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3
Bella
I’ve never been able to play the banter game. I’m the girl who thinks of a comeback five minutes later and curses myself for not being quicker on the draw.
So although I’m not a mean-spirited person, I kind of want to high-five myself for that jab at Carmelo. The man is even better-looking in person than the blown-up version plastered around the city for millions of people’s viewing pleasure.
“Yeah, right.” He puffs out his hard chest a bit, trying his best to put on that smile he probably practices in the mirror every day.
“Oh sorry.” I shrug as if I couldn’t care less that I hit a sore spot.
The elevator opens and I step in, praying he doesn’t follow.
Of course, he does follow. He’s a fighter. That’s his reputation. I might not know Carmelo Mancini, but I know of him. The rumors—the good and the ugly. He’s well known in this city, in this industry.
“Tell me, Ms. Scott, why did you choose this building for your office?” He crosses his arms, his blue eyes searing right into my green ones.
“Miss,” I clarify.
“Really?” He arches a brow.
I hold up my left hand. “Not married.”
“Yeah, I figured you were probably divorced.”
My mouth is so wide open, a hippo could slide in unnoticed. But I know the way men like Carmelo Mancini work, and I don’t want him to know he got a reaction out of me, so I snap my mouth shut. He didn’t assume I was divorced; he assumed I’d be some nightmare of a wife no one could stand.
“You should do better research, I guess.” I give him a saccharine smile.
His gaze bores into me as though he thinks that will intimidate me. “You were a real broker once upon a time. Why go FSBO?”
He knew of me? I’m surprised. Back in the day, I was a very small fish in a massive ocean of killer sharks.
“Tired of the game? Money upfront?” I shrug. “There’re a lot of benefits to switching gears.”
“You wanna talk money? Maybe we should compare paychecks at some point.”
This man seriously wants me to stab him in the eye with my pen. Let’s see how sexy his billboards are after eye surgery.
The elevator dings and I breathe in relief that the elevator didn’t get stuck. That’d be my luck.
“Well, it’s been enlightening meeting you.” I step out into the building’s lobby.
He follows me. “I think we should set some ground rules.”
I laugh, opening the front door and stepping out into the beautiful late spring day. It’s gorgeous out, and I plan on grabbing a sandwich and spending an hour in Central Park. It’s the one day a week I refuse to work through my lunch.
“Call my office and schedule an appointment.” I walk down the sidewalk.
“Pretty sure your calendar is wide open. Let’s figure this out now.” He walks alongside me, flicking his wrist to check the time.
Hopefully he has some dire meeting to get to.
I stop at the street corner although I briefly debate if getting hit by a cab is better than talking to Carmelo Mancini.
I tilt my head and blow out a breath. “Listen, I’m sorry about Mr. Henderbrook. It was never my intention to steal him. He overheard a conversation in the elevator and approached me. I know it must look bad, but I’m not the type to steal clients.”
His sour mood dissipates slightly for a moment. “Still. Let’s agree that neither of us will hand out cards in the elevator.”
