Heshrugged his broad shoulders. He was dressed in flip-flops, jeans, and a paleblue-and-yellow plaid button-down rolled up to his elbows, exposing strong forearmscrossed with corded veins. “Not so much at a party like this. Overall, it’sfallen off lately, which is not a bad thing.” Another pull on the beer bottle.“Can I get you anything?”
“No,thanks. My, uh, escort is getting me something now.” Escort? Why hadn’tshe said “husband”?
“So …”she said to fill the awkward silence, “I read you’re no longer with the team.What are you doing now?” She’d seen where his contract had been bought out; hewas done with the Blizzard, or they were done with him, as were the Hawks. Sofar no one else had picked him up. Paige had learned way more about hockey—andBeckett Miller—than she’d ever wanted to, courtesy of Katie’s unending prattleon both subjects. Whatever she missed, Gwenn filled in.
“Stilltrying to play professional hockey. I just got back from Europe, where I skatedin a few games. Maybe the KHL will pick me up.”
“Isthat better than the AHL?” Maybe Katie’s lessons hadn’t all been wasted.
Shakinghis head, he closed the distance between them. “It’s the top league over there,but the quality’s on par with the AHL. Getting paid can be a little iffy, andliving in Russia … I think I’d rather be in the AHL. Besides, you play moregames in an AHL season.”
Shebacked up, nearly colliding with the desk. “So why not stay in the AHL?”
“Myagent’s been trying without much luck on that front.” He gave her a wistfulsmile and held her gaze as he took up station where she’d been standing. Apinga nonchalance she didn’t feel, she part-leaned, part-slid along the desk’s width.
Hecleared his throat. “So … I need to clean out my real estate portfolio, and I’mlooking for someone to sell my house here.” He raised the beer bottle. “Ithought of you.”
Shetried to hide her shock. “Oh! I don’t do that.”
“What?You don’t sell houses?”
“Idon’t list for other people. Just my own stuff.”
“Butyou’ve got the credentials, right? So there’s nothing to stop you listingmine?”
Onlythe fact I don’t want to. Shecrossed her arms. “Well, nothing except my schedule. Summer’s really busy.” Liar.Not this summer. But still, working for Beckett Miller wouldn’t be worthit.
Beckettlooked over her head. “Either I’ve pissed someone off, or your date is headingour way. Maybe both.” He grinned.
Paigewhirled. Adrian, his head bent like a charging bull’s, fisting two drinks, wasmaking his way through a cluster of people. Was he jealous? If only.
“I’vebeen looking all over for you, Paige,” he scolded. Not jealous, then. Handingher a sweaty gin and tonic, he looked Beckett up and down. “Who’s this?” Adrianwas not a small man, but he looked it next to the broader Beckett.
Beforeshe could utter a word, Beckett stuck his hand out. “I’m Beckett Miller. I’vebeen trying to convince your girl to sell my house. I’m disappointed to hearher dance card’s too full for a commission on a two-million-dollar spread inCherry Hills Village.”
Adrianswiveled his head to Paige. “But I thought you said—”
“Thanksfor the drink.” She placed her hand on Adrian’s arm. “Beckett, this is my—”
“AdrianPaulson. I’m Paige’s husband.” Adrian grasped Beckett’s hand.
Afterthe usual small talk, Adrian turned back to her. “Paigey, why don’t you take alook at this man’s place?”
God,she hated that. Paigey. Couldn’t he just call her “Darling”? “GoddessDivine”? “Muse of my Wet Dreams”? She hadn’t been able to make him stop. Shouldhave made it a condition of the prenup.
Paigeglimpsed a twinkle in Beckett’s eyes. “I … It’s not my area, Adrian. I’m surehe could do better with an expert.”
“Whatdo you mean, it’s not your area? You’ve worked in Cherry Hills before. Besides,you might pick up some new clients.” Adrian winked at her.
Shewould strangle him later. “I’m not cheap, Mr. Miller,” she huffed.
“Thebest never are. I’ll pay you more than your usual rate. Figure out whatpercentage would make it worth your while.”
Paigebegan calculating. Eight percent would bring her portion to at least a hundredthousand. Wow! And ten percent? Even better, but was it enough to put up withthis jerk? Her mind ran on, suddenly drunk with possibilities. Twenty percent!Fifty!
“I’mnot a high-profile Realtor. I’m not sure why you want me to represent you.”
“BecauseMarty and Claudia say you’re the best. They trust you. That’s what I careabout.”
She wasn’tsure why, but she found herself grateful he’d not mentioned knowing her at DU.It was something she’d never shared with Adrian or Katie; they might havetwisted it into a big deal, which it never had been.
Adrianelbowed her. “C’mon. Just take a look.”
Shewould definitely strangle him later.
“I tellyou what, Ms. Paulson. Come over, look around, and if it’s not to your liking,no hard feelings. Deal?” Beckett beamed his magazine-layout smile.
Sheblew a breath out of her nose. “Deal.”
“I haveone of Paige’s cards.” Adrian rummaged around in his shirt pocket and flippedout a card between two fingers. He handed it to Beckett, who entered her numberin his phone before slipping the card into his wallet. Paige clenched herfists, though she showed only her most pleasant public smile.
Consultingtheir calendars, they arrived at an appointment time in two days for herwalk-through. Adrian would be on the road again, freeing her up.
Standingin the main floor living room a few minutes later, Paige watched Beckett hugMarty and Claudia good-bye, trot across the street, climb into the dented Chevypickup, and drive off. Not the driver she’d expected for that truck. Not thevehicle she’d expected for that man.
Besideher, Adrian said, “You got a client. Can we go now?”
.~ * * * ~.
Two days later, Paige pulled her Tacoma into a sweepingdrive and parked before a set of massive arched mahogany-and-glass doorscovered in iron scrollwork. Very elegant, very masculine, very saleable. Twelvepercent. God, that’s too high! No, no, he’s loaded, and he said whatever Iwanted to charge. Twelve, with nine percent to me. Would it be worth it? Ahundred and eighty thousand dollars would smooth out her company’s rough spotsfor a while.
Withdeliberate movements, she ran her fingers through her hair, tugged her favoritemint-green top—the one that matched her eyes—smoothed her best jeans, andgathered up
