Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Holy shit,” he shouts as soon as he exits his car, and I turn, sure he’s taken aback by the absolute beauty of the house like I was the first time I saw it in person. Every detail of the property and house was designed to look like it belongs on the cover of a magazine. From the ten thousand dollar arched front doors to the wildflower garden beds and backyard with views of a private golf course from the infinity pool.
Which is probably why it’s been featured in one of Nashville’s most popular catalogs more than once and why they assumed they would be able to sell it without much trouble.
But it turns out the larger company who had the listing before me wasn’t giving the house or the owners a lot of attention, which made them feel forgotten.
That’s when they decided to give me a shot, something I’m seriously thankful for because if I can get this place sold I will not only make a killing in commission, but I’ll also potentially get more clients in this neighborhood and that could be huge for my business.
“It’s nice, right?” I ask, glancing at the house, and he quickly looks over his shoulder at it before shaking his head.
“Yeah, it’s nice, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Cohen put out a statement today.”
“What?”
“He says there was never a woman, that everything was made up to build a buzz around his band’s new album.”
He hands me his cell phone, and I glance down at the screen and quickly scan the news article he has pulled up.
Holy shit, he did it.
He takes his phone back and reads from the story. “I’m still looking for the kind of love I wrote about on the album and believe it exists.” His head lifts, and his gaze locks with mine. “Do you think he heard about that crazy woman trying to shoot you and now feels bad about it?”
“No,” I say immediately, because even though I trust my friends, no one knows about Maxim talking to Cohen except my parents and the men who went with him, and I’d like to keep it that way. “Or I don’t think so. It wasn’t even on the news.” And it wasn’t, which was actually surprising, but then again, there are probably shootings all the time that don’t make the news.
“Well, whatever his reason, I’m glad he did it.” He takes the shopping bag from me. “And from what Kirk said, women are going nuts, and their album is doing even better than it was.”
“Good for them.” I let us into the house and head for the kitchen.
“Are you okay?” He stops me before I can start unloading the groceries I brought. Looking up at him, I tell him the truth as I smile.
“Better than I’ve ever been.”
“When do Kirk and I get to meet the guy who makes you smile like that?”
“Soon.”
“I can’t wait.” He leans down to kiss my cheek then asks, “Do you need any help in here, or are you good with me working outside?”
“Go work,” I urge, and with a nod, he heads to the back door, pausing to look at me over his shoulder with his hand on the handle. “This house really is fucking awesome.” He grins.
“I know, right?” I grin back, then watch him step outside as I get to work, and it takes me over an hour to get everything just right.
I toss some premade cookie dough into the oven, because honestly there is nothing better than walking into a house that smells like someone has been baking. I set out a cheese and cracker tray along with some small bottles of water, refresh the flowers the owners have around the house, make sure the pillows are fluffed, beds are made, and that there are enough brochures out for everyone to take one with them. While I work, Matt hangs out by the pool on his phone, probably talking to his clients, then around noon when the house is full of realtors with their clients, he takes off to do some work, leaving me on my own but promising to come back if I need him.
With the constant flow of people in and out of the house all day, the time flies by, and before I know it, I’m putting what is left of the cookies I made into a Ziploc bag, gathering up the signup sheet and realtor cards left behind, and putting it all into my bag before shutting off the kitchen lights. I head through the house to the front door, making sure everything is as it should be, then grab the key and lock box from the entryway table and go outside.
As I turn to lock up, I catch a black car drive around the circular driveway out the corner of my eye and sigh, because even if I want nothing more than to get home to Maxim and Binx, I’m sure that it’s probably the owners coming home. And without a doubt, they’re going to want to see how the day went.