Love All The Way

23| Selling sunset

The buildup to this house viewing is worse than the last time. Maybe it's because this is my first real chance to prove myself or that I don't have Milo to give me a pep talk this time. But either way, I spend the next few hours staring into the abyss of my screen while I imagine all the ways this could go terribly wrong.

At three, I swivel my chair toward the window and stare at the herd of people going about business. It's already dark out, with the buildings lit up like stars on the vast horizon. For a second, I imagine what it would be like to take off into the night, free from the confines of the 9-5 rat race. What it would feel like to go somewhere away from the responsibilities that await me each morning. What it would feel like to breathe.

I turn to my desk and stare at my computer screen. But I can't focus on the work in front of me, not because of the view but Milo. I keep thinking about the way he'd looked in our last elevator tryst, hand wrapped in my hair, eyes dark with seduction. Eyes closed, I picture the way his lips grazed my skin as his voice came low and hard in my ear.

I'm not going to kiss you, Kennedy.

"Kennedy?"

I jerk forward as Miranda walks in. She stands by the door, her thin eyebrow arched as she studies me carefully. "You looked like you were having a stroke."

"I'm fine." I grab my electric sharpener to make me look less conspicuous, but I move so fast that it flies off the table and breaks into pieces on the floor. Miranda's gaze lowers to the plastic near her foot before she sidesteps away. "Just came to check on you. Ready for the viewing tonight?"

"Ready as ever," I lie.

She smiles, but it's the kind that suggests she doesn't believe me. "Well, I'll see you in a little while."

I nod and return to my desk, determined to not dwell on the email Wyatt sent. Clearly, I'm reading too much into it. He's interested in the property, not me – that's all there is to it. I pick up my phone, about to call a potential client when Laurelle barges in with a To-Do list as long as my arm. If there is one thing I've learned this past week or so, it's that working on seven means seeing – and hearing – Laurelle more often than I'm used to. As soon as her door clicks, I hold my breath and wait for the clickity-clack of her heels to deliver me a brand new list of commands.

"I have a list of clients I need you to reach out to," she says, dropping the To-Do list to my desk, "preferably in a casual setting. Perhaps over drinks."

I glance at the list of names on the top and frown. Remembering the disaster over drinks with Dean, I say, "Of course, but I prefer to catch up with clients in a more professional setting."

Laurelle blinks once. Then twice. I should have known better; she's not used to hearing anything other than yes. "Here on seven, we deal with clients who choose us for our personal touch. They want a friend, a confidante, someone they can trust when handing over large sums of money. Your job is to make that happen." Before I can speak, she heads toward the door before turning. "I hope I've made the right decision with this promotion," she says and disappears down the hallway.

It feels like I've been scolded. I swallow hard, trying to brush off Laurelle's comment, but it's already worked through my facade and settled into my bones. If tonight doesn't go as planned – better than planned – Laurelle will think promoting me was a mistake.

Maybe she's right.

The ping of my phone drags me from self-pity ville. I glance at the screen, surprised to see Milo's name appear, the words, Good luck, beneath it.

My heart stops. Not just stops but leaves my body and returns moments later, where it stutters and thrums with excitement. He's the only one who can do that to me, whose simple message can send me into an unparalleled frenzy; I both hate it and crave it.