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Blowing out a breath, I steeled myself and swiped off those useless waterworks. Noni once said I should save my tears for a guy who’d be there to wipe them away.
I should be so lucky.
Nico turned onto Waterloo Street, then slowed the car to a near crawl, coasting up a long, narrow driveway before parking alongside a beachfront property.
I took in the elegant, white, two-story home with blue trim, which looked more beautiful than I’d imagined.
A flutter bloomed in my chest when I stepped out of the car. Knowing I’d get to hang out here this weekend made me feel as giddy as a five-year-old on Christmas morning.
“Would you like help with your bag, Ms. Rossi?” Nico’s voice sliced through a chorus of seagulls cawing as he wheeled my luggage over to me.
“No, thanks.” I bit down on my lower lip, giving his offer more consideration—as if one suitcase wouldn’t have been easy for me to handle. “I’ll be okay.”
After I assured him I’d be fine on my own, that the buyer was bringing his own car to get us around east Hampton, Nico reminded me he’d pick me up Sunday night for a ride back into the city.
I watched him drive away, then wheeled my suitcase up the walkway, and once at the front door, entered the lockbox code Margo had shared via text.
As I ventured inside, a soft gasp escaped me.
With its sandy-colored walls accented by nautical decor and shiny Maplewood floors, the open space was jaw-dropping with a rich blend of a dining room, an amazeballs kitchen, and a roomy yet cozy living room.
But the true star of this corporate abode: a ginormous window that unveiled a view of effervescent water crawling toward the shore. I stood, mesmerized by resplendent streams of light sashaying across cerulean-blue swells. The quiet hum of waves had a way of laying life’s problems to rest, even if for a moment in time. Comfy pajamas, a cup of tea, and a hunky hottie’s strong arms—tattooed, please and thank you—snaked around my waist would have been icing on this salty little bitch’s cake.
I freshened up and poked my nose in at least four of the six bedrooms before finding my way back downstairs and into the kitchen. When Margo texted me the lockbox code, she mentioned asking our office assistant to ensure the fridge and cupboards were fully stocked. Sure enough, I discovered pasta, sauce, fresh produce, pastries, coffee, creamer, a case of Pellegrino sparkling water, and wine. Evidently, Margo had planned to bring Prince Charming along for a weekend shack-up until he surprised her with Paris. Ignoring the burn in my throat, I swallowed the rancid realization that, apart from showing houses, I’d be spending the weekend here alone.
Ugh, I hope I remembered to pack my vibrator.
As I set out two Pellegrinos onto the kitchen-island countertop, a knock at the door made me jump.
A quick glance at my watch showed it was already 10 o’clock. “Right on time.”
I padded to the foyer, smoothed down my dress, and took a deep breath. Since joining Dynasty Realty a year after college, I’d sold several houses, more than I’d expected—more than they’d expected me to. Yet, for some reason, the pressure to sell just one this weekend felt like I had something to prove.
You’ve got this, Giana.
Nerves back to their semi-normal state, I opened the door, and…my heart stopped.
Literally. Stopped.
Standing before me was Reed Cortez, hot-as-fire pro-footballer turned celebrity chef.
Cosmopolitan Magazine once called him a walking wet dream.
And I once called him my college sweetheart.
CHAPTER 2
Giana
* * *
He was a one hundred percent clichéd sight for sore eyes.
I silently begged the manic thumps in my chest to slow their roll, implored my eyes not to dry-hump every tall, dark, and delicious inch of him. It was the first time I’d seen Mr. Lava-Hot Baller in a suit—a custom muscle-hugging one to boot.
We flashed wide-ass grins, both likely wondering the same thing: What are you doing here?
Part of me wanted to leap forward, wrap my arms around him for a few lingering beats. Instead, I held back, speaking the first thing that popped to mind. “Reed.”
