Page 7 of Out of the Shadow

The door opens again and my eyes travel to the man who now stands next to King. Trevor, I presume. Taller than both King and Blaine, he has shoulder-length brown hair, and when he takes off his sunglasses, he reveals the deepest pair of blue eyes I’ve ever seen. He looks like less of a Neanderthal than King, and I instantly prefer him.

Blaine heads to the door to greet them, then launches into the same speech he gave me about today’s audition. King and Trevor stand several feet apart, nodding at what he’s telling them, not looking at each other. They clearly see themselves as rivals for the role.

Trevor smirks at King, straightening his back, then shifts his gaze to Blaine. “Are the clients we’d be showing real buyers and sellers, or are they actors too?”

“Good question, Trevor,” Blaine replies.Damn. It is a good question.I lean in to hear the answer. “All of the potential buyers and sellers are actually in the market. We’ll use some of the host real estate office’s clients as well as clients from other agencies. To fill in any gaps.”

I stifle a snort from my seat in the reception area. Although I do have a few clients, none of them have the kind of mansions the producers want to feature—or the budget to buy one. If they select me, where will these mysterious buyers come from?

My eyes wander back to the pile of magazines. Despite my reorganization, I’m all too aware of the copy ofActive Aroostookthat now sits in the middle of the stack.Please don’t let them be from Poppy.

King interrupts my musings. “Will the show provide us a wardrobe, or are we expected to wear our own clothes?”

Seriously? He’s concerned about clothes? Well, what did I expect from such a pretty boy? My opinion of Trevor notches up.

Kaitlyn emerges from the conference room and hurries over to the door. She greets both of the men, fussing over King as if he were the last garlic knot in the basket, and leads the trio deeper into the office. King’s voice, a deep baritone, washes through my body like a warm rain.A warm rain? What the hell?

Blaine motions me over. Inhaling my breath to screw up my courage, I rise to my feet and head over to where they’re talking.

King nods at Blaine, then his eyes land on me and he smiles. My brain stills. Their color is so unusual. They’re not quite brown, not quite green. More of an amber.Huh.

“Hello there. I’m King Hunte. And you must be Angela.”

Although he’s looking at me, I get the feeling he isn’t really seeing me. Is he distracted or just unimpressed? After all, he’s some fancy socialite, and my agency is just barely squeaking by. To King Hunte, I am a nobody. I almost decide against correcting him, but a glimpse of the scrawling ink on my wrist gives me the strength to speak up for myself. Clasping his hand, I say, “Angie Russo. Only my father calls me Angela.”

He shakes my hand, his grip firm but not overpowering. His callouses take me aback. They must be related to working out, since he doesn’t seem to be the hard-labor type.

“Nice to meet you, Angie.”

I drop his hand and Blaine introduces me to Trevor, who keeps his deep-blue eyes trained on mine. “A real pleasure, Angie.”

I clasp his hand and shake. It’s a bit limp, but I guess you can’t have everything.

King breaks in. “Nice little place you have here.” The way he says “little” irks me. He wanders over to the reception area. Picking upLiving Large, he holds it up for everyone to see and announces, “This was a great time.”

I touch my throat. He wasonthat yacht? Holy crap. I smooth down my shirt, something I got on final sale at a department store, and make sure it’s tucked into my pants. Only then do I notice the large watch attached to King’s wrist. That thing cost more than my car. Must be nice not to worry about money.

“It sure was,” Trevor adds.

Blaine claps his hands, not allowing me time to ponder the fact that these antagonistic men actually know each other. “All right everyone. King, let’s head into the conference room and see what we have going on here. Trevor, take a seat out here and we’ll get to you shortly.”

I allow everyone to enter the room ahead of me, my nervousness rearing up again. Blaine points to an empty chair next to King, which I take.

Once we’re all comfortable, Blaine says, “So, today we’re just going to see how the two of you interact. Nothing to worry about. Let’s pretend you just finished an initial meeting with a new client and you’re discussing which one of you should work with them. Talk naturally and be yourselves. Let’s see what happens.”

I nod. I can do this. As I’m the only person at the agency, thanks to Poppy, I don’t have the luxury of evaluating a client with anyone anymore. Sometimes it would be nice to let another agent work with someone who’d be a better fit. I tuck some hair behind my ear, but Kaitlyn comes over and asks me not to do that. For the cameras and all.

Shaking out my hands, I turn to face King, who looks completely relaxed with his ankle propped on his knee. Having his gorgeous gaze fixed on me doesn’t help my nerves. Instead of crossing my legs, I opt to keep both feet on the floor, hoping it will help steady me.

Blaine raises his voice. “And, we’re rolling.”

I open my mouth to begin the conversation, but King beats me to it. “That couple doesn’t know what they want. Beach, no beach. Fireplace, no fireplace. Five bedrooms, no six. I don’t want to get caught up in that garbage.”

“Well,” I start. “It seems to me that we could help them find a middle ground. They both know they like a modern style, so—”

King waves his hand in the air. “Modern is so, I don’t know, non-committal. Who needs such a wishy-washy client? Not me.”

His response to these fake clients raises my real hackles. “You know, here at Russo Real Estate, we strive to help everyone who walks through our doors.” Even if they’re suspected tire-kickers, they may turn into real buyers. Someday.

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