Heads or Tails

Chapter 21

Oh. Fuck. The Gold Coast listing. Despite taking a sick day, Clint would expect I'd know my client's name and address. I do not want to send him into a fury.

"Oh right, sorry," I say, laughing nervously. "I am about to call her right now." I pick up my cell phone and wave it in the air.

"Mrs. Van den Berg is an important client," he says matter-of-factly. "She's a prominent investor. She buys and sells properties all over Chicago. And for some reason, she asked for you. Do not disappoint."

"I won't, Clint. I promise."

When he finally turned away from me and returned to his office, I quickly scanned through my files for Ms. van den Berg's phone number. I called her immediately.

Two rings before Ms. van den Berg's raspy voice answers my call.

She begins by saying how delighted she is to hear from me and that she's heard great things about me and my work ethic. She also says she knows I have what she's looking for and suspects I can sell the property quickly. I thanked her for requesting me as her realtor and asked if I could meet with her to review and sign a contract and, of course, see her property.

We agreed on a time, said our goodbyes, and I hung up from the call.

I feel so excited. This could be the property that defines my career. Imagine I was asked to be featured on Selling Sunset. God knows what could happen. I can not screw up this opportunity.

I'm grinning and sifting through my email when I see Ben walk into the office. I'm nervous and intimidated to see him. He looks so damn hot. His fitted navy suit clings to his muscles in all the right places and his hair is perfectly styled and swept to the side. His jaw is a little stubbly, and his eyes find mine instantly.

He rubs the back of his neck, frowning apologetically at me.

My heart stops.

I am not ready to have this conversation right now, which is precisely why I needed to avoid him this morning.

He doesn't look away, so I feel like I can't, even though my knees want to buckle.

Thank God I am sitting in a chair.

"Did you get my note?" he asks, frown slowly fading.

I look past him, over his shoulder, into the office, where it's still relatively empty. When I don't answer, he bends to catch my eyes. "My note. Did you get it?"

"Yeah, I got it," I tell him. "You wanted to talk. We could have talked in Costa Rica if you hadn't left on an early flight. Even a call or text would have sufficed. But instead, you left me a sticky note on my desk at work. This doesn't seem like the right place to talk."

His brows pull together for a beat before he understands. "Maybe we should go for a coffee –"

"I'm busy catching up on work."

He nods. "Right. You weren't at the office yesterday. Is everything okay?" he asks, his gaze shifting to my mouth.

Did we get back from the same vacation? Of course, everything is not okay. I want to scream, but I don't.

My voice is nervous and shaking when I whisper, "Yeah. Sure. Everything is okay."

"You look great, by the way," he says. He's so close I can smell his aftershave. It smells like fresh air, sharp and soothing all at once.

I glance up at him. He's no longer looking at my mouth; we're looking directly into each other's eyes when he runs a thumb down my cheek. It feels so secluded in my tiny cubicle, but all around the office, it echoes with co-workers' pleasantries and the clicking of keyboards. I want him to