Marie Harte - Closing the Deal

“ Don’t hang up .”

“I’m sorry. What?” Sydney Fields fiddled with her cell phone and cast a worried glance at the doorway. Her client was due to show up at any minute. “I’m working right now, so you can just—”

“Damn it, don’t hang up. I’m trying to apologize!”

“Don’t worry about it. As far as I’m concerned, it’s done. So if you could just—”

“I didn’t agree with Brittney. I had no idea what the hell she was even talking about. I wasn’t listening. Christ, I broke up with her six months ago. I just wanted to get her off my ass and away from our table before you came back from the bathroom. But she wouldn’t leave. Woman was clinging to me like a freakin’ vine.”

Sydney forced herself to keep her cool. She could handle Derrick Warren. She’d been handling him for three months now. Three long months spent talking, flirting and laughing over the phone with the man of her stupid dreams. She’d seen him once or twice, but not for longer than it took to say hello or goodbye. He was so handsome, and he’d been so charming. Sydney, a woman who didn’t do relationships, had considered making an exception for him. Too bad he’d turned into a complete ass on their first—and last—date.

Gritting her teeth, she tried again. “I will not have this discussion with you.” I’m a mature and level-headed adult. My temper has nothing to do with my hair color.

Brian Goode, her client, suddenly appeared in the doorway. Just her luck.

She held up a hand. “I’ll be right with you.”

“Who the hell is that?”

As if he had the right to ask her anything. Sydney took a breath, searching for calm, and tried again. “I’m working right now.”

Her client took a step back, giving her privacy to finish the call she shouldn’t have answered in the first place.

“Working on my last goddamn nerve,” Derrick muttered. “Come on, Sydney. You’re hot, smart and funny. We both know you could kick Brittney’s ass if you really wanted to. Hell, it took us three months just to get to dinner. At least gimme a chance to make things right.”

All she heard was last goddamn nerve and her infamous temper got the better of her. She turned in her chair, away from the doorway, and whispered harshly, “I have a life that doesn’t include you, Derrick Warren. Don’t call me again. My fragile ego and fat ass can’t take it.” She disconnected the call, muted her phone and shoved it in a drawer out of sight. Turning to the doorway, she saw her client standing there, his expression even. She couldn’t tell if he’d overheard her or not.

Please tell me I used my indoor voice. If not, time for some damage control. “Mr. Goode, I apologize for the delay. I shouldn’t have picked up that call, but I thought it might have been an unlisted buyer who’s been trying to reach me.”

“Call me Brian.” He sat in the chair across the desk and studied her for a moment, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a smile. “Fragile ego?”

Sydney blushed. At least he hadn’t repeated the bit about her fat ass. “A bad date gone horribly wrong. Unfortunately, he won’t stop calling me.”

“I can’t blame him. Men are suckers for an attractive redhead.” Brian smiled, and a dimple appeared at his cheek.

Though Sydney wasn’t into blonds—or men at the moment—she could see making a future exception in his case…once she sold him a house. “You’re a charmer.” She smiled, enjoying the focus of an appreciative man. “Now I hate to change the subject, but you did tell me you were on a schedule.”

“Unfortunately.” He sighed and checked his watch. “What have you got for me?”

Sydney showed him pictures of several potential homes, high-end residences that her client could well afford. Single, wealthy and handsome. He had to have the crazy gene tucked away under that charm. No woman, or man, would let a guy who looked this good on paper stay single.

After an hour spent answering questions about the market, exploring the option of buying property to build on versus a finished home, and miscellaneous questions on the city in general, Sydney wrapped up their meeting.

“I can’t tell you how nice it is doing business with you,” Brian said as he stood, his papers in hand. “You’re very knowledgeable. You definitely live up to your reputation.”

“Thanks, Brian.” She walked with him into the small but classy lobby she and her partner had decorated and nodded at the listings she’d handed him. “Let me know if any of those interest you and we’ll go out and take a look at them. In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye out for anything I think you’d like.”

He smiled and took her hand in his. His touch felt warm and firm. Even his skin had a nice peachy glow.

“I’m in good hands,” he murmured, slowly extracting his palm from hers.

She fisted her hand and lowered it to her side, still unsure of the signals he seemed to be sending. “Ah, thanks?”

He laughed and walked toward the door, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll call you later. Thanks, Sydney.” He stopped, turned and winked. “And for the record, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with your ass.”

She watched him leave, not sure what to think. That she couldn’t ignore. He was interested, but he was also a client. Sydney never mixed business with pleasure.

Considering the last man she’d been out with had let some bimbo all but call her a cow, Brian’s attention buoyed her self-esteem. Sydney didn’t have the best track record with men, but she’d never before had issue with her self-confidence. That she’d allowed herself to feel demeaned because she’d wanted so badly to impress Derrick Warren bothered her more than anything.

She’d been born with a wealth of auburn hair that framed her face to perfection, according to several of her past boyfriends. Her blue eyes had been compared to sapphires and her skin to pearls. She had curves she showcased in stylish dresses and designer outfits, as well as jeans that accentuated her toned legs—courtesy of a strenuous workout routine she couldn’t afford to miss unless she wanted a fat ass.

Thoughts of Derrick Warren made her see red. For that Neanderthal to let that plastic doll of a blonde insult her… Her temper rose, and she forced herself to stop thinking about him. So what if he was one of the most attractive men she’d ever seen, that her libido went into overdrive whenever she laid eyes on him and that her best friend would soon marry his brother? He was a jerk, a macho headcase who thought he could juggle two women at once.

Screw Derrick Warren. Stalking back into her office, she unmuted her cell phone, conscious she couldn’t ignore her work just because of one man. She deleted the messages he continued to leave on her phone and set her ringer to identify his calls—what she should have done a week ago. The minute Loser by Beck, played, she’d know it was him.

Satisfied by her clever, if less than mature, response, she returned to work. Houses sure as hell weren’t selling themselves these days.

Derrick Warren stared at his phone in disbelief. “She won’t answer. The damn woman is ignoring me.”

His brother shrugged. “I told you not to take her to Sundance. You knew Brittney and her friends hang there.”

“Gimme a break, Gage. That place serves the best steaks in town. Besides, we’re all adults. How was I to know Brittney Adams would be there that night, or that she’d have a mental breakdown? She never acted like that when we were dating. Hell, she seemed fine when we ended things.”