“They’ll use it for kids,” she said. “That’s all that matters.” Fawn looked at the clock and then back at me. “When are you supposed to meet him?”
“Soon,” I admitted.
“Then you should get going.”
“I will,” I said. “And Fawn?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for being honest.”
Chapter 7
Locke
She arrived right on time and was dressed to kill. It was a side of Paige Key I’d never seen before. She might have noticed me staring, but I covered my shock up quickly by grabbing a book and leafing through it, giving her the impression that I felt ambivalent about her wardrobe choice.
The reality?
I felt anything but ambivalent.
“Miss Key,” I said, putting the book down. “Nice to see you on time today.”
“Thanks,” she said, ignoring the fact that I was obviously insulting her. “And before you ask, I was honest with your receptionist downstairs. I even apologized for yesterday.”
“Good,” I said. “She was pissed to have gotten in trouble for that.”
“She got in trouble?” Paige had the decency to sound a little hurt by that. Was she wounded that someone else had been punished for her choices? Interesting. Most people didn’t care at all if someone else took the fall for what they did.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Paige stood in the center of my office wearing a white button-down blouse, a black pencil skirt, sandals with heels, and a bright red belt. Her hair was pulled back in a clip and she had light makeup on. Honestly, she looked quite lovely. She looked very beautiful. Pretty.
She’d look even better sprawled across my desk with that skirt bunched up around her waist. I longed to slide those panties down and reach between her legs. I wanted to stroke her there, touch her. I wanted to make Paige come apart and scream my name. I knew that doing so would be very, very wrong. I was her landlord, after all. I already had some power in our relationship. I didn’t need to do anything else that would cause her pain or discomfort, but damn, if I didn’t want to feel her soft pussy and make her drip with pleasure.
“Sorry seems to be a word you’re very familiar with,” I said coldly. “You still haven’t explained how you lost my money.”
“Does it matter?” She asked. “I’m here now.”
“Give me your phone,” I said.
“What?” That wasn’t what she expected me to say.
“Your phone. Hand it over.”
“Why?”
I sighed and shook my head.
“Strike one, Miss Key. Phone.”
She had her phone in one hand and her car keys in the other. She wasn’t carrying a purse, so she couldn’t pretend like she didn’t have a phone with her. I could see it. More importantly: I didn’t want her to be using it during our time together. She didn’t need to be secretly recording our conversations. She didn’t need to be taking pictures. Most of all, she didn’t need to be distracted.
Paige looked at me like she was trying to figure out my end game. Pity for her that I was in real estate for a reason. I was good at my job. People always had this idea that being in real estate meant you had to dress in a suit and talk about architecture. The truth was that you had to be good with people. I could tell within minutes of meeting someone whether they were serious about a property. I could pick out who had money and who didn’t, and it very rarely had anything to do with the words that came out of their mouth.
No, there was much more to selling properties than just people talking about how much cash they had. The truth was that most millionaires were the quiet type. They lived simple lives. They might have worn-out clothing or cars that were a few years old, but they were serious when they toured a property as to whether or not they’d buy it.