Page 3 of Tempt Me
2.
CHLOE
I learned a long time ago that honesty’s the best policy.
Even if you think a little white lie isn’t going to hurt anyone, think again. Before you know it, that tiny fib has spiraled out of control, and you’re in way deeper than if you’d just been up front to begin with.
I like things simple and clear-cut—which is why I never expected to wind up working in real estate. I mean, realtors? We’re one step above used-car salesmen when it comes to bending the truth. At least, that’s the way my boss likes to play it...
“It’s such a quiet building, no street noise at all.” Marcie smiles brightly, even as a garbage truck rolls past, honking and beeping so loud, you can hardly hear a word. “And the Boston school district is excellent. You can’t think about these things too soon!”
The happy couple at our big open house seems unsure. We’re in a warehouse district with nothing but old buildings and storage units around. “Is it a safe neighborhood?” they ask me, looking concerned.
I pause, reluctant. “Well...”
Marcie jumps in. “Absolutely! Super-safe, and tons of things in walking distance.”
Still, the woman isn’t convinced. “What do you think, Chloe?” she asks me again. “You’ve been helping us look for a while now. I know this isn’t what we asked for, but maybe we need to think outside the box?”
I gulp. Marcie’s standing right there, and she’s told me flat out we need this apartment to sell ASAP, but I can’t exactly pretend that a massive industrial loft space is the family home of their dreams. “I say trust your gut,” I finally tell them. “Buying a place is a huge decision. If you’re not one hundred percent in love with it, then keep looking.”
The couple relaxes. “OK, then this one isn’t for us,” the husband says. He hands the brochure back to Marcie. “Let us know if anything else comes up.”
“Sure!” Marcie ushers them out, all smiles, but the minute they’re out of the door, she turns on me with a scowl. “What the hell was that? You’re supposed to be helping sell this place, not undermining everything I say!”
“I didn’t!” I protest. “You’re always telling clients to trust their gut.”
“Only when I know they really want to buy!” Marcie rolls her eyes. “Or if it’s out of their price range, and I need them to throw out the budget! Honestly, Chloe, you need to learn if you’re going to move up in this business.”
“But I don’t want to lie to them.”
Marcie laughs, like I just made a joke. “It’s not lying, we’re just... massaging the truth. Highlighting the good points. A neighborhood isn’t noisy, it’s vibrant. A house isn’t run-down, it’s got potential.” She sees a new group of people arrive, and brightens again. “Go make sure everyone signs in. And get another batch of cookies in the oven!”
I head over to the front table and make sure to greet everyone cheerfully before heading to the kitchen area. I’ve been working for Fortune & Adler for two years now, a small family agency here in Boston. It was a lucky break to get a job at all: nobody’s exactly lining up to hire a failed ex-ballerina. Without a college degree, it was hard enough just getting through the door for an assistant gig answering phones and fetching Marcie’s lunch. But I worked around the clock for her, then bust my butt studying to get my real estate license. Now, finally, I’m a junior agent—although most days it doesn’t seem all that different, still running at Marcie’s beck and call.
“A beautiful woman who bakes, it’s my lucky day.”
I look up and almost drop the sheet of cookies I’m pulling from the oven. There’s a guy standing just inches away from me.
A hot, drop-dead sexy vision of a man.
He’s got blue eyes and close-cropped dark hair, towering over me with a muscular boxer’s build even though I stand almost six feet in my heels. His face isn’t classically handsome, it’s almost brutish with the angle of an old broken nose, but there’s an animal physicality radiating from his body that makes me blink a moment, lost for words.
Wow.
“Hi,” I finally say, feeling guilty for even thinking it. “Are you, umm, here for the open house?”
“That’s right, love.” If the eyes and the body and that sexy grin weren’t enough, he’s got a British accent, too. Rough around the edges, not crisp and upper-crust.
“Jase Banner. Pleasure to meet you.” He leans in closer and gives me a wink. “And if I play my cards right, it’ll be your pleasure, too.”
I put the cookie sheet down with a clatter. “Chloe,” I manage to answer, and pull off the oven mitt.
Jase whistles. “I take it back. Who’s the lucky man?”
I look down. Fifteen carats wink back at me, a massive pear-shaped diamond surrounded by a dozen smaller stones. I told my fiancé I wasn’t comfortable wearing anything so flashy—or valuable—but he wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.
“His name’s Max,” I say, relieved. “Maxwell Mainwaring.”