Eight weeks is only the beginning...

The moment Leila Amis meets her gorgeous new boss, top Miami Realtor Nicolas Adrian, she’s headed down a road of no return. When their explosive attraction culminates in a night of intense passion, she proposes a brief fling that must end when Nick leaves town in just eight weeks. But on the eve of his departure, he turns the tables...and their clandestine affair ends in bitter regret.

A year later, Nick still feels the pain of Leila’s rejection after he asked her to move to Manhattan with him, only to have her vanish from his life. Now he’s back with an irresistible offer in the magical city where Leila runs her own boutique real estate agency. As they give in to long-suppressed desire, Nick’s plan to win her back is threatened by a professional rivalry. With even more at stake this time around, can he seal the deal and make Leila his forever?

NADINE GONZALEZ was born in New York City, the daughter of Haitian immigrants. As a child, she was convinced that NYC was the center of the universe. But life has its twists and turns, and eventually she landed in Miami. She fell in love with the people, the weather and the unique mix of cultures. Now this vibrant city has become her home and muse.

Raised on a steady diet of soap operas, Mills & Boon romances, music, movies and classic literature, Nadine hopes to infuse her novels with her diverse influences.

A firm believer in work-life balance, Nadine is a lawyer, but also a fashionista, political junkie, art lover, amateur illustrator, wife and mother. You can reach out to her on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.

Also By Nadine Gonzalez

Exclusively Yours

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Exclusively Yours

Nadine Gonzalez

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08273-0

EXCLUSIVELY YOURS

© 2018 Nadine Seide

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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They walked quickly along the hedge-lined path, as though being chased. Along the way, they were serenaded by the sound of water spouting from the mouths of marble cherubs, gushing down waterfalls and swirling into lazy lagoons. It wasn’t enough to calm her. This wasn’t an aimless stroll. His pace was deliberate. Nick was searching for a place for them to hide together, rather than from each other. They stumbled across a coral-rock grotto with a narrow opening that let in a splash of moonlight. He pulled her inside.

She wiggled her hand free. “We could’ve talked outside.”

He took a step, wandering deeper into the cave, marveling at it. “No, we couldn’t.”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, Nick. I’ve changed.”

“Are you sure? It’s only been a year or so,” he said, facing her now. “You look the same.”

“I’m sure.”

She stepped back and found there was no ground to gain; the cave was wide but shallow. Nick closed the gap between them.

The past echoed in the enclosed space. Light of my life.

“Nick.”

His tone softened. “Come on, Leila. It’s me.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Miami, the city that is always hustling. Blame the heat, sticky humidity, clash of cultures or rise of the sea levels, but Miami is a city in a constant flux of renovation and expansion. Miami Dreams is a two-book series set in the world of high-end real estate. It features young professionals eager to secure a part of that multimillion-dollar business.

The women are smart, unquestionably ambitious and unapologetically sexy. Like the city itself, they have a Caribbean flair and hot tempers. When they meet the objects of their desire, their hearts combust.

The men are career driven and unstoppable until, of course, love brings them to their knees.

I hope you like it here as much as I do. Come to play, or stay and fall in love.

For notes on writing, illustrations and mood boards, follow me on Facebook at NadineGonzalezNovelist.

To lasting love!

Nadine

For Ariel and Nathaniel, my loves. You make my life beautiful.

Acknowledgments

For my parents, who have always encouraged me to work hard and strive for excellence.

For Ariel, who made this dream come true.

Thank you, Dominique, Murielle and Martine, my siblings, for all the laughs. You make life fun. Warm thanks to Martine, best little sister and most loyal friend anyone could have. And thanks to my cousin Pascale and my dear friend Sarah for believing in me from the start.

Thanks to the vibrant local writing community and the amazing writers I’ve met at the Miami Book Fair workshops: Roxanna Elden, Natalia Sylvester, Terrence Cantarella and A. J. Hug, who have helped shape the early drafts of the “real estate” manuscript. #MiamiWrites

Finally, I am grateful to the editors at Kimani Romance—Shannon Criss, for her expert guidance, and Keyla Hernandez, for discovering, nurturing and championing my work.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Acknowledgments

Prologue

PART ONE

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

PART TWO

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

Extract

Prologue

Leila was ready for a night at home, fuzzy socks and Chardonnay, when a friend called with an irresistible offer. “I can get you into the Vizcaya event. Raul Reyes is hosting. Interested?”

Reyes was a local real estate mogul. He owned everything. In Leila’s line of work, he was king. Getting on the list was a coup, even for her friend Sofia, an event planner with seemingly endless contacts. Still, Leila hesitated. “I don’t know. Are you going?”

“Can’t,” Sofia said. “But I’m pretty sure you can.”

“And what? Go by myself?”

“Sí, amiguita. You’re old enough. Put your big-girl panties on and go network like a boss.”

Leila sat on the edge of her bed. She fought the urge to crawl under her sheets.

Sofia was relentless. “Do I have to remind you how terrible your last quarter was?”

“No, you don’t.”

Since opening her agency nine months ago, Leila was stuck in the low-rent market, helping college grads find one-bedroom condos and getting newlyweds into starter homes. After a dismal holiday season, during which she’d had to take a cash advance from her AmEx card to give her one employee a bonus, she was at the end of her rope.

“You should be thanking me. What else do you have going on this weekend?”

“What weekend? It’s Thursday.”

“It’s Miami. The weekend started eight hours ago.”

Later, as she stepped from the shower, Leila strategized. She’d get in, canvas the place with business cards and get out. Hit and run. She brushed her coffee-colored hair and swept on lipstick with a sure hand. Her bedroom window let in very little sunlight, but tonight it framed a perfect full moon, the first of the new year. It called for more daring. She stood naked in front of her open closet and wondered when she, a third-runner-up Miss Naples USA, had become the girl who’d rather stay home with cheap wine than go to a party alone. I mean, come on!

She reached past her collection of standard little black dresses for a red lace dress so delicate it bordered on lingerie. It was tucked into the back of her closet, part of a forgotten wardrobe from a time when she’d dressed to look sexy instead of smart—a habit that had only landed her in trouble. Funny enough, the red dress was one of the most conservative of the lot. It was time to get her mojo back. Time to get noticed.

* * *

Things were well under way by the time Leila made it to Vizcaya. She entered the villa through an arched doorway and fell in awe. Despite living her entire life in Florida, this was her first visit to the private residence turned museum. She’d expected tasteful elegance, not this riot of gold leaf, tile and mosaics. But she loved it and suspected Marie Antoinette would’ve felt right at home.

She ventured out to the grand terrace and camped near a cigar-rolling station. A band was setting up. The guests came together, mingled and broke apart in a well-choreographed dance. Waiters in fedoras and white guayaberas paid homage with their uniforms to Cuba, Reyes’s birth country. And, surprise! All the extravagance was to celebrate the publication of the mogul’s first book, A New City: 7 Strategies for Urban Development. The cover featured a photo of Reyes dating back to when he’d had a full head of black hair. Copies were piled on bar height tables everywhere. Some served as makeshift coasters.

Leila spied a white-haired Reyes holding court in a remote corner, his young, pretty, third wife at his side. She knew better than try to approach him.

A familiar-looking brunette peeled away from his entourage. Leila looked to the sky, trying to remember. Paige... Paige Conner. They’d met at a charity fundraiser Sofia had forced her to attend. Was Paige in marketing or accounting? It didn’t matter. The king was inaccessible. A royal subject would have to do.

Moving quickly, she caught up with the brunette at the bar. Paige was chatting with a bartender with dimpled cheeks. Leila approached and, from a limited selection of red and white wines, ordered a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Then, relying on her even more limited acting skills, she turned to Paige and cried, “Don’t I know you?”

Paige looked up, blinking in confusion. “Sure,” she said hesitantly, “we met at that thing, right?”

She appeared to be playing along out of courtesy or pity. Leila swallowed her pride and pushed forward. “Yes, that fundraiser thing.”

The bartender served their drinks. Paige had picked red. Raising her glass, she dismissed Leila with a polite smile. “Good seeing you!”

