Page 58 of Trouble Me
“Noah, it’s beautiful.” She stood next to her cousin, looking over the large area that would soon be filled with tables for diners to sit and enjoy a meal from the chef she was trying to lure from Atlanta.
Noah gave her a rare, genuine smile. “It did turn out better than even I anticipated.”
She nudged him with an elbow. “Yeah, it’s good even for you.”
“Ha-ha. Everyone’s a comedian. You should take that show on the road, Emma,” Noah replied dryly. He glanced around. “I take it Shane isn’t here. I haven’t seen him for the last couple of weeks.”
“He’s in California right now.” Emma hedged around the truth, even though Noah would never say anything to anyone if she asked him not to. But it wasn’t her place to tell Noah anything. And this was business. Right now, she wasn’t Emma Reynolds, cousin to Noah Reynolds. She was Emma Reynolds, customer to Reynolds Construction and Renovations.
Noah made a noncommittal sound. “I’m looking forward to meeting with him to review what we’ve done. Make sure he’s happy with it. Do you know when he'll be back in town?”
“Lindsey will know when he'll be back for sure.”
Noah raised a brow. “You don't know?”
Emma leveled him with a stare that had him holding up his hands in surrender. After the last time she and Shane had been together, where he told her all about Marlene and they’d played strip poker—and didn’t the memories ofthatjust put a flush on her skin—there had been a shift between them. Shane was not completely closed-off but he also didn’t banter with her like before.
And alone time? They hadn’t been alone together since their rainy weekend spent in his cabin, unless it was at work—a place they agreed was strictly off limits.
“Emma?” Noah’s voice pulled her back to the present.
“What? I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
“I said, I’m headed out. Talk later?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
Noah eyed her with a strange look. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded—it was all she could seem to do—and gave him an over-bright smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Her cell phone chimed in her pocket and she pulled it out, the now-familiar Atlanta number on the screen. She frowned. This broker guy was starting to piss her off. Emma figured if she never called him back, he’d get the picture. But enough was enough. “I need to take this. See ya later.”
She answered as she walked up the staircase toward her office and away from the sounds of construction. “Emma Reynolds.”
“Ms. Reynolds? It’s Tim Ford. How are you today?”
Emma bit her lip to keep her professionalism in check. “I’m fine, Mr. Ford. But I’m still not selling.”
“I have a buyer who’s very interested in your property,” he said as though he hadn’t heard her response.
Emma made it to her office and shut the door behind her, leaning her back against it. “Wait a minute. I was around a lot of construction noise just now. But I could swear you just told me that there is someone who wants to buy my house.”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s exactly what I said. They’re willing to make a very generous offer and want to close within thirty days.” There were a couple of taps of a keyboard from his end. “Oh yes, and the best part is they want to buy it as-is. No repairs needed.”
Emma crossed to her desk and dropped heavy into her chair. “Hold on.” She rubbed her temple with her free hand. She’d either lost her ever-loving mind, someone was punking her, or she’d fallen into the Twilight Zone.
There was no other explanation.
“How does the buyer know what my place even looks like? It isn’t for sale, so I know whoever this buyer is hasn’t seen it.”
“The information was passed along to me by a broker from one of our offices on the West Coast. Hold on, let me see what I can find.”
This was getting stranger by the minute. An out-of-state buyer wanted her house, sight unseen?
“I don’t need to know because I’m not selling.”
“Don’t you think you should know all of the information before you say no?” He rattled off the offer the buyer was making before she could tell him to shove his information up his ass. The number he threw out there made Emma’s jaw drop, and she almost fell out of her chair.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”
