Chapter 14

K evin Farmer was trying to be sleek. The suit, while nice, wasn't properly fitted for him, and the slick haircut was a bit too salon-fresh. His wide posture, dominant, didn't have any natural variance—something he was deliberately putting on. His wife, who he'd been the one to spurn, going and living in luxury while fucking women left and right must have done a number on him.

He was an attractive man, warm-hued skin with light brown hair and a strong jawline, a bit of stubble giving him a mature look, but the artificiality stank.

Plus, his shoes were scuffed. Who got a nice suit and had the guts to go with oxblood shoes, but didn't even look after them?

"Mister Farmer," I said, gesturing him to the couch. "Please. Have a seat."

He looked between me and the sofa. "This your lounge? I don't think I've ever seen an office with just a sofa."

It's because a couch is less likely to spontaneously break was probably not the move. "It's making a point," I said. "I don't want people to feel stiff and formal working with me. It's harder to be stuffy when you're sitting on a couch. I'm sure you can tell from the linen upholstery. Do you want a drink? The café in the lobby downstairs is good."

He sank slowly into the sofa, moving too carefully. Self-conscious. I wasn't even on his radar—he was just thinking of how he came across.

A flare of jealousy hit me like a hot knife, even though it didn't make any sense. He was technically Cameron's husband, and what did he really have to impress her, anyway?

Talk about ridiculous. I pushed the thought away. Picturing Cameron reciting her vows to him made my throat tight.

"I'll be all right," he said. "Listen, I wanted to talk about my wife—"

"Cameron, yes, she's lovely. We've found a few properties she's really liked, and I'm excited to see where we end up getting her to call home."

He frowned. "Listen, I know this doesn't sound good, but… she shouldn't be doing this."

I pretended I hadn't seen it coming from miles away, raising my eyebrows and sinking back in my chair. "Shouldn't be doing what? Buying a house right now? The market's good at the moment, especially in new luxury developments."

He pursed his lips. "It's not about the market. Or anything about right now. She shouldn't be buying something in this budget range. She's going to regret it."

I made a show of relaxing, smiling. "Oh, I get it. Honestly, I think it's commendable you're trying to stand up for your wife's happiness. And I completely understand your concerns—it's obviously a big purchase."

He frowned. "Listen—"

I put a hand up. "I just want to reassure you that we aren't sleazy used-car salespeople. Long-term relationships and word of mouth are everything in our business. Buyer's remorse is something we avoid as much as possible at our firm, and even if it comes to that—which it always does sometimes—we have a whole program to get someone out of the one they moved to and into something better suited. Especially with the developments Cameron's looking at, they're only going to appreciate in value, so she won't lose anything from doing it even after factoring in taxes and fees."

He leaned forward, planting his hands on his knees. It could have been a powerful posture, but it stank of insecurity, forced and unnatural. "Listen, I think I know Cameron better than you do. She knows how to convince people—and herself—that she wants something. But I know her. And I know she doesn't want this."

I frowned, looking through my tablet, scanning nothing, making a show of looking like I was taking his concerns seriously. "Well, you certainly are close," I said. "I heard you had a destination wedding? Where was it?"

He gave me a wary smile, forced and twitching in one corner. "France. Provence. It's where her family is from."

Fucker getting to marry her in French lavender fields. No idea where that kind of reaction had come from. I pushed the thought down and made myself smile. I knew it was forced, but he wouldn't notice, just worrying if I noticed him forcing a smile. "That sounds gorgeous. I assure you I want her to have the right space for her. Have you talked to her about this?"

I might as well have put a pin in the guy's ass. His whole demeanor shifted, suddenly on the defensive, and he moved to sit differently, tugging at the cuff of one sleeve. "Of course. But she gets this… this kind of thing into her head. Listen—I'm not a controlling person. I just know she gets carried away. I care for her. I want to help."

"I'll talk to her about this, then." I was able to give him a more sincere smile, one to defuse the pain point I'd just jabbed. "Thanks for letting me know how you're feeling. You can keep in touch with my office anytime you want to send any further developments my way."

He studied me a while longer before he narrowed his eyes, and something lurched in my stomach at the reversal—his whole posture changing, the artificial look dropped from his face, and his jaw set differently. "What have you and Cameron been doing?"

And here was the switch. Poor Cameron had probably gotten so used to it she didn't even register it as something to worry about. I met the challenging posture, leaning forward, folding my arms on the desk. "We've been touring properties, Mister Farmer. The regular approach we use for all our clients. I'm not pushing anything on her. I understand your concern, but you don't need to judge our methods without having seen them."

He scowled. The deflection didn't work. "You're her agent? Do you go with her alone to the properties?"

"María Gonzalez, my boss, has accompanied me too. She's also trained in sensitively approaching clients and not using any heavy-handed methods."