Leila scrambled to keep the conversation going. “I’m just glad to see a familiar face. I don’t know anyone here.”

Paige took a healthy sip of wine and asked, “But you’re having fun, right?”

“I’m not here for fun.” With no time to waste, she got straight to the point. “I was hoping to meet Reyes. I’m dying to work with him. The man is a visionary! He practically created the Design District. And that new building downtown...wow!”

Paige squinted. “What do you do again?”

“Wait one second.” She pretended to search her tiny purse for a business card and feigned relief to have found one. “Here you go.”

“‘Leila Amis,’” Paige read. “‘Licensed real estate broker.’”

“That’s me!” She sounded like an idiot.

“Okay. I know the deal,” Paige said wearily. “You want me to pass this along?”

“That would be great.”

“I’ll try to get this into the right hands, but the sales team has a rock-solid lineup, so...”

“I get it,” Leila said. “And, thanks.”

Paige dismissed her with a wave of the hand, turning her attention back to the bartender. Leila happily melted into the crowd and headed for the villa.

One down. One hundred to go...

A waiter approached with a tray of mojitos, each cocktail glass stuffed with mint leaves and garnished with a sugarcane stick. Leila gladly exchanged her traditional wine for the more exotic drink. Spanning the elegant loggia, she caught her reflection in a massive gold-framed mirror. She looked good, her brown skin shimmering in the light of the chandeliers, her eyes brilliant with excitement. What a confident party crasher! She looked like she was actually having fun. Using the mirror to spy on the crowd, she sipped her cocktail and searched for her next target.

That’s when she thought she saw him.

No big deal. He’d appear in crowds, only to vanish at closer inspection. Leila was used to it. He still lived in the ruin he’d made of her heart.

She glanced over her shoulder and the usually fleeting impression held. That chiseled face softened by a wave of brown hair... Who else could it be?

Standing only feet away and flanked by two admiring women, he towered over a small group. Leila’s reaction was physical. A cramp in her gut. When she spun around, the confident woman in the mirror was gone, replaced with someone new but sadly familiar. Her instincts told her to run.

She took off, slicing through the crowd on her way out to the terrace. The band started up, playing a languid bolero. Couples came together under the full January moon—a moon that now appeared to be mocking her.

What’s he doing in Miami?

The answer was irrelevant; she’d always known this day would come. But when she’d dreamed up scenarios in which they ran into each other—an airport terminal waiting to board international flights, a fabulous party very much like this one—she’d always managed to keep her cool. And now she looked around, disoriented, damn near hyperventilating. She’d reached the edge of the terrace. A vast, formal garden stretched out before her, drenched in darkness.

Taking a minute to weigh her options, Leila noticed something stuck to the sole of her stiletto. She checked. It was her business card stained red with wine.

Really?

It had been a mistake to come here. She had to get out. Fast. Maybe he hadn’t seen her? Maybe she could sneak out?

“I remember that dress.”

The long rope of “maybes” swung uselessly in the air around her.

“Please, I don’t want a scene.”

“Then you shouldn’t have worn that dress.”

Arrogant as always! She swiveled to confront him, waving her empty cocktail glass. “What are you even doing here?”

Nicolas Adrian. Once one of Miami’s top brokers, he’d forfeited the title when he’d moved to Manhattan. That should’ve been the end of him.

He took the glass from her and set it on a nearby stack of books. “I’m here. No reason.”

Leila felt betrayed. All those expensive, guided meditation classes she’d taken had been for nothing. The universe should have sent her a warning.

He extended a hand. “Come with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“We can have it out right here, if you like?” His tone was unyielding. She had a glimpse of the man she knew well, the tough negotiator. “I don’t care who hears us, but I bet you do.”

She gave up the fight. It was that easy. “You get five minutes.” Taking his hand felt as natural as slipping on the dress.

Nick guided her down the stone stairs leading to the garden, which turned out to be a world unto itself. They walked quickly along the hedge-lined path, as though being chased.

Along the way, they were serenaded by the sound of water spouting from the mouths of marble cherubs, gushing down waterfalls and swirling into lazy lagoons. It wasn’t enough to calm her. This wasn’t an aimless stroll. His pace was deliberate. Nick was searching for a place for them to hide together rather than from each other. They stumbled across a coral rock grotto with a narrow opening that let in a splash of moonlight. He pulled her inside.

She wiggled her hand free. “We could’ve talked outside.”

He took a step, wandering deeper into the cave, marveling at it. “No, we couldn’t.”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, Nick. I’ve changed.”

“Are you sure? It’s only been a year or so,” he said, facing her now. “You look the same.”

“I’m sure.”

She stepped back and found there was no ground to gain; the cave was wide but shallow.

Nick closed the gap between them.

The past echoed in the enclosed space. Light of my life.

“Nick.”

His tone softened. “Come on, Leila. It’s me.”

Oh God, yes. She closed her eyes, all her late-night fears confirmed. He had only to say her name and her resolve turned into confectioner’s sugar.

Nick moved closer and threaded a hand through the high slit of her dress, brushed her thigh.

He had no right to touch her that way. Why wasn’t she fighting it?

The truth rose around Leila like floodwater. Her posturing was a ruse. All along she’d been actively plotting her capture. A fish seeking the fisherman’s net. He was the man who’d once called her his prize. And tonight, despite everything, she wanted him to win.

Leila drew him to her and kissed him full on the mouth. He tasted like mint and sweet cane.

Nick came alive. He pressed her into the cave wall and ran his palms over her body, rediscovering familiar terrain.

She’d expected him to take her by storm, to invade her. But his touch was unhurried, deliberately slow. He knew he had her.

The scent of wild orchids and damp earth enveloped them. She was water, the bay at high tide. He was rock, the one obstacle she could not overcome. He gathered the soft lace of her skirt. She eagerly unfastened his belt. He grabbed her hands and whispered in her ear, “Tell me what’s changed.”

Leila had no answer. She let him take her, the rough surface of the wall biting into her back. Over the distant party music she heard him groan, heard him murmur her name over and over until her moaning took over, filling the cave.

PART ONE

Chapter 1

Leila had not—not at all—set out to be the girl who sat at her desk pining for the guy in the office with a view. She had big plans and her own reasons for taking the job at Kane & Madison Realty. But that’s exactly the girl she’d turned out to be. The transformation happened on a bright summer morning, a year and a half ago, on her very first day on the job.

To shake off the jitters, Leila slipped out of her North Miami apartment at dawn for a quick run. Keys and pepper spray in hand, she sprinted along upper Biscayne Boulevard. She was hounded by a feeling that her tightly sealed world was about to crack open. It didn’t make sense—a job was a job was a job, after all. If it didn’t work out, she could always go back to retail.

She made it home, out of breath and still very anxious. The small apartment was quiet, her roommate asleep. After a quick shower, she studied her reflection in the steamy mirror a long while. She hadn’t slept well and it showed. She swept on concealer then bronzer to liven her matte brown complexion. Much better. Her pageant days were behind her, but the tricks of the trade were hers for life.

Then, on impulse, she did the thing she rarely ever did except under exceptional circumstances. She pulled a wooden box out from under her bed. Inside, among several keepsake items, was a sparkly but flimsy tiara. She placed it on her head and studied her reflection again. She was ten, a little girl playing dress-up. A skinny, awkward child, she’d longed for grace, poise and a smile that could bankroll her dreams of escape. All she’d ever wanted was to escape her sleepy hometown in the outskirts of Naples, Florida, and create a new life, a big life, somewhere exciting. Over a decade later, she still wanted those same things.

You can do this.

She placed the tiara in the box and the box under the bed.

In the kitchen, Leila filled a travel mug with coffee and skipped breakfast. She was as antsy as a child on the first day of school and, in her pleated skirt and Mary Jane pumps, very much dressed like one. She’d never had an office job and her wardrobe proved it. I’m out of my element. No! I’m finding my way. She glanced at the oven clock. And I’m wasting time.

