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“You know what they say about assuming,” I mutter. “So how does that work, and why bring me into this?”
Grant shakes his head in frustration and looks away. Time ticks by. When I’m sure he’s not going to answer, I open my mouth to ask about the house we’re parked in front of. He beats me in breaking the silence.
“We grew up together, been through some shit, and it made us close. Overtime, we realized that what we had, it’s more than a friendship. More than just brothers. It’s us three against the world. We’re not exclusive or anything. We’ve seen other people, both men and women, but we always just gravitate back to each other.” Grant pauses, his fingers drumming on top of the steering wheel as he considers what to say next. “We’ve never shared anyone before. We typically don’t have the same type, but you, dollface, you’re different. You’ve become our singular obsession. And, for what it’s worth, I think we’ve found that this obsession isn’t going away any time soon.”
I don’t know what to say to this. It makes sense with everything that I’ve seen and heard but still. Putting it into words puts things into a new light. He doesn’t have to say the word for me to know what brings the three of them together and keeps them close. They love each other. I don’t know why, but this realization causes my heart to melt a little.
Grant is waiting for me to say something. In his gaze, there is some unnamed emotion floating around those auburn colored eyes. Rather than acknowledge it, I change the subject.
“Why are we here, Grant?”
Seemingly content to let the conversation drop, Grant unbuckles his seatbelt. “You’ll see. Let’s go in.”
With that, he climbs out of his truck.
I hesitate before slowly following his lead. After slipping back on my shoes, I open the door and climb out. Just as I slam the door shut behind me, a beautiful woman with bronze skin and dark, straight hair steps out onto the porch. Her business suit, shark-like red smile, and killer heels immediately clues me in to who, or at leastwhatshe is. I start to move toward the house when Grant steps closer to me. He places his hand on my lower back and guides me forward. I shoot him a curious glance and find him wearing a drop-dead gorgeous smile. One I’ve never seen before. I nearly stumble over my own feet at the sight of it. Thankfully, neither of them notice my daze as we take the few steps up to the house.
“Mr. Gipson, I’m so glad to see you again,” the real estate agent greets. She steps closer, and Grant leans forward to kiss her on the cheek.
An unexpected surge of anger shoots up my spine. Before I can analyze where it came from Grant says,
“Rachel, I appreciate you showing me the ranch this evening.” He looks over at me, pushing me forward just a bit. “I’d like you to meet a close friend of mine, Briella Wilson. Bri has a sharp eye, so I wanted her to see the final contestants and get her opinion on this investment.”
I choke back a gasp of surprise.Close friend?A sharp eye? And he wants me to dowhat? I look over at him and he flashes that same jaw-dropping smile in my direction, leaving me speechlessandfiercely turned on.
“You’ll do it for me right, babe?”
Babe?Not dollface? As my mind spins, Rachel turns her attention to me slowly. Her pupils narrow and her smile shifts ever so slightly so that it’s no longer flirtatious, but barely concealed contempt. Oh, so she’s one ofthosereal estate agents. There was one of these agents back in the company that I used to work for when I lived in Cohawk. Mandy slept with most of her clients. Thank goodness most of them were either nearly divorced or single or we’d have had several complaints filed with the company.
It takes me a moment to compose myself. Forcing a tiny smile in Grant’s direction and then at Rachel who is watching me shrewdly, I brace myself to say, “That’s why I’m here,darling.”
Grant’s smile widens as he turns to look back at Rachel. “Now, I know we’ve seen this place already, but let’s pretend that this is our first time. Mind showing us around?”
“Of course.” Rachel spares me one last look before turning all her charm toward Grant. “If you’ll follow me this way, we can start in the office here.”
As we follow Rachel into the house, my mind reels. How long has he been looking at properties? And why a ranch? Wouldn’t a swanky condo work better for a young man? As we step inside the house, I’m hit with a wave of déjà vu. I blink, staring at the pretty coffered ceiling and the wainscoting along the wall. There is a heavy scent of stale air and the dust floating around like a cloud adds to the out-of-date feel to the house, but the wooden floors and the wallpaper are in good condition.
And also vaguely familiar.
“Just inside here, is the office. You loved this, remember?” Rachel says, leading us into a large room with floor to ceiling dark wooden built-ins. The wood floors flow into the room, looking less worn here than in the foyer. “The windows will allow in just the right amount of light all day without it ever being blinding. And we measured the space to double check that a desk, a few chairs and a couch can be put in here comfortably.”
Why does this room also feel familiar? I walk over to the bookshelves as I try to recall where I’ve seen this before. Absentmindedly, I run my fingers over the shelves, leaving a clean trail through the pile of dust left behind.
Without thinking, I ask, “The windows face which direction, north? South?”
“Well, they face northeast but with how the windows are angled, the light from the morning won’t be blinding,” Rachel assures Grant, not bothering to look in my direction.
I hum in quiet disagreement. With where the windows are placed, the room would mostdefinitelycapture all the morning light and leave it much darker during the afternoon and evening.
“Let me show you the rest of the space. It really will suit your needs,” Rachel says, ushering us out of the office.
We follow her into the main part of the house. The place seems huge as we move about, but given the closed layout, you can’t really appreciate the size. It’s also a dark house. Especially with the wood accents everywhere, dark paint, and lack of windows. The kitchen is grand, though outdated. It matches the rest of the place.
As we walk around, Rachel gushes about the property. The flourishing she gives to each room and the history of the house is impressive. A littletooimpressive. Though I can’t be sure, I think she’s making most of this stuff up. But that’s fine. Nothing seems like a downright lie.
While we move about, I can’t help but think about how often Grant’s agent likes to touch him. Especially on his arm and his shoulder. Rachel even grows bold enough to grab his hand and lead him to a game room in the back of the house. Grant doesn’t seem to mind, his smile never falters, and he doesn’t recoil at any point.
If he doesn’t mind, I shouldn’t either.
