Page 8 of Out of the Shadow

His hand runs over the perfect amount of stubble dotting his chin. “Yeah, then you can work with them. I want to help those who know what they want. And have the budgets to buy it.”

That’s just plain wrong. I shake my head and tuck my hair behind my ear, forgetting all about the cameras. “No, King. A person’s bank balance doesn’t dictate whether they’re entitled to help. Everyone deserves to buy their dream home, no matter if it costs one-hundred thousand or tens of millions.”

With an incredulous look on his handsome face, King throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, you got me going there for a minute. What sort of hovel can anyone buy in Aroostook for under a mil?”

“Hovel? You may be the son of rock royalty,King, but you’re certainly no oligarch.” I pause to take a breath. “I’ve sold several homes under five-hundred thousand here, thank you very much.”

His eyebrows rise toward his hairline. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I cross my arms over my chest.

“Fine. You can work with them, but I’m going after the gold.”

His tone, combined with his air of superiority, lodges itself under my skin. “I sold a dozen homes last year. How many did you sell?”

“I don’t know exactly.” He flips one hand in my direction.

“Ball park.” I lean in for the kill.

He licks his lips, and I’m disgusted that it distracts me, even for just a moment. “I close deals that no one else even knows about.”

Sure. I doubt he closed any deals while he was traipsing around the globe on his daddy’s credit card. He’s a trust-fund baby. A spoiled brat. Good-looking or not, he’s lower than a donkey’s nut on my scale. I scoff. “I hustle for my clients.”

He rolls his eyes. “Do what you want.” Standing, he walks in a full circle. “And what I want to do is redecorate in here. This conference room should be more modern.” He holds his hands out as if in a frame. “I can see it now. A row of computers so clients can browse listings. Sleek architectural artwork. Repaint it a steel grey.” He makes a fist. “Something powerful. Says that we’re here and we’ll help you get here, too.”

With each suggestion, my body tightens. Juliana decorated this room for me, and I love every inch of it. By the time King stops talking and relaxes into a stance that screams rich and lazy, I’m on my feet next to him. The stand-off would be more effective if I were taller, but I don’t care. I shove my index finger into his pec, which is rock hard. Of course it is. “That’s. Stupid.” Good God, did I just say “stupid”? I’m a Columbia graduate.

Instead of retreating, King removes my finger from his body with two of his own. “I think it would make a powerful statement. And clients like those time-wasters you’re so eager to help won’t even walk through the door.” He turns his back to me and moves toward the spot that would hold his imagined row of computers.

My blood pressure ticks up another notch. In a low voice, I say, “This office, this conference room, is off-limits. And as formynew client? I’m going to scour the listings to find them their dream home. You can do as you wish.”

He turns toward me and the air between us feels charged. His chest rises and falls. “Whatever. Handle them yourself and leave me out of it.” His voice is regal. “They. Are. Yours. Deal with them.”

I blink. What an arrogant jerk. Just because someone isn’t crazy wealthy doesn’t mean they don’t deserve the best possible service. Not intimidated by his height or bulk, I stalk back into his personal space like any good Brooklyn woman would.

“As thefoundingpartner, I’m glad to take them under my wing. Watch and learn.” I place a hard emphasis on my role to make my point.

His nostrils flare as his unusual eyes bore into me.

“Cut!” Blaine interrupts us. “That was great!”

King and I remain locked in a staring war. He shakes his head and grins at me. “I like your fire.” His eyes turn greener now, as if he’s really seeing me for the first time.

In my sister’s heels, I stumble a few steps backward and latch onto a chair for balance. Steadied, I try to breathe out some of my Italian temper.

From across the room, Blaine says, “Talk about differences of opinion. I liked what I saw on film. Good job, both of you.”

Oh, yeah. We were pretending. King doesn’t really think the conference room needs an overhaul. And why would he? I’ve had several compliments on this very space. “You had me going there for a moment about redecorating.”

“Oh, I meant every word. I’d redecorate the shit out of this room.” He does another full-circle. “And I’d never take on a client with a budget of less than a mil.”

My hand flies out, index finger pointing at him. “You have no idea how the rest of the world lives, do you? You take your fancy trips and live off what Daddy gives you.”

He smirks. “Jealous?”

“Guys, guys, save it for the cameras,” Blaine interrupts and places his hand on King’s shoulder. “King, that was a great screen test. Let me walk you out and I’ll give you the next address. We’ll meet you there in about two hours.”

King gives me a two-finger salute before nodding at Blaine and following him out of the conference room. My stomach twinges. Who is the other agent-finalist? The dozen or so people milling around inside the room threaten to suffocate me, so I leave and lock myself in the restroom. Leaning against the closed door, I will all the tension from that screen test to slide away.

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