* * *

From the outside, the Brickell Avenue high-rise was sleek and modern. Inside it was sterile with marble floors, leather seating and paintings of palm trees bending to hurricane-force winds. Or was this true of all office buildings? Up until a week ago, she’d worked at Bal Harbour Shops. When she thought of the designer boutiques, koi ponds and actual palms trees, this place fell short. But if she wanted a fresh start, this was where she needed to be.

Leila followed the manager past a row of offices, hiding her disappointment with a careful smile. Jo-Ann Wallace wasn’t fooled by her performance. The sharply dressed woman pointed to an open cubicle fitted with a steel desk and ergonomic chair. A window offered a view of a parking lot spread wide like an asphalt lake. “This is yours.”

“Oh, nice! A window.”

“The better views are for the top associates. Speaking of which, we hired you to work with one of our best. He comes to us from headquarters in New York and travels there often. Part of your job will be to keep him up to speed when he’s away. Come. I’ll introduce you.”

Jo-Ann took the lead, head high, so proud of her position of gatekeeper to the throne. Leila fell one step behind. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she was wrong for this job. Was it too soon to quit? Was it quitting if you hadn’t worked a day? Oh, enough! She willed herself to snap out of it, whatever “it” was. At an age when most girls stayed home battling acne, she’d stared down panels of judges wearing nothing but a bikini and a pair of heels. To now be intimidated by these office drones? Ridiculous.

The nameplate on the door adjacent to her workspace read Nicolas Adrian, Associate. Determined to make a good first impression, she smoothed her hair and squared her shoulders.

Jo-Ann raised her hand to knock, but stopped at the sound of laughter on the other side of the closed door. Mr. Adrian was apparently having a good old time, engaged in a lively telephone conversation that might or might not be work-related. He followed statements like “I had a great time last night” with “Is that really your best offer? Can’t you come higher?” Leila focused on the voice. Low in tone, smooth and without the hard snobbish edge she’d grown accustomed to with the patrons of Bal Harbour Shops. It immediately roped her in.

“He sounds nice,” she said.

Jo-Ann frowned. “The associates are sharks. There’s nothing ‘nice’ about them. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

There was nothing “nice” about Jo-Ann, either.

The door swung open. Both she and Jo-Ann jumped back, confronted by a pair of inquisitive inky-blue eyes. Nicolas Adrian filled the doorway. He wore a beautifully tailored navy suit with a starched white shirt open at the collar. His golden complexion betrayed a devotion to the sun. If he was a shark, Leila thought, he was a Great White.

“Good morning. How can I help?”

Jo-Ann stretched her neck to confront him. “Nick, meet your new assistant, Leila Amis.”

Ignoring Leila, he asked, “What happened to Monica?”

“You know what happened to Monica.”

“I really don’t.”

Jo-Ann maintained a firm silence during which Leila tried to connect the dots. Had Jo-Ann switched out his assistant without him knowing? Did she think he wouldn’t notice? His frustration with the woman was clear. Leila wanted to grab him by the shoulders and force him to acknowledge her. But when he did turn his gaze to her, she wasn’t prepared, and very nearly stumbled backward.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to be rude.”

Maybe this was her way out. “If there’s a problem, I can go.”

“No!” the two cried in unison, finally agreeing on something.

“There’s no problem. It’s all sorted out,” Jo-Ann said. “You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”

“Leila, it’s nothing personal,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll get along.”

He said her name as if he’d always known her. And she knew his type. Nicolas Adrian was a flirt—a gorgeous, blue-eyed flirt.

“Go ahead and get settled,” Jo-Ann said. “You’ll be in training most of the day.”

Leila scurried off to her desk, adjusted the seat and found a cubby for her purse. The top drawer was stocked with office supplies. She grabbed a pen and a pad with the agency’s uninspiring logo: a Welcome Home mat.

Note to self, she wrote. That man is trouble.

* * *

After that initial five-minute meeting, she didn’t see much of her new boss. Jo-Ann had her shadow a few other assistants for quick one-on-one training sessions. That whirlwind desk tour gave her insights into the office dynamics. Jo-Ann was treacherous. Emilia, the receptionist, was a gossip... Nick, Tony and Greg were the youngest and coolest associates—the Big Three... A female associate? She quit... Greg gave the best holiday gifts... Tony was cheap, but worked hard.

“What about Mr. Adrian?” Leila worked up the courage to ask during the two o’clock coffee break. While one woman stirred a small amount of espresso into a whole lot of sugar, they all responded. The opinion was mixed, ranging from high praise to the down and dirty.

“You mean Nick? He can do no wrong in my book. He’s a saint. Saint Nicolas!”

“He’s no saint, and I’m willing to prove it. All I need is five minutes alone with that man. Make it ten.”

Still others had an ax to grind. “How would I know? Monica kept him all to herself.”

Late in the afternoon, she was at the reception desk learning the complexities of the telephone system—“...and to transfer calls press 7”—when her earlier fears returned. Would her plan work? Was she staring down a future based on how aptly she could transfer a call?

Then he showed up. For all his lauded virtues, he looked like the devil in a bespoke suit. Saint Nicolas, my ass! There was something about him that magically erased her emotional browser history. Ex-boyfriends, old crushes, broken hearts: delete. There was just him standing there, looking squarely at her.

Emilia, true to her reputation, was hanging on his every word. Not that he said much.

“Leila?”

“Yes.”

“I’m heading out. See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Mr. Adrian.”

A pause. “Okay. Don’t call me that.”

And then he was gone, out the double-glass doors heading toward the elevators. Emilia tugged on Leila’s sleeve. “Girl, you lucked out.”

* * *

On the drive home, Leila didn’t feel so lucky. Had she won the lottery of bosses or inherited a colossal clusterfuck? What was the deal with Monica, anyway? No one would say. Nicolas Adrian couldn’t be any more attractive. Just thinking about him made her hot. So much so, she switched off the struggling AC and rolled down the windows of her Mazda roadster for much needed fresh air.

As she pulled into her building’s parking lot, Leila caught sight of her roommate, Alicia. A few months ago, Leila had confidently responded to her Craigslist ad, figuring a female college student was a safe bet. She hadn’t been wrong. Working on a graduate degree in social work at Barry University, Alicia spent most of her time there. Leila knew she was heading to class now and wouldn’t be back until late.

“Hey,” Alicia said. “How was your first day on the job? Learn anything?”

Leila stepped out of the car. “I learned how to transfer calls. I’m an ace at it.”

Alicia snickered.

A firm believer that women in general, and women of color in particular, should stay in school and earn every degree possible, she’d practically begged Leila to go back to college. “You’re too smart,” she’d said. “There are dumber people than you working on PhDs.” But Leila had been convinced that she’d strayed off the conventional path and was too far along to find her way back. Besides, she owed it to herself to follow her instincts.

“And how’s the boss? The typical jerk?”

“Oh, no,” she said without thinking. “He’s butter on toast.”

Alicia shifted under the weight of her backpack. “High in carbs and trans fat?”

They shared a laugh before Leila said, “Warm and delicious.”

“Yeah,” Alicia said. “But really, really bad for you at the end of the day.”

We’ll see, Leila thought, skipping up the stairs leading to their third-floor apartment.

* * *

A half hour later she woke from a dream where Don’t Call Me Mr. Adrian had her naked on his desk and she was purring, “All I need is ten minutes.”

Heart racing and covered in sweat, she sat up on the couch where she’d dozed off fully dressed. She brushed her hair out of her face and absently unbuttoned her blouse, tossing it on the carpet floor. Am I going to be able to work with this man?

The answer came swiftly. You can and you will.

Really, what choice did she have? If she quit one more thing, she’d officially be crowned Ms. Quitsville USA.

Chapter 2

That evening Nick met with Monica for dinner. Losing her had been a blow—a blow from which he’d fully recovered once Leila had shown up. Had he gained something better? That question left stones of guilt in his gut and kept him from relaxing in Monica’s company.

They’d chosen a sushi restaurant close to the office. Monica had put some care in her appearance. Her red hair was styled in crafty spiral curls. She was proud and wouldn’t want him to feel sorry for her.

