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“I’m starting to think this isn’t about me, my caliber, or the house. No,” his tone plunges with suspicion, “it’s something else. You’re a terrible liar, Linden; always have been. This… this is somehow about you.”
Too bad I can’t bluff worth a damn either, but it’s not from lack of trying. “There is no pretty shade of paranoia, Knox.” I tsk. “Why, how, would this possibly be about me? I just know it’s not a good investment for you, that’s all. So, now that we’ve covered boring, monotonous, and more boring, as well as any conversation in history I’d say, and I’ve got some actual work to do, are we done here?”
“You know all I have to do is call another realtor and book a showing, right?”
“Do whatever you think you need to, Knox. I’m hanging up now. Have yourself a great day.”
****
The rest of my less-than-stellar day flies by, and I have the nerve to finally take a deep breath, picturing the finish line… but it was just another set-up— a sadistic play of the fates to lull me into a false sense of comfort— and let my guard down.
I should’ve known.
I’ve literally got my finger on the trigger (in this case, the light switch) ready to end things on a high note and beeline to a hot bath… when Louise’s equally exhausted voice comes over the intercom.
“Miss Dean, I have Knox Morgan for you.”
Nope, not a chance in Hell I’m walking into another trap of a phone call like the one earlier.
“Thanks, Louise, but I’m headed out for the night. Can you send him to voicemail, please? I’ll get back with him tomorrow.”
Or not. Maybe not ever. Who knows? I probably will. My bitter, resentful hurt runs deep, but my debt runs deeper.
“I’m sorry, Miss Dean, but I meant… he’s here to see you.”
“Son of a bitch,” I groan.
“I’m gonna tell her you said that,” Knox’s smug quip echoes through my office.
Fanfuckingtastic. Seem to have forgotten that the intercom works both ways.
Even if I try sending him on his way, not only will I just be wasting more of my time and energy, but he’ll simply wait for me at my car. Or worse yet… show up at my apartment. There’s no escaping him tonight, so I officially toss down my white flag…. and purse.
“Go ahead and head home, Louise. I can lock up. Have a good night.”
“You too, Miss Dean. Thank you.”
I say nothing more and force my feet to move, flopping down onto my office couch.
And wait.
He knows his way back here.