He stood up, and he took two solid strides over to the desk. My heart suddenly hammering, I tapped my phone under the desk, calling Ruth and immediately cancelling the call. Kevin put his hands down on the desk, leaning towards me.

"What did you say your name was?" he said. I smiled lightly, gesturing to the plaque.

"London Sinclair. Please, just call me London, though."

"London. Huh. Yeah. I'll remember that." He narrowed his eyes. "Don't do anything you'll regret, London."

I was a calm, level-headed person, and I never lost control of what I was saying in a negotiation. There was a reason I was good at what I did. So I didn't recognize the sudden spike of burning-hot anger, and I was caught off-guard when I heard myself saying, in that perfect little angel voice I brought to my negotiations, "Don't throw away anything you want to keep, Kevin."

His eyes flared. My heart hammered, but hell, I didn't even regret saying it. I didn't care how unreasonable it was. I wanted the man to try throwing a punch just so I could have him dragged out—maybe get in one of my own.

He balled his fists on the desk surface. I smiled wider, injecting just a touch of the venom I had bubbling under the surface, and—it was then that a knock came from the door, and Ruth pushed inside.

"Hey, London," she said, looking between us. "Sorry to interrupt. María needs to see you for something urgent. Can you wrap this up in a second?"

"We were just finishing," I said, standing up. "Mister Farmer, thank you so much for coming in today. I'll talk to Cameron about this and make sure we're not pushing too hard with anything. Would you like me to walk you back to the exit?"

He gave me one last glare before he stepped back, putting on the awkward smile again before he looked at Ruth and back to me. "No, I think I'll be okay. Thanks for hearing me out. And remember what I said."

"Mm-hm. And same to you, Mister Farmer."

He left the room walking strangely, like he was controlling a body he wasn't used to. Ruth watched him go before she gave me a concerned look, and I sank into my seat.

"Thanks," I said, voice softer.

"It's what I'm here for." She shut the door, coming over next to me, a hand on my arm. "What was he doing?"

I waved a hand idly in the air. "Cameron… her husband. They're separated, but don't tell anyone. He made her promise never to live too lavishly or buy anything too expensive. He called things off with her, but when he found out she's signed up with us on such a big budget, he's been haunting her. Apparently he decided to come for me too."

"Oh, I fucking knew it," she said, dropping into the couch. I raised my eyebrows.

"You knew about him harassing her? That they were separated?"

"Don't play dumb with me. You—" She pointed at me, and with a crack, the clasp on her bangle broke, and it popped open and fell on the floor. She let out an exasperated groan, picking it up. "Fucking hell. Always in your damn office, London. You have ghosts in here?"

"Sadly, I haven't choked out Miguel and hidden him in a cabinet yet, so no."

She shoved the bangle back in her bag, turning to me with a tired look. "Real talk, London. Be straight with me. You're fucking her."

I paused. "You mean… Cameron Mercier?"

"Who else, María?"

"I'm not sleeping with the client."

"Bullshit. You've been too different since you've started with her. And taking a day off with no notice? To charm her?" She shook her head. "Not to mention, for such a supposedly difficult client, you're damn confident. And I know you. If you're that confident, it's because you have the chance to close right in front of you, so why the hell aren't you taking it?"

"You think maybe the reason I don't take time off is because when I do, people theorize I'm fucking my married clients?"

She sighed hard. "I'm not going to tell anyone or tell you how to live your life. Just… be honest with me. Especially if you've got her husband harassing you now, it's a matter of your well-being."

I pushed out a smile. "Thanks, Ruth. I really don't know what to tell you, though. It's not like she isn't attractive, but I've had attractive female clients before. I can keep it in my pants. Thanks for getting Kevin off me. Now, is there anything else, or can I get back to work?"

She studied me a while longer before she stood up, her expression tart, and she pulled an envelope from her bag, dropping it on my desk. "Miguel asked me to give this to you and not let you know it's from him."

"Son of a bitch," I muttered, picking it up. It was light—just a piece of paper inside. "Think I should toss it?"

"Might as well read it. If he's threatening you with some shit, we can bring it to María and get something done about it."

"I don't want to rock the boat." I set it down with a sigh. "I'll look at it later… thanks, Ruth."

"You hide from reality all the time, or is it just while I'm looking?"

That one stung. I pursed my lips. "I'll look at it as soon as you're out. I just want to be alone."

"You'd better damn well read it. And let me know if he's pulling something, okay?"

"I will," I said, watching as she turned and left, and—despite the temptation out of spite alone to just toss the letter, I opened it. Not even a piece of paper—a single note card inside, scrawled in handwriting that looked distant enough from Miguel's handwriting I wouldn't have been able to see through it if Ruth hadn't told me.

Find another job.

I sighed, folding it up and tucking it away on my desk. He needed to up his scare factor. This was borderline cliché.