“Listen,” he said, cutting through the small talk. “I made a few calls. I might’ve found you something.”

He placed a business card on the empty square plate before her. She snatched it up. “A nonprofit?”

“I know, it’s not—”

“No. It’s great.”

“Lower pay.”

“Better hours, typically.”

“Okay, then.” Since having her twins, time was more valuable than currency. “Give them a call. They’re expecting you.”

“Thanks, Nick,” she said. “I’m going to miss you.”

Her green eyes were glassy with tears. Feeling unsettled, he asked, “Sake or beer?”

“You know me. Beer.”

When their waiter came around, Nick placed their orders, happy for the distraction. Then she asked, “Are you going to miss me?”

“How can you ask me that?”

For all intents and purposes, Monica had been his partner in crime. And it bothered him that, consciously or not, he’d shelved her in the past.

The waiter returned with their beers and a wooden bowl of edamame. Monica reached for a pod and sucked on it, murmuring something about sea salt. He sipped from the bottle as a new silence settled between them.

“I heard the new girl started today.”

He nodded. “I gave Jo-Ann hell.”

“I heard she’s pretty enough.”

“Who are you talking to?”

“Just answer the question.”

“You didn’t ask one.”

The waiter returned with Miso soup as Monica glared at Nick from across the table. “I’ll admit it. I don’t like to be replaced. And to hear that you’re gushing—”

“Come on, Money...”

The pet name worked like magic. She relaxed and dropped the subject.

“I’ve got to get back to work.” She picked up the large soup spoon. “Daytime TV is the worst. One court show after another. I didn’t pull the kids out of day care, you know. I figured—”

Nick ignored his soup. He couldn’t drop it. “Who said anything about gushing? I’m being nice. She’s a sweet girl.”

Monica looked confused for a while and then dropped her spoon and exploded. “Oh crap, you’re crushing on her!”

Now he knew she really needed to get back to work. She was making this into a soap opera. “I don’t know what they told you—”

“I can’t say too much without revealing my sources.”

He already knew her sources. “Don’t bother. It’s all bull.”

“I don’t work for you anymore, so I’m going to go ahead and be honest.”

“When have you ever held back?”

“You’d be surprised.”

He laughed. “What’s your take? You think I fell in love in a day or something?”

Monica’s gaze narrowed on his face. “Who’s talking about love?”

She had him there. “No one.”

“But you think she’s beautiful.”

Nick didn’t think it. It was a fact. His thoughts ran to the moment he’d opened his door and found her there, packaged like a gift in that flirty skirt and heels. Arguably, it was an odd choice for a first day on the job, but he’d loved it. Those legs, that skin... He wished they’d met under different circumstances. He’d have enjoyed getting her out of those silly clothes.

Monica cleared her throat. She was still waiting for an answer.

“I think she’s gorgeous.”

Monica shot up, raising her fist in victory. “I knew it!”

Nick tapped his foot against the metal leg of the table, waiting for her to settle down.

She took a sip of beer and composed herself.

“Monica, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Want to know what I think?”

He looked at her, unguarded, waiting.

“I knew you’d fall hard for someone someday. You’re not the player you think you are.”

“That day is not today, babe.”

“I hope so,” she said. “Chasing some girl around a desk is not your style. Plus, you need more than an office wife.”

“You mean a second office wife. My first wife walked out on me and married a nice guy.”

“I was fired. Don’t rewrite history.”

“More romantic my way.”

“Promise you won’t do anything stupid.”

“I worked with you and you’re the sexiest thing around.”

“I wasn’t fishing for a compliment, but thanks. I needed to hear that,” she said. “Still. I think you should be careful.”

“What do you think’s going to happen?” He asked because he really wanted to know. How was this going to play out? Leila would be there tomorrow and the next day. And he wasn’t about to change. His sexual life had never been about self-denial.

“Nothing will happen to you,” Monica said gravely. “But Jo-Ann will drum that girl out of K & M so fast she won’t know what hit her.”

Chapter 3

Sharks move constantly, Leila observed her second day on the job. Nicolas Adrian arrived late and left early, wheeling a black, hard-shell suitcase behind him. “I’ll be in New York the rest of the week. See you Monday.” Leila was relieved. It gave her a full week to get settled and to focus on her training. But then he returned sooner than expected. Early Thursday, she heard him down the hall, swapping stories with Tony and Greg.

Simply hearing his voice caused Leila’s pulse to skip. She told herself it was natural to be nervous, her hands trembling as she tidied her desk. She dumped a half-empty cup of yogurt. Beside her keyboard was a framed photo of her in full pageant regalia posing next to her aunt Camille, a Diana Ross lookalike. A stranger might mistake them for mother and daughter based on their similar broad smiles alone. Leila grabbed it and tucked it in a bottom drawer.

When he finally rounded the corner, followed by the other two, her desk was tidy but her emotions were a mess. Her eyes rushed to his face. Nicolas Adrian was a striking man. The hard lines of his face could turn off the romantics and the dreamers, but those blue eyes certainly could turn them back on.

“Hey there, Leila.”

“Mr. Adrian. Good morning. You’re back early.” Her voice was weak, betraying her.

He rested a cup of Starbucks coffee on her desk. “For you. I don’t know how you like it, so I improvised.”

She reached for the cup. “It’s fine. Thanks.”

“Just tell me what you like. For next time.”

“Milk. Sugar.”

“A latte, then.”

To save money Leila had avoided Starbucks, brewing coffee at home. Miami’s party scene was pricey. She spent enough on cocktails every weekend and didn’t need an expensive coffee habit, too. If a latte equaled coffee plus Coffee-mate, she’d be fine.

“I’m not picky, Mr. Adrian. Whatever works.”

“Stop calling me that.”

Damn it. She needed the buffer that formality provided. She needed that shield. This was his second warning, though, and she’d have to stop. “Okay. What do I call you?”

“You know my name.”

Her grip tightened around the paper cup and the heat seared her fingertips. The group moved into his office. Before the door closed behind them, she heard Tony say, “Your new girl is hot.”

Nick’s quick response was cutting. “Back off.”

She didn’t see much of him after that. He’d left for lunch at noon, called in a few times, but never returned, which was fine because she had to recover from that brief morning exchange. The next day, Friday, he made an appearance around three. Instead of saying, “Good afternoon. How are you getting along? Do you have any questions?” He gestured for her to follow him. “We’ve got a new listing.”

She grabbed a pad and pen and trailed after him. This marked her first time in his office. The walls were bare except for matted and framed bachelor’s and master’s degrees in business administration; the first from University of Toronto, the second from NYU. Leila thought of Alicia—“Get a degree! Any degree!”—and felt sick. She focused on a bank of windows showcasing the chaotic mess on Brickell Avenue. The gridlocked traffic looked like a parade of luxury cars.

Nick handed her a sticky note with an address scribbled on it. “I want this property photographed right away. Call Chris Hopper. His number is in the master file. Tell him to meet me there around four, if he can.”

“And if he can’t?”

“Call that other guy. No, call Suzanne. She does good work.”

Leila returned to her desk and frantically scrolled through the master file, an elaborate spreadsheet of Monica’s creation. Chris Hopper agreed to the appointment. Nick was on his phone when she popped in to tell him. He mouthed, “Great.” Soon thereafter, he came out with keys in hand.

“Ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“A site visit.” He glanced at his watch, a sleek Patek Philippe with a black-lacquered face. “Or is it too late? I never asked. Do you have kids? Monica couldn’t stay late, either.”

Even as he talked, Leila stood and shrugged off the cardigan she wore to keep warm in the chilly air-conditioned office. The cotton knit fell weightlessly to her chair. Underneath, she wore a sleeveless mini-dress.

Was it her imagination or had his eyes faithfully followed her every gesture?

She grabbed her purse. “I don’t have kids.” And I’m not Monica.

“Then let’s go.”

From the reception desk, Emilia waived them off with a wry little smile. And while they waited for the elevator, Leila explained that no one had told her she’d have a chance to visit properties or do anything other than answer the phone and manage his calendar. She was grateful for the chance to get out on the field, so to speak.

