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“You can say that again,” the woman says, still looking at me.
She’s laying it on thick. Tamping down my frustration, I jingle the keys in my hand and start rattling off statistics about the property. Number of bedrooms, bathrooms, square footage, the smattering of outbuildings, including a workshop.
Georgia follows me, her heels clacking on the wide paving stones that lead us to the front door. “Is there a view?” she asks.
In response, I take her through the home to the huge windows overlooking the ocean. Forgetting her flirtation, Georgia Neves’s jaw drops. She floats through the room, ignoring the expensive finishes, and stares out at the lawn that falls into the ocean beyond.
We live in a beautiful part of the world. There are old-growth forests all around, with national and state parks protecting the beautiful landscape. Heart’s Cove is nestled on the coast and has recently gained notoriety for being a haven for artists.
Since Candice started dating Hollywood star Blake Harding, I’ve noticed the luxury properties around here have been snapped up too.
Ms. Neves turns shining eyes to me. “This is gorgeous.” Her flirtation is forgotten, and I wonder if she was doing it out of habit more than anything. Maybe she’s as desperate for distraction as the rest of us.
“It is.” I nod.
“I divorced my husband a few months ago, and this is exactly the type of place I’ve been looking for. Somewhere private but not secluded. A cute town, a beautiful landscape, and maybe the possibility of a new life.” For a moment, her face is part sad, part wistful. Then, like a mask dropping, she turns a flirty smile to me, and I know with odd certainty that she isn’t flirting because she necessarily wants me—or any other man. She just wants to forget whatever happened before. “A new life sounds fun, don’t you think?”
“Lucky for you, this place is available.” I smile my best salesman’s smile. I’m a bit rusty because Georgia just tilts her head.
“And you?”
Clearing my throat, I frown. “Me?”
“Are you available?”
Her question shocks me. It shouldn’t, because she’s been giving me the eye since she got out of her car, because I know her interest in me is some kind of fleeting habit designed to distract her. But what surprises me most is the answer I give. “No, I’m not.”
“Shame,” she says, almost to herself. “I’m going to take a look around the rest of this place.”
“I’ll meet you in the kitchen once you’re done.”
She waves a hand and her heels echo down the hallway. Sighing, I make my way to the vast kitchen and pull out my files. If she wants to place an offer on this house, I can get the ball rolling now. I’m still sorting through paperwork when she comes back to the kitchen.
I look up just as she turns the corner, the light from the windows almost giving her a halo. She really is very beautiful. Exactly the type of woman I’d be interested in on a regular day. Fit, unattached, uninterested in commitment. She would be more than willing to have casual sex with a younger man, then let things fizzle out naturally.
So why do I feel nothing toward her?
Every time I look at her, all I can think of is Lily. The way Lily’s dark hair reflects more reddish shades than Georgia’s. How her effortless sundress-and-sneakers outfit turned me on far more than this pseudo-corporate tailored dress complete with stiletto heels. Objectively, Georgia’s outfit should be sexier. But my cock was hard as rock all evening yesterday, and it hasn’t so much as twitched today.
“I know I said I wanted this place, but the layout is all wrong. Do you have any other properties that are similar to this, maybe with an extra bedroom? I’d like a pool, too.”
I incline my head. “Of course. I can have one of my team members call you on Monday with some options.”
“I’d rather deal with you,” she replies, smoothing her manicured hands over her thin body. Too thin, maybe? Lily has more curves.
I shove the thought aside. I’m here to sell a house—not compare two women and dissect why I might be more attracted to one over the other.
Biting back a word of protest—I don’t do much realtor work anymore, choosing instead to manage the agents who work for me—I nod. If she wants a modern, move-in-ready six-bedroom home, plus pool, plus ocean view with this size lot? That’s pushing five million, maybe even more. I can’t afford to lose that sale.
If she wants to deal with me, I can manage a bit of flirtation.
“No problem.” I flash her my best smile. “I’ll be in touch.”
“I hope so.” She winks at me, and I lead her back outside. “You know,” Georgia says, “I think moving here might be the best thing that ever happened to me.”
I smile as politely as I can manage, ignoring the hunger in her gaze. “You wouldn’t be the first person to feel that way.”
We make a plan to talk soon, and I head for my car. Sighing as soon as I’m behind the wheel, I close my eyes and let her drive off before me. The smile that’s been plastered to my lips melts off, and all I feel is exhaustion. Not wanting to go to the office, I head home to start on her file. I have a few properties that might work for her, and I’d like to compile a list of them before Monday. I’ll have to call a few local agents to see if they have any properties that aren’t on the market yet.
