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“Minus the cats. But seriously. That’s a huge accomplishment. You should spread the word.”
“Well, that’s the problem,” I say, pausing.
“What is?” He eyes me.
I look at him, unsure of what to say. Benjamin is literally a ROCK STAR. He performs on stage for hundreds of thousands of people on a regular basis. He has groupies who camp out in front of his house. He talks to the media constantly. He’s used to seeing his face splashed on billboards. In short, he’ll never understand.
“You know what? Forget it,” I say with a shrug.
“No way! What’s the problem? You’ve got a book coming out. Great news, right?”
“Right, but then there’s this whole book launch…” My voice trails off.
“Yeah?” Benjamin looks at me, confused.
Iknewhe wouldn’t get it.
“And a book tour,” I go on, “and readings and signings and photo ops and video interviews and social media posts and blog tours and podcasts and—”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Benjamin cuts me off as my voice escalates, gently laying a hand on my shoulder to calm me down. “Okay, okay, so you’re not a fan of the publicity stuff, I take it?”
“You could say that,” I reply with a smile.
He gives my shoulder a soothing squeeze.
“Well, you know, I could help you with that. I mean—” Benjamin starts to talk but is cut short by the doorbell.
Ding-dong!
“Shit!”
Benjamin’s face transforms from a look of confidence to a look of fear.
“That’s the realtor, I think,” I tell him.
“You know the drill, Lace,” he says, diving into the closet.
I can’t help but giggle at the sight of him hunched up in there as I shut the door firmly behind him.
Ding-dong!The doorbell rings again. I swing the door open to reveal a prim-and-proper real estate agent. Her short blonde hair is cut into a sleek bob, and she’s clad in a pale pink Chanel skirt suit. She’s wearing sky-high heels on top of it all.
“Miss Kincaid?” She asks sharply, taking in my casual getup.
“That’s me! You must be Madison Harper?”
“Agent Harper,” she corrects me.
What is she with the FBI or something?
Without waiting for me to invite her in, Madison strides inside, her heels clicking on the front hall’s floor way. “Quite the place you’ve got here.”
Somehow, when she says it, it doesn’t sound like a compliment. I ignore the comment.
“I was hoping you could give me an estimate of what you think it might sell for,” I tell her, following her as she marches into the living room, peering around. “I’m going to fix it up first, of course,” I say hurriedly, as I notice her skeptically eyeing the torn hole in the living room ceiling. “But some kind of estimate would be great. I’ll then have a better idea of how much is reasonable to spend on renovations.”
“I see,” Madison says, as she continues on her tour through the house. “Well, you can start by fixing that missing front step. I nearly broke my neck as I walked up.”
She keeps talking as I trail after her, going from one room to the next.