“It helps if you know what I’m working on,” he said. “I make most of my decisions on site.”

The elevator opened. Nick pressed G for garage.

“Don’t worry. I’m very flexible.” The doors slammed shut. Nick studied her with those keenly perceptive eyes but said nothing. She felt the need to clarify. “Meaning I can work long hours.”

“Sure.”

They rode in silence. A FedEx deliveryman joined them on the ninth floor and got off on the sixth. When they were alone again, Nick said, “Leila is an uncommon name.”

“It means ‘born at night.’”

“Were you?”

She nodded. “Midnight.”

“The bewitching hour.”

She smiled. “Clever.”

“Amis is French, right?”

She nodded. “You know that because you’re from Canada.”

“And you’re from Florida’s west coast.”

“How do you know?”

“Your résumé says you went to school in Naples.”

“You’ve read my résumé?”

“Jo-Ann gave it to me.”

There wasn’t much to her résumé. She was embarrassed by how thin it was: high school and some college. She’d earned her real estate license a year ago, but her only sales experience was in entry-level retail. Leila gripped the handle of her purse to keep from fidgeting nervously. This had to be the longest elevator ride in history.

When they reached the garage, she followed him to his reserved spot. He drove a black Mercedes coupe. She sank into the leather seat and admired the chrome accents of the dashboard. It was all the things her modest Mazda roadster aspired to be but fell short of. She watched as he pressed the ignition button and put the car in reverse.

“This car makes me—”

He stomped on the breaks. “Makes you what?”

Leila grappled for the right word. “Happy. It makes me happy.”

“Is that it?”

Was her seat on fire? “What else is there?”

He lifted his foot off the pedal. “Leila, are you into cars?”

God, she loved the way he said her name.

“Sort of. Sure.”

“I’m into women who are into cars,” he said with a wink. “But don’t tell anyone.”

* * *

The listing was a one-story, mid-century home in Miami Beach’s exclusive Bayshore neighborhood. The original layout had been tweaked to appeal to modern tastes. The renovated kitchen opened to an all-purpose living, dining and TV room. All closets and bathrooms had been updated. The showstopper was the yard that backed onto Collins Canal and the dock that could accommodate a decent-size yacht and flatter the ego of any budding millionaire.

While the photographer snapped pictures for the agency’s website, Leila tried to imagine the daily routines of the family who’d once lived in the vacated rooms. On a sunny day, they’d probably have breakfast outdoors. Did they throw birthday parties by the pool or spend holiday weekends boating?

“What do you think?” Nick asked.

“I think it’s a lovely home.”

“Would you like to live here?”

They were in the master bedroom. Leila opened the plantation shutters to admire the water views. “I could get used to this. But how much would it set me back?”

“Four million.”

Her heart stopped. “Are you kidding?”

“Why does that surprise you?”

Well, when she thought of millions, she thought of mansions. This lovely family home was by no stretch a mansion. “You know this same house in any other neighborhood wouldn’t cost that much.”

“That doesn’t change anything.” He leaned against the low cherrywood dresser. Every room had a furniture-showroom vibe. “Leila, I need you to believe in the sale.”

She laughed. “You’ve got me confused with a magical fairy.”

He grew quiet, a shadow passing over his face.

“It’s a joke,” she said, worried she’d gone too far.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you laugh before. You’re so serious all the time.”

“Because I’m trying to impress you, Nick!”

Saying his name had leveled the playing field somehow. They’d swapped the rigid employee-boss dynamic for something looser, less defined. Something trickier. And Nick hadn’t missed it. His face lit up with satisfaction.

“Could you stop trying so hard?” he asked.

He hadn’t been exactly easy to read or to warm up to. They’d barely exchanged a dozen words since she’d taken the job. Every morning she dressed like an Office Assistant doll, worried she didn’t measure up to the ghost of Monica.

“Maybe if I knew what you expected from me...”

“Here’s the thing,” he said. “I could run my business under a bridge. I don’t need an assistant, not really. But I’d like to have someone on my side. Can you be that someone?”

“Good luck getting cell phone reception under a bridge.”

He gave her a wry smile. “That’s more like it.”

The photographer tapped on the open door. “Hey, Nick, I think I’m done.”

He left to review the man’s work.

Leila leaned against the wall, caught in exquisite turmoil.

She could be that someone.

* * *

On the drive back to the office, Nick said he hadn’t eaten all day. “There’s a place on Washington I like. Would you mind hanging out with me?”

“I don’t mind.”

This was the perfect opportunity for them to talk. She reached for her phone, sending a quick text to cancel her happy hour plans. She was supposed to meet a guy, a medical resident at Jackson Memorial, whom, after a few chaste dates, she’d started referring to as Dr. No. He was nice enough, but maybe that was the problem.

“If you have plans, I can take you back to the office,” he said. “You’re off the clock.”

“I don’t have plans,” she replied. “Not anymore, anyway.”

“Are you—?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’d rather have dinner with you.”

That sounded more personal than she’d intended.

“I’d rather have dinner with you, too.”

He said nothing else until they arrived at the restaurant. The hostess greeted Nick by name and showed him to a table on the terrace. He ordered the house burger and a beer. She ordered tuna sliders and a glass of Pinot. They shared an order of parmesan fries and he told her his plans for the Bayshore property.

“The listing goes live tomorrow. I want to hold the broker’s open on Thursday night. That house was built for parties. I want a bar by the pool, a DJ, everything.”

“I should take notes.” Leila reached for her phone, swiped past a text from Dr. No and opened the notepad app. She typed “Thursday, bar by pool, DJ, catering.”

“Do you have a caterer in mind?”

“We’ve used this place before with decent results.”

She lowered her hearty slider to her plate and offered some advice. “When I’m trying to look good at a party, the last thing I want is heavy food. Why not taquitos and margaritas?”

“I bet you don’t have to try to look good, Leila.”

She took it as a compliment and thanked him.

“How old are you?”

“Old enough to do this job.”

He’d caught her off guard and the lame one-liner was all she could come up with. She had a complicated relationship with her age. According to the scoreboard in her mind, she was trailing the home team by a lot. She’d gone from pageant girl to shop girl and now to office temp all in the time that her high school friends had earned advanced degrees and jump-started bona fide careers.

“But are you old enough to drink?” he asked, pointing to her half-empty glass of wine.

“Very funny. I’m twenty-three, soon to be twenty-four.” She paused. “Does it matter how old I am?”

“I’m just trying to get to know you.”

“Sorry. I’m a little jumpy.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “I’m thirty, and I like the tacos idea.”

“Taquitos.” She typed the word into her phone.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

Leila went still and laid down her phone. “That’s kind of personal.”

“Extremely personal,” he said. “Someone should’ve warned you about me. I’m about to hijack your whole life.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Someone did.”

He wiped his mouth with a black cloth napkin. “You can tell me to go to hell at any time.”

“You’re harmless,” she said, even though his eyes said otherwise. “And, yes, I’m dating someone. Sort of.”

He didn’t ask for specifics, leaving her disappointed. Instead he asked, “Will he mind if you have to work late?”

“I don’t know. I don’t usually ask a boyfriend before making career moves.”

“So, he’s a boyfriend.”

“I only meant—”

He reminded her that she was under no obligation to apologize or to explain. She could tell him to go to hell. That option was still open.

“We’ve got some time,” he said, again consulting his watch. “Is there anything you want to ask me?”

She reached for a fry and the opportunity to ask the one question burning inside her. “Whatever happened to Monica?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “How long have you been wondering about that?”

“Since day one.”

Nick took a sip of beer. His long fingers had a firm grasp of the frosty glass. “She got into it with Jo-Ann and things went south from there. She should’ve let me handle it, but Monica won’t back down from anything. We were together three years.”

Together three years...an odd way to describe a working relationship.

“I doubt we’ll be together that long,” she said.

“Planning to ditch me?”

“What I really want is to learn the business.”

“So this is a short-term thing?”

Leila worked to keep her voice steady. “Does that bother you?”

