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“It’s Dante. Mr. Helgard is too formal.” He smirked. “I’ll see you when you get here,” he added before ending the call.
Myla let out a low whistle. The same way her father would do when he was thoroughly impressed with something.
“Windsor Wellington. Not too shabby for a scammer, h’uh?” Myla asked as she looked at the sour look on Miranda’s face.
“That’s nearly an hour away. Look, I already said all I needed to say about Dante Helgard. I know what I know, and you refuse to believe me. Whatever happens now is on you,” she remarked.
Miranda knew that Myla was no longer paying her any attention. She was too focused on the sight of homes as massive as college campuses. She refused to see anything other than what she wanted to see when it came to Dante.
The moment Myla slowed the car in front of a home that had to be no less than 6,000 sq feet, Miranda cringed at the smile on her friend’s face. As the headlights illuminated Dante, Miranda knew nothing she said from this moment would matter. Miranda knew the only thing she could do now was sit back and watch the destruction. Let the games begin, was her final thought as she watched Myla exit her car.
7
“How did God make a man this damn fine?” Myla asked lustfully as her headlights beamed on Dante as he stood beside his Audi A4.
Myla took in everything about him. He was not quite 6’0”, more like 5’11”, 200lbs of pure muscle. The slim-fit chocolate French-cuff shirt that he wore highlighted every muscle in his arms, shoulders, and chest. If she hadn’t seen the collar of his shirt, she would’ve assumed he was standing outside bare-chested.
Her mouth watered. Dante had informed her that he’d be sitting in his car to avoid the cold. He had obviously changed his mind. As if he knew she was staring, he smirked as he stood with his right hand tucked into his pocket, Newport between the index and middle finger of his left hand.
“My God! Even his bad habits are sexy. I wish I was putting something in his mouth,” Myla blurted as she watched his fingers go up to his full lips.
Miranda looked at Myla and bit her bottom lip. She could feel, Bitch, stop thinking with your pussy, trying to escape her mouth. Lust had blinded Myla. She couldn’t see what she would normally spot so clearly.
Everything about him was a lie. When he called, he claimed to be freezing. Yet at this very moment, he stood outside in 30-degree weather as if he wasn’t bothered by the cold temperature. He was not shivering or rubbing his arms to stay warm. In fact, Miranda could’ve sworn that she saw wisps of steam rising from his body.
Unease made goosebumps rise on Miranda’s skin. Yes, Dante had asked them to bring the key. But something about being at this home, in the wealthiest neighborhood in Lavern County, didn’t sit well with her.
“Myla, I don’t think we need to be here.”
It was now Myla’s turn to swallow her words. She was annoyed; instead of saying what she wanted to say, she said,
“What are you talking about? Why would there be a problem with us being here?” she asked as she sucked her teeth.
“Bitch, look the fuck around! Stop acting stupid. Every single home in this neighborhood is lit the fuck up. I just know their electric bill is going to be damn near $2K. This neighborhood looks like Kevin McCallister’s house in Home Alone. Every single house looks like a postcard. Every single home except this one. This house is pitch fucking black. There isn’t even a Ring doorbell light. That doesn’t seem strange to you?” Miranda asked.
The genuine concern she had for their safety was apparent. But Myla couldn’t care less. The only light she was concerned with was the headlights shining on the finest dark chocolate man she’d ever lay eyes on. Instead of opening her mouth to answer Miranda, she opened the car door and walked toward Dante.
“I see you found my home with no issues. Thank you for bringing my key, Myla,” Dante said as he pushed off his car and took steps toward Myla’s trembling body.
Pulling her in for a hug, he bent down and kissed her forehead, then her lips. Myla’s knees buckled. This was the second time that he had literally knocked her off her feet.
“I know you and your friend have things to do. I could only imagine the arguments between the two of you for having to drive nearly an hour just because of my negligence. I apologize for this, but thank you for coming,” Dante said.
Myla couldn’t speak. His pillow-soft lips on hers had left her speechless. She had watched him drop his cigarette when she exited the car, but the scent of cigarettes could not be detected on him. This man was just too perfect. Clearing her throat, she found her voice and began to speak.
“It was no problem at all. Miranda is always down for a ride as long as she’s a passenger princess,” Myla lied.
There was no need to tell him that Miranda believed him to be the spawn of Satan and had even threatened to jump out of the car if she didn’t turn around. No, there was no need to give him that information.
“Your home is beautiful. Maybe someday you could give me some tips on becoming a successful real estate agent, and I can close my practice. I get tired of dealing with the craziness of addiction and mental illness,” Myla joked.
She loved everything about her career. There was something so relaxing about helping her clients untangle the threads of chaos that lived in their brains, and for no reason would she ever give that up.
“Oh, so you think being a realtor is easy, huh? The more money the client has, the more difficult, cheap, and childish they behave.”
“I can believe that. I don’t know why wealthy people believe they can be arrogant and rude. So, is that why you’re doing the job of several professionals? I didn’t know realtors wore so many hats. I didn’t know it was ethically possible for realtors to be appraisers and home inspectors.”
Myla looked at him, not just in his eyes, but in his body language. She’d be able to tell if he was lying. She was clinically trained to spot a lie. She wanted to see his nonverbal cues: diverting eyes, fidgeting, wiping his mouth, or a simple smirk. She saw none of it. Dante held her gaze and spoke honestly.
