Chapter 1

Ornate spires dotted the skyline before us, but my client seemed more intrigued by my physique than the view.

"Many refer to it as ‘The Holy City,'" I explained, hoping to redirect my client's attention. "Did you know there are over four hundred churches on Charleston's peninsula?"

"Sure, sure," he waved me off without glancing out the window.

"The steeples just add to Charleston's timeless charm," I continued. "Don't you think?"

He barely nodded.

The penthouse offered a sweeping view of the iconic steeples of Charleston, yet my client wouldn't stop ogling me.

He motioned to my blonde locks. "Is your hair color natural?"

"Mm-hmm. If you look out this way," I motioned to the window like I was one of the briefcase girls from Deal or No Deal. "You can see the historic harbor," I continued.

I practically pleaded with him to focus on the stunning view before us. His constant, unwarranted gawking was becoming tiresome.

He cleared his throat and lifted his gaze to the window.

Finally!I gave myself a mental high-five.

"Very nice, indeed," he murmured.

"Is there anything else you want to see before we wrap this up?" I asked.

"What I want to see doesn't apply to this penthouse," he winked at me.

I gagged. Literally gagged. But I tried my best to conceal it with a fake cough.

My visceral reaction didn't faze him. He asked, "Shall we get drinks to discuss this further?"

I felt like I was in a living hell, but the smile on my face didn't falter.

"I have another meeting I have to run off to," I explained in a cheery tone. It wasn't even a lie.

I always felt uneasy turning down a client, or any man. Not that I would ever accept a client's advances, but saying no to a man could be dangerous—like, actually dangerous.

"I'll walk you out," I suggested.

"Fine," he muttered.

I breathed a sigh of relief when he allowed me to guide him out of the penthouse and into the elevator. However, the enclosed space felt even more intimate. I meticulously counted each floor as we descended. It seemed like an eternity before we finally arrived at the ground floor, but it was only thirty seconds.

"Why don't you ponder over the penthouse for a few days?" I suggested once we stepped out of the elevator. "We can touch base then."

"I don't need a few days. It's pretty cheap," he boasted. "I'll take it."

Cheap?

When men couldn't flex with their looks or wit, they turned to money.

I wasn't exactly complaining, though. A sale was a sale.

"I'll have my assistant, Noah, contact you. He can help you start the paperwork and get your offer to the seller as soon as possible."

"You won't be overseeing the paperwork?" he asked.

My client looked disappointed.

And it made me appreciate my assistant even more than I already did.

"My plate is full right now." I feigned disappointment, but I wasn't disappointed in the slightest. Relieved was more like it. "I'll be there at the closing to finalize the process. I can promise you that!"

Usually, I would manage the entire process from the showing to the closing. If a man gave off extra creep vibes, I let my assistant, Noah, take over. He was still finding his footing in real estate but was an incredible assistant. He knew how to handle the paperwork and initial offer and how to handle creepers even better. Mr. Gawker wouldn't see me again until closing day, when at least three other people were in the room.

As a reward for his selfless sacrifice, Noah would receive a generous bonus from the deal.

"Fine," the gawker spat out. His face contorted from a sly smirk to a scowl, his eyes narrowing in anger.

It was the expected shift of demeanor after rejection. One moment, a man's charm shines like the sun, and the next, you're shaded by his dark cloud of bitterness.

"It was so nice to meet you," I fibbed and extended my hand to him.

A chill shot down my spine as his thumb traced small circles on the back of my hand. My fingers were trapped in his clammy grasp, unable to escape. Each rotation of his thumb felt like a slimy insect crawling over my skin until I finally was able to pull away.

"The pleasure was all mine," he said before we parted ways.

My client set a record for how many times I had to suppress my disgust in a single afternoon. The mere thought of spending another minute in his company was unbearable. His lingering gaze alone left me longing for a shower. But with my packed schedule, there was no time for such indulgences.

I had places to be and other clients to see.

"Call Noah," I commanded my Bluetooth in my car.

"There she is!" Noah squealed through the speakers. "I was starting to wonder if I needed to rescue you."

"I was starting to worry that you would have to," I admitted. "He was awful."

"Please tell me it was worth the misery," Noah begged.

I sighed for the dramatic effect.

"Oh no, what happened?" he asked.

Noah and I were a force to be reckoned with, both natural-born drama queens. Our personalities were larger than life, yet somehow, we complemented each other perfectly.

"He said he'll take the cheap place," I told him.

"Cheap?!" Noah gasped.

"Yeah, according to him, two million is a drop in the bucket."

"Sounds like he's compensating for something."

"You have no idea," I laughed. "Actually, you will soon. He's ready to do the paperwork if you don't mind getting him started. Either this afternoon or first thing tomorrow would be best."

"Kenna, this is my job," Noah reassured me. "Of course, I don't mind."

I secretly hoped that Noah would never want to become a licensed real estate agent. He was far too valuable to me as an assistant, and his pay reflected his value. Even though I hoped he would stay with me forever, I would support whatever path he decided to take. I just hoped he would choose to take the path by my side. A girl could be hopeful.

"I'll text you his contact information," I said. "I'm headed to Sullivan's Island to meet the Moores. Wish me luck!"

"You don't need luck," he insisted. "Go get ‘em, girl!"

My next showing was a beachfront property, and luckily, I was meeting an older couple. I knew they would nag me with questions, but that was preferred. I would rather spend hours with them answering their questions than another minute with Mr. Gawker.

I greatly preferred my married or single female clients. Women were pickier and, therefore, more challenging to sell to, but at least they listened to my spiel. They wanted to hear about the marble tile in the bathrooms and the oak hardwood floors. It was an exciting challenge to sell to them.

The only challenge single male clients provided was escaping them. I spent more time evading their pursuit than showing them the properties.