“I’m fine with it.” He leaned closer. “I know you have retail experience. Anything else?”

“No.” She’d worked at designer boutiques, selling sunglasses, scarves and handbags.

“Selling is selling,” he said. “But what drew you to real estate?”

“My aunt sold her home last spring. Her agent was my age. When I found out what she made in commission... I figure if I can sell pricey handbags, I can definitely sell condos.”

“Overpriced handbags.”

Leila’s hand instinctively went to her overpriced handbag hanging from the arm of her chair. The iconic logo was stamped into the buttery-soft leather. “That’s a matter of opinion.”

“That’s a matter of fact.”

“Says the man with a very expensive watch.”

He flashed an easy smile. “The watch is an investment.”

“Please!”

“We’re getting off topic.”

“If I can learn the ropes while studying for the exam, that would give me an advantage. The agency has a great reputation.”

She’d done her research. Kane & Madison, headquartered in New York City with branches in Miami and Los Angeles, racked up impressive yearly sales. She didn’t expect to stay on with the agency. All the associates were seasoned business professionals. But wouldn’t it be awesome to someday be the single woman associate who could give the boys a run for their money?

“We’ve got the best inventory,” he said. “And I’ll teach you everything I know. How’s that?”

That was actually pretty damn nice. “I appreciate it. Really.”

He waived down the waiter and handed over a card. “To be clear, you’re using me as a stepping stone.”

She could kick herself. Why hadn’t she kept her big mouth shut? “Is that okay?”

“If you’re going to use me, go ahead and use me,” he said. “Don’t worry about how I feel about it.”

Within the span of a meal, he’d shown her that she was way too earnest. Apologizing, explaining, stumbling over her words. She was nowhere as sharp as she believed herself to be.

“You must think I’m really green.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking.”

The bill arrived. He signed it and left a heap of cash as a tip.

“I’m going to be the best assistant you’ve ever had.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “The bar is really high.”

“Don’t underestimate me.”

“I promise I won’t.”

Their waiter cleared the table of crumbs but, as far as she was concerned, they were alone in the restaurant.

He asked if there was anything else she wanted to know. Leila would have liked to ask if he was seeing anyone, but came up against the blunt edge of a double standard. He could push the boundaries all he liked, but she’d be dumb to try. She played it safe and asked what had drawn him to real estate.

He took a minute before answering, tapping the table with the credit card held loosely between his thumb and forefinger. “I started out in finance, as an analyst. Made good money. But routine kills.”

“You’re restless,” she said almost without knowing it.

He looked up, surprised. “You’re right.”

Yes! She clenched her fists under the table, thrilled she’d scored at his game.

Chapter 4

Nick listened as Leila enthusiastically gave him an update on the broker’s open house. She’d used a contact list prepared by Monica to call the top local brokers. No invitations were extended; she offered to add them to a restricted guest list.

“It’s the fastest way to create a buzz,” she said. “Getting on a list—any list—drives people crazy.”

They were in his office with coffee. The night before, they’d agreed to daily meetings, if only for a few minutes. Nick was happy for an excuse to sit with her.

“I like the way you think,” he said.

“We have fifty confirmed guests.”

“That’s enough. No one shows up alone, and then it’s a big mess.”

“I’m going to order the food.”

“Get in touch with Sofia Silva for the bar. She sets it up, picks the wine, the whole thing.”

Leila jotted down some notes. Then she asked, “Who pays for all this?”

“The agency. Didn’t Jo-Ann tell you about our expense account?”

“No. See why these daily meetings are important? There’s so much I need to know.”

Nick thumbed through his wallet and handed her a corporate credit card. “I’m glad this is productive, but I could talk to you all day.”

She looked up from her lists and notes and smiled. He wondered if the feeling was mutual. But there was no time to dig deeper. He had a busy couple of days ahead.

* * *

He arrived to the open house with Sofia, the event planner. A little red roadster was parked out front and he hoped it was Leila’s. He was impatient to see her again and barely took the time to inspect the house, as he should. It was Sofia who noticed the candles floating on the pool’s surface. She asked whose idea it was. He wasn’t sure, but it had Leila’s delicate fingers all over it.

“You’re here.”

Leila walked up from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of her in a red dress.

It was going to be a long night.

“Did you do that?” he asked, pointing through the French doors to the pool in full view.

“The candles? Do you mind? When the sun goes down it’ll look really nice.”

“I don’t mind. It’s genius.”

“I agree. It’ll look gorgeous,” Sofia said.

Nick had forgotten Sofia. He introduced her to Leila. After she left to help the bartender set up, Nick turned to Leila and said, “I’m starting to think you believe in this sale.”

“You made a believer out of me.”

They stepped outside and wandered past the pool, toward the seawall.

“I want the focus to be on the canal,” Nick said. “I want everyone fantasizing about the boat they can’t afford sitting on that dock.”

“What’s the point in getting the brokers all liquored up?” Leila asked. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s an excuse for a party,” Nick said. “Plus, you’ve got to cozy up to the brokers. They defend the goal.”

“So, they eat, drink, look around...and then what?”

“Then they get to work calling their clients.” He pulled her aside. “Here are the rules. These are not friends. If they can screw us over, they will. I want you to be your lovely self, show them around, but don’t hover. Let them roam free and discover the property on their own terms. Answer questions honestly, but don’t over share. If they push back, direct them to me. They’ll try to tear the place down to weaken our hand, but don’t let them. We’re offering a top-shelf item here, and I’m determined to make this seller some money.”

“How did you get this listing, anyway?” she asked. “Did the owner go through the agency?”

“It rarely works that way,” Nick said. “I know the owner. He’s moving back to DC. The Miami experiment is over.”

They stood facing the water. Across the canal, a row of houses rivaled each other in grandeur and stature, each with gigantic boats tethered to their docks. The setting sun splashed everything tangerine.

“Hey,” Nick said, “is the Miata out front yours?”

“Yup. That’s my ride,” she said proudly.

“I had one like it back in the day,” he said. “Mine was black.”

“Of course.”

“How many miles?”

“Around 85K.”

“Ah,” he said. “You’re loyal.”

“Are you?” she asked.

There was a glint of mischief in her eyes. He wanted to know that side of her.

“Not really. I kept mine two years. It was my first. Bought it cash.”

“I won mine.”

“Won it?” he asked. “How? Like in a raffle?”

The more he got to know her, the more interesting she became.

“No, not a raffle,” she said.

“A game show? Were you on a game show, Leila?”

“No. I wasn’t on a game show.”

“Was it a talk show? They give away cars, right?”

She raised her hands and confessed. “I won it in a pageant.”

Nick saw her with fresh eyes. Her demeanor, walk, even her smile, all of it very practiced and sure. “Yes. I see it.”

Her face crumpled.

“It’s a compliment,” he assured her.

His phone rang. Before taking the call, he said, “We’ll talk later. Put a pin in ‘pageant,’ because that’s where we’ll start.”

* * *

Leila watched Nick walk away, laughing with the caller. What did he see? she wondered. Was she running around town with an invisible tiara on her head? The thought caused her unbearable embarrassment. Tonight, of all nights, she wanted to impress him.

She’d come early to prepare for the party. They’d opted not to hire a DJ but to show off the outdoor sound system, so she hooked an mp3 player up to the stereo. While the caterer set up the food, she had slipped into the guest bathroom, changed out of her jeans and flats, and come out in a ruby-red Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress and heels.

When he’d glanced over his shoulder and caught her staring, a symphony of emotions erupted inside of her. His eyes were as clear as morning, without even a cloud of suspicion or surprise. When he called her simple idea genius, she’d been transported with joy.

Leila didn’t have much time to dwell on her feelings because very soon, the guests arrived, seemingly all at once. At first she kept to the margins, too intimidated to speak to anyone. But when approached, she was prepared.

“List price?”

“Four million.”

“Is that firm?”

“Very much. We believe it’s priced to sell.”

“How many bedrooms?”

“Three bedrooms, including a master suite, and three fully renovated bathrooms.”

“Square footage?”

“Roughly twenty-eight hundred.”

