Page 68 of Best Offer Wins
“Have I not made that obvious? Come on, all these diplomas on the wall?” I sweep my hand toward the frames hanging off-kilter above the Chesterfield. “I thought you were a smart guy.”
“I know you want the house. I just want to understand, specifically, what you’re asking.”
“Well, I’m not really asking. I already tried that, remember?” I scoot to the edge of my seat. “I’m telling you, Curt—sell me your house, or I tank your career.”
He looks stunned.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because you gave me no choice! But I’m nice enough to give you a very easy one. Sell me the house, for the very generous price of one point three million dollars, and this all goes away. It’s not like I’m stealing from you, Curt. I’m trying to give you almost all of our money.”
He lets out a sigh. “Give me a second,” he says, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m just trying to think this through. How exactly do you envision this working?”
“The way things aresupposedto work. Our agent sends you a contract—today—and you accept it. Easy. Simple. No bullshit bidding wars.”
Curt shakes his head, the panic beginning to show through on his face. “That’s impossible. What am I supposed to tell Jack? He doesn’t know anything about Dottie.” Curt’s eyes start to well. “If he knew what I did to her… if Penny ever found out…”
“That part sounds a lot like your problem,” I say, rising from my chair.
“No, no, wait,” says Curt, standing to meet me. “Please. Just give me some time to figure this out.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Think about it, Margo. You need me to handle this carefully. Obviously Jack won’t want to sell the house to you. I’ll figure out a way to convince him, I promise I will, I just need to take a breath and wrap my head around all this.”
I shift my weight, considering him.
“Just give me until Thursday, when we list, to figure out how toexplain this to Jack,” he continues. “You can make your offer the minute it goes up—we’re posting the house at nine a.m.—and we’ll accept it then.” His eyes drill into mine. “Margo, please. I promise.”
Annoyance stabs into my rib cage. I hate having to concede anything to this daddy’s boy dipshit, but I’m not seeing another option.
“Fine,” I say finally. “But if I don’t get the house, no one does. Fuck this up, and I’ll send everything I have straight to King’s College. London will be over for you. You’ll have no reason to sell the house at all.”
Curt nods. “I understand.”
I turn and walk out.
25
I’m mixing a batch of Manhattans when Ian gets home. His blue button-up looks particularly rumpled, but maybe I’m only imagining that.
Has he showered since this afternoon? I force down a wave of nausea.
When he bends to kiss me on the cheek, I inhale deeply, an airport security dog trying to detect the deception. All I pick up is Old Spice—he must’ve reapplied. It’s almost impressive, the lengths he’s gone to cover his tracks. I underestimated him.
“How was your day?” I ask, calm and casual, giving the lid that’s been holding in all my hurt and disgust a few more turns.
“I’ve had better,” he says, taking one of the cocktails from me. “There’s just a lot going on right now.”
“With the river case?”
“Yeah.” He takes a healthy gulp. “It’s turned into a real monster.”
He has to be talking about her.
I stroke Ian’s arm with one hand and pick up my coupe glass with the other. “I’m sorry to hear that. Why don’t we have these on the couch and unwind a little?”
I snuggle in, curling my feet under my butt and angling toward him. I could hoist myself over his lap right now—he’d love it at first—but then I’d squeeze my hands around his throat while I straddled him. I’d watch his excitement turn to confusion, and then horror.
