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“Not magic. Energy.”
“Same thing. Call it whatever you want, it worked. And now you get your commission.”
“How much did it sell for?”
“Two point three.”
“Asking price?”
“Yes.”
“Then I make…” I do the math. Good thing his hands are on me, because I nearly fall over.
“You’re good at this.”
Being in his arms? Yes. If there’s a gold medal for enjoying being in Will Lotham’s arms, get me on the Olympic team. Stat.
“Have you thought about staging homes for a living?”
“No, Will. I was going back to porn.”
“Better benefits?”
“Free condoms and coconut oil. All the dog toys I can sterilize after a shoot. Can’t get much better fringe benefits than that.” My eyes cut to the right, and down. He’s still holding my waist. We’re breathing in each other’s warm air. One step closer and–
He takes it.
“I can think of lots of benefits I can offer you, Mal. Stay.”
His breath warms my nose. I look up, my hands moving along the fine, hard lines of his arms, over the business shirt he’s wearing, the cotton weave like sandpaper and silk all at the same time. I close my eyes, his breath so close, I can taste his morning coffee, and then we lean into each other and–
“Anyone here?”
Is that my mother? AGAIN?
“Mallory?”
With my dad?
“Do they have some kind of radar for moments like this?” Will mumbles as he pulls away.
Moments like this? So I wasn’t imagining Friday night was a date? That Will is interested in me? Because there’s no imagining this.
And there’s no imagining the horror of my mother’s bangle bracelets jingling the death march of a kiss as she waves at us.
“We thought we’d stop by and see Mallory’s office!” Mom chirps as Will shakes Dad’s hand, then leans against his desk.
And cracks his knuckles.
“How’s that China deal?” Dad asks Will. “The one you left dinner for on Friday?”
“Fine. Big real estate acquisition company buying up some of our West Coast properties.” Will’s voice is crisp and flat at the same time.
Dad lets out a conspirator’s whistle. “Sounds like a solid business deal.”
“Speaking of which,” Will says, smiling at me with pride. “Your timing couldn’t be more perfect.”
“What?” I croak.
