Page 47 of Fierce-Matt
“I’m not good with following through. I have to force myself. I hate to pester people, but it’s part of the job. That and the negotiating. Oh boy, I hate that.”
She’d been walked over a few times in the beginning and found out later that she could have done better for her clients if she’d stuck to her guns and not fallen to the pressure of worrying about losing a deal.
The fear of no commission outweighed a greater commission.
Then she told herself not to think of what she got, but what her clients did.
Once she got that through her head, it was smoother.
“Hopefully you won’t have to worry this time,” he said.
“Fingers crossed. It’s a tight market, but they’ve got the money. If they go in higher than asking, they should be good. I know one of the selling agents and think we’ll be fine.”
“I’m happy,” he said. “Do you want some wine?”
“Sure,” she said. “Then we need to talk.”
He turned quickly from where he was opening a bottle of white wine that was much nicer than anything she’d ever bought. Not surprising there either.
After filling the glass, she picked it up from the quartz counter and pulled out a chair to sit.
He grabbed a beer out of the fridge and poured it into a glass, then stayed on that side of the island.
“Hit me with it.”
Might as well get right to the point. “Where do you see this thing?” Her hand was moving back and forth between them.
“You mean us?” he asked.
“Yes. We are the only two in the room. We’ve had four dates in two weeks and all we do is talk.”
“Talk?” he asked. It was as if he was struggling to get that word out.
“Yes. I get it, you’re used to talking in your job, but it’s... I’m just going to say it. Boring.”
He didn’t kiss her the first night and she was fine with that.
The second date was a quick lunch, the same. He was nice and opened her car door and gave her an awkward hug.
She tried to push off the fact he only did that.
But their date a few days ago, he gave her a gentle kiss on the lips and moved back as if he was being forced to kiss a great-aunt that smelled of mothballs.
No one wants to feel undesirable.
“You think I’m boring?” His voice rose with that question.
“I know we’ve both changed. It could be you flipped around in the air and landed in another dimension.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “You’re putting me in the friend’s zone? Just say it.”
“Oh boy, you’re insulted. I’m sorry. I just thought we shouldn’t waste the other person’s time. I appreciate you and that we’ve mended the fences from when we were younger.”
He looked adorably frustrated as his lips twisted and his hand moved from the counter to his lap to run over his thigh. “Anya. I can’t win with you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve moved slower than a turtle through quicksand because of our past. The last thing I want to do is break the trust I’ve been trying to earn back. Now you’re telling me I’mboring.”