“I need an exact number.”

“Two thousand, eight hundred and seventy-three.”

“There’s no garage. Am I right?”

“There’s a carport.”

“A four-million-dollar house with a carport? Where does the Bentley go?”

“In the carport. The yacht goes on the dock. Have you seen the boat lift? State-of-the-art.”

“Is the seller willing to make any concessions?”

“You’ll have to ask Nick.”

The last couple of questions were from an agent named Marisol Sanchez. Earlier, Nick had introduced her as an old friend. Marisol stood as tall as Leila and wore cigarette pants and high-heeled pumps to better show off her long legs. Leila wanted to know his definition of the word “friend.”

“But he’ll likely say no concessions are necessary,” Leila added. She couldn’t help herself.

“My client will be the judge of that,” Marisol said.

The other agents were equally annoying. Leila was shocked by the behavior of these so-called professionals. They trampled the grass, stomped on the newly polished floors and slammed the kitchen cabinet doors. They pointed to hairline cracks in the ceiling and quizzed Leila on the local zoning laws, as if the only reason their clients would not put in an offer was because they’d likely want to convert the porch into a Florida room.

The most appalling behavior was from one of the agency’s own, Tony Manning. He showed up late.

After chatting with Nick for a while, he came looking for her. “Nick says you’re responsible for this impressive turnout.”

Leila took a look around. The party was in full swing. Now that business was out of the way, everyone appeared more relaxed, drinking and munching on taquitos. Her job was done.

“How would you like to take on my next open house?” he asked.

“Sorry. Nick keeps me busy.”

“I’m sure he does,” Tony said wryly. “That might not always be the case, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just want you to know you can always switch camps.”

“Nick’s been very nice to me. I wouldn’t think of switching.”

“I’ve known that guy a long time. He’s a lot of things, but nice isn’t one of them.”

Leila looked him in the eye. “Tonight’s signature drink is a classic margarita. Would you like to try it?”

“I can find my way to the bar,” Tony said with a snicker. “I always do.”

Nick called out to her from the house. “Leila! I need you.”

Tony let out a playful whistle. “You heard the man. He needs you.”

Leila’s gaze swept from Tony to Nick. She was the rope, stretched taut, in their tug-of-war. When she was close enough to see the scowl on Nick’s face, she very nearly laughed.

“You needed to see me?”

“That’s a careful edit. I said I needed you, period.”

“Well, here I am.”

“Marisol says you’re tough,” he said. “I’m impressed. You might be a natural.”

His approval raised her two feet above ground. “I think the open house is a success.”

“Success is a confirmed offer, but this is a very good start.”

The music stopped, Sean Paul’s raspy voice cut off mid-chorus, leaving the party din bare like teeth.

“I think the mp3 player died,” Leila said. “I’ll go check.”

“One more thing,” he said forcefully. “Be careful around Tony.”

She should have known he wouldn’t tap-dance around the issue. But she was familiar with guys like Tony and wasn’t concerned.

“I can take care of myself, Nick.”

“I can take care of you better.”

“How is this a competition?”

“Don’t you know me?”

“I’m not sure.” Who was he? The shark that Jo-Ann and Tony described, or the nice guy who bought her coffee, offered to mentor her and complimented her achievements?

Marisol joined them. “What’s going on here?” she asked nastily. “I thought Monica was your one true love.”

Nick turned to her. “Monica’s gone. Now Leila’s the light of my life and if she says we’re not willing to make any concessions, it’s because we’re not.”

* * *

While a cleaning crew returned the house to its former pristine condition, she and Nick sat at the breakfast bar with a platter of leftover appetizers and three open bottles of wine.

“What if Marisol’s buyer doesn’t come through?” Leila asked.

Nick filled their glasses. “I already have an offer.”

Even before the open house had started, an offer had come through by phone: the call that had saved her from having to regale him with tales of her pageant days. A woman who’d grown up in the house was hoping to raise her kids in it.

“That’s so sweet. I’m rooting for her.”

“You’re rooting for me, remember?” Nick said. “It’s a low offer.”

“How low?”

“Three point five.”

That sounded like a lot of money to Leila.

“This brings us back to our talk. Keyword: pageant.”

Up until then, she’d been feeling fine, riding high on the success of her first open house, Nick’s approval and even Tony’s fit of envy. She had no desire to revisit the past, not when the present was so good.

Nick browsed through his phone and pulled up a photo he’d saved. There she was, on stage, in a yellow bikini and perilously high heels, hair curled and sprayed in place, and gold glitter rubbed into her brown skin. Leila blinked at the photo then scooted off the bar stool, taking her wineglass with her.

She heard him scramble to his feet. “Are you okay?”

“I’m bracing myself for the jokes,” she said. “Go ahead.”

She’d heard it all. It had become a “first date” ritual, of sorts. The guy would say, “Tell me about yourself.” She’d say, “I used to compete in pageants.” He’d follow with asking, “So, what’s your plan to wipe out hunger?” or “How will you bring about world peace?”

“I wasn’t going to make a joke,” Nick said. “I think you look good.”

“That’s not why you showed me that picture. To tell me I look good.”

“Leila, look at me. I thought we’d laugh.”

“Laugh at me.”

Nick swore quietly under his breath.

She wasn’t ashamed of the photo. Similar photos of her posing and twirling and strutting on stage would live forever on the web. All she wanted was to forget they existed.

She faced him. “I’m not that girl anymore. I need you to know that.”

“Was she so bad?”

“She was looking for a shortcut. And I’m here to work.”

At seventeen, she’d been certain she’d found a fast track to fame and fortune. While her friends worked on their SATs, she’d worked on her strut. And now she had nothing to show for it except an aging sports car and pictures on the web.

“You sound like me,” he said. “About five years ago.”

“Oh, really? Are there pictures of you in a yellow bikini out there in cyberspace?”

He didn’t laugh at the joke. “There may be pictures of God knows what. I’ve screwed up. Partied hard. Wasted money. Crashed a car.”

“The Miata?”

He nodded. “I turned it around, though. Switched careers. Ditched my friends. Focused on work.”

Leila was too overwhelmed to speak. He understood. That was exactly where she was in life. Ditching bad habits and focusing on work.

“Leila, I’m sorry.”

Then his phone rang and the mood changed.

Marisol had an offer, all cash, three million six. Nick jolted into action. Pacing the floor, he told Marisol his client was considering a similar offer from a buyer with sentimental attachment to the property. “She grew up in the house and won’t tear it down. I’m guessing your guy is a developer, in it for the waterfront.”

Fifteen minutes later, Marisol called back with a better offer: three point seven. Nick wasn’t moved. After consulting with his client, he countered. “Four million clean.” They argued about comparative pricing, price per square footage and the relative value of a canal with bay access. Nick had Marisol on speaker, so Leila could follow the exchange. “This is your bread and butter,” he said to her between calls. “Everything hinges on the negotiation.”

Then her own phone chimed with a text message from Dr. No asking if she wanted to catch a late movie. The short answer was hell, no.

Can’t. Working late.

She couldn’t possibly leave now. Watching Nick in his element, moving the ball down the field, trying to score, was incredibly exciting, better than anything on the big screen.

You work longer hours than I do.

How about tomorrow?

I’m on call tomorrow. Saturday?

Saturday works.

No sooner had she put her phone away than Dr. No was forgotten. Nick had her full attention.

After one hour of furious calls to Marisol, the seller and the sentimental buyer, an agreement was reached. Marisol came up to three point nine, which turned out to be a quarter million more than Nick’s client had expected to make. Leila saw Nick transformed, the tension of the night leaving his face and an unfamiliar calm rolling in like night fog. He was in ecstasy.

“I’ll need proof of funds,” he told Marisol.

“You’ll get it, asshole,” she said dryly.

Nick let out a low laugh. “I love doing business with you.”

“Sure. Say goodnight to your new girlfriend.”

Leila rolled her eyes. Girlfriend? Whatever.

Nick chucked his phone and took a victory lap around the great room, soliciting a standing ovation from an imaginary crowd. Leila obliged him with a slow clap. When they settled down, she said, “Marisol is tough!”

