’m interested in. A brewery warehouse down south?”

Her eyebrows creep up slowly and she flicks her gaze back toward the bar. “I’m sorry, but I’m not the listing agent for that property.”

“But you do represent the buyer, do you not?”

“I do…” Her brows furrow, and her gaze flicks once more to the bar. “But, if you know that I represent the buyer, then you’re also aware that the property is no longer active.”

Narrowing my eyes, I look over at the tiny brunette, then back at Ms. Gallagher. Do they know each other? “The listing was still active as of yesterday.”

“It was, yes, but…” She grimaces. “I’m sorry, but I feel like maybe there’s been some miscommunication. When you called my office to inquire about the property—”

“You are aware there were two offers on that warehouse.”

Her eyes widen briefly. “Oh,” she says slowly. “I’m sorry, but that’s sometimes the way things go in real estate. Multiple offers, but there can be only one buyer.” She shrugs it off like I’m just some moron who doesn’t understand the way things work.

“I’m quite aware of how real estate works, Ms. Gallagher, and I’m also ready to make your client an offer.”

“The paperwork is being filed as we speak. I’m afraid there isn’t going to be an opportunity to counter—”

I lean forward and she leans back. “I don’t want tocounter.” I take a sip of my beer and glance over at the brunette, catching her watching me. She quickly spins back around and I smirk, then set my beer down and splay my hands out in front of me. “Your buyer made the deal, and I’m here to offer him more than what he paid. The question, simply, is how much more?”

“I’m sorry?”

“How much will it take?”

“Take?”

My jaw clenches. I can’t tell if she’s foolish or intentionally coy. “Ms. Gallagher, how much will it take to purchase that warehouse from your buyer?”

Curiously, her gaze flicks over to the brunette again.

I tilt my head. “Is something over there more interesting than upping your commission, Ms. Gallagher?”

She straightens her shoulders and meets my gaze. “I’m unable to help you at this time. If you’d like, I can—”

“Who’s your buyer?”

She stutters on her words, then closes her mouth.

“I’m prepared to sweeten the deal for all parties involved, Ms. Gallagher. Put me in contact with your buyer. I’ll offer them what they paid, plus an additional seventy-five for their time. Cash.”

“Hundred?” Her brow furrows.

“Thousand, Josephine. Seventy-fivethousandextra for your client.”

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