“She works with developers. There’s good money in that. I knew she could go higher, but wanted to hold out for her client. I respect it, but I don’t have time for those games.”

“Will they tear down this house for sure?”

“You said it yourself. This house in any other neighborhood wouldn’t be worth as much. That’s a problem.”

“I feel sorry for the woman who wanted to raise her kids here.”

Nick came to stand before her. “Don’t go soft on me now.”

Leila held his gaze. The world went silent. For a fleeting second, she thought he might kiss her. If he did, heaven help her, she’d kiss back.

“Are we okay?” he asked.

Her throat tightened. “We’re more than that.”

He caught the double meaning. She wished she’d chosen her words more carefully, but it was the truth.

“I’m not going to pull a stunt like that again. You’re the most interesting person I’ve met in a while. I don’t want to make fun. I want to get to know you.”

She wanted to get to know him, too. But could she say that? How would that sound?

“I can’t lose you to Tony.”

He had to be kidding about Tony. Nicolas Adrian wasn’t that insecure. But when she replied, her voice was hoarse. “You’re not going to lose me to anyone.”

Chapter 5

This should count as a first date. They’d hosted a party, and that beat dinner and a movie. They’d had their first fight. Nick hated to see her upset, but with that crucial milestone out of the way, couldn’t they move on to make-up sex?

He wanted to, so badly.

They’d moved outside. It was a dull night. Gray clouds walled off the moon. He was stretched out on a lounge chair. She sat at the pool’s edge, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles.

“My aunt pushed me into it,” she said in response to a question he’d forgotten asking. “I came home with a flyer one day and she went nuts. She thought I had a chance.”

“It might not have paid off—”

“It didn’t,” she said bitterly. “A lot of time and money wasted only to place as a runner up when it really counts.”

“You won a car. Most kids have to slave away at a fast-food restaurant to afford a used clunker.”

To hear her tell it, she’d wasted her entire life. And he suspected she was hanging on to her old car out of pride rather than necessity.

“Tell me you won’t look up any more photos.”

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear.”

She sighed. “I give up.”

He tried to reassure her. “I’m a little obsessed with you. What can I say?”

“I’m really not that interesting.”

“I disagree.”

She sat straight and solemnly confessed. “I put stock in all the wrong things. It’s a thing with me.”

He liked that she trusted him enough to share her weaknesses. “And I like complicated women. That’s my thing.”

“Like Marisol?” she asked.

Talk about territorial.

“Not like Marisol. But wasn’t it good to go up against her tonight?”

“So good!”

She smiled. A dimple appeared in her left cheek and vanished. He’d never seen it before. The more he studied her, the more secrets there were to discover.

“Do you think your client spent his nights this way?”

“By the pool?”

She nodded. “Talking.”

“Not likely,” he said. “Did I mention he’s a dick?”

“Then why fight so hard for him?”

“That’s the business, Leila.”

Just when he was sure she’d written him off as a heartless bastard, she surprised him with a question.

“How does it feel to win?”

“You’ll tell me someday.”

To most people he was the golden boy, born under a lucky star. “Success follows you,” an old boss once told him. Only he knew the effort that he put into building his career, and the skill it required to make it seem effortless. Leila had drive. He had no doubt she’d turn her luck around.

“Why are you single, Nick?”

It seemed that all the earlier questions had been leading to this one.

“Because I want to be.”

Such was his nature. He was bloodless in negotiations and unsentimental with women, but to his mind, these were positives. He didn’t have a ton of emotional baggage to weigh him down. You only had so many years to fully dedicate to work, and he had no intention of wasting them. He’d seen friends, men and women alike, make the mistake of settling down early only to get bogged down with kids and family obligations. But Leila was a mistake he was very willing to make.

“Have you ever had a broken heart?”

There was real hunger and curiosity in her dark eyes.

“When I was a kid I wanted a dog, but my dad is allergic. He got me fish instead.”

She looked confused, but played along. “That’s not a fair tradeoff. Fish don’t fetch or wag their tails when you get home from school.”

“Tell that to a marine biologist.”

“I see,” she said. “So your dad got you fish and what? You met a girl who also had an aquarium?”

“No. My dad got me fish and they died, surprisingly fast, even by fish standards.”

“Did you kill them?”

“I have a heart, Leila.”

“What does it beat for?”

Oh, babe...

They locked eyes. She turned away.

“Are you seriously telling me that your biggest heartache was having to flush away a few fish?”

“I’m telling you that I learned very early that I was better off alone. I’m not sure I’m the better for it. Do you understand?”

“More than you know.”

“Who broke your heart?” he asked.

“Ah!” She gave his question some thought. “My high school boyfriend stood me up for prom, and that was the end of it. I cried for one month straight. Lost ten pounds. Gained back twenty. I was a mess.”

“You’re so pretty. Who would stand you up?”

“There’s always someone prettier.”

She was quiet for a while. Then she gracefully rolled onto her bare feet, stepped into her high heels and approached him. Her dress gathered at the waist with a knot. Untie the knot and there you had it.

“I should get going,” she said.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“No, don’t.”

He questioned her silently. She fell into a pile of excuses. “It’s late. You have to lock up. I can see myself out. I’ll see you in the morning. Okay?”

It wasn’t okay. Was this how they were going to play it? Circling the well, careful not to fall in. He wasn’t cut out for the Romeo-Juliet thing. But he had to let her go. It was past midnight and his self-control was down to the barest of wires.

He stood and faced her. “What did I tell you about worrying about my feelings?”

She looked him in the eye. “It’s too late for that.”

Chapter 6

Every minute they spent together, Leila felt Nick circling around her, very strategically stripping her of her defenses. As of last night, he knew almost all her secrets and yet she still had questions. Where did he live? What did he do when he wasn’t working? Was he really single or just sleeping around? And, the next day, at their morning meeting, a new question popped up. What was the true purpose of all those trips to New York?

Greg had stopped by Nick’s office. He was the only other African American at the agency. Despite his frat boy ways, Leila liked him.

“Heard you had a great turnout last night,” he said. “I got a client who might be interested.”

Leila and Nick were on the couch, reviewing his calendar. Nick said, “Leila, please get Greg up to speed.”

Greg looked surprised. “So...what’s up, Leila?”

“As of nine o’clock this morning, the Bayshore property is in escrow.”

Greg whistled. “Good work, man. Congratulations.”

Nick threw up his hands with false modesty. “I try.”

“And that’s why she wants you back.”

Leila waited until Greg had left before asking what he’d meant.

“Who knows?” He turned his attention to the computer tablet resting on his lap.

Her chest tightened with anger. He was lying.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked.

“Oh, yes.”

That was all it took. He was forgiven.

* * *

Nick had a listing appointment with the owner of a condo on Collins Avenue. It wasn’t the sort of meeting he’d take his assistant to, but he’d grab any excuse to be alone with Leila. When he stopped in front of the building located directly across the street from the high-end mall where she used to work, she shook her head and murmured, “Of course.”

He pulled up to the valet and cut the engine. “What?”

She pointed to the sign. Bal Harbour Shops. The crisp white letters stood out against a black backdrop. “Maybe I should go say hello to my old boss. You never know. If this real estate thing doesn’t work out.”

“It’ll work out,” he said. “You’re learning from the best.”

He got out of the car and went around to open her door. She stepped out and said, “I thought Tony was the best.”

He tried to laugh at the joke, but couldn’t. “Now you’re trying to start something.”

Before they went inside, Nick took a look at the building. It was wide and flat and looked like every other building on the street. They rode an elevator that jerked to a stop on the fifth floor.

“Feels old,” he said.

“It’s not so bad. The elevator in my building doesn’t work half the time.”

“Not so bad is not enough,” he said. “We’re here to appraise the apartment but also the building, and so far I’m not sold.”

A few feet down the hall, a woman stepped through a door. “Hey. I thought you were lost.”

Nick walked over and shook her hand. Turning to Leila, he said, “Carrie Hill, this is my assistant, Leila Amis.”

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