Tears stream down my face as we stare at each other. Having nothing to fight back with, and no reason to do so, I whisper, “I guess this is it then.”
It feels terrible in every way to clear out my desk with her tapping off some email or whatever she’s doing over there, as if I’m already invisible.
When I’ve gathered all I can carry, I walk to the door. My voice is quiet as I turn. “Cora, I loved this job. I really did. For all the years I’ve been here, I loved every minute. Thank you for giving me this opportunity and experience.”
She swallows hard, but doesn’t stop me. I walk into the sunshine feeling nothing but pain.
CHAPTER 23
T ANNER
I ’m at the property by eleven-thirty, chomping at the bit to see Emma and gauge whether or not that date she had last night went further than just kissing. It’s crazy but I want to smell her like a primate, as if that will tell me. I’m sure she’s showered since last night, if he had his hands all over her—and other things, goddamn him to hell—but my emotions aren’t as logical as my mind.
When my phone buzzes I impatiently dig it out, expecting Dan to give me a run down of today’s fires he put out in my stead. But it’s Emma’s number.
“Are you running early?” I demand, my way of being optimistic.
“Tanner…”
“What’s wrong? You sound upset.” I soften immediately, “Are you hurt? Where are you? Have you been in an accident? I’ll come get you.”
Sniffling, she clears her throat and attempts to sound strong. “No, I’m not hurt. Not like that. I’m sorry but I have to cancel our appointment.”
Staring into nothing I press the phone closer to my ear and reassure her, “Don’t worry about it. Take care of what you have to and I’ll see you later this evening. After work again?” I’ve already figured out that’s why our appointment last night was after-hours. If she had to sneak on her lunch break today, it made sense that any other time the showings would have to be at night.
“No, I can’t…”
“Tomorrow then,” I offer.
“I can’t be your realtor anymore.”
I freeze and rake my hair back, staring at the cement. “What? Why not? Is it your father? You’re just showing me houses! We’re not eloping!”
Even as I say it, I know my intentions to Emma are not platonic. I want more. And not just sex, I want to get to know her better, because she’s all I can think about and it’s driving me insane. I think I could spend days, maybe years listening to her, laughing with her, looking into those eyes and drowning out the world.
Emma’s voice is shaky, though she’s trying to mask it. “It’s not my dad. I lost my job today. I don’t want to go into the details.”
“She found out you like me, didn’t she? Cora found out and now she’s jealous, is that it?”
The line is dead for a beat. “First, I don’t like you.”
“Yes you fucking do. But go on.”
“Second, she didn’t find out. There was something building for a while that I didn’t know about. But it also brought to light that I should never have shown those houses behind her back. So, I’m sorry but I can’t be your realtor.”
“Do you still have your license?”
She pauses. “Yes, but that’s not the point.”
“Get over here and show me this house, Emma Cocker, or I will break a window and see it myself. I’ve stayed in town accommodating your inflexible schedule for four, maybe five days longer than I intended. Now be professional and get your ass over here!” I hang up and wait.
When her convertible drives up Emma stares at me, red-eyed from behind the windshield. She climbs out, looking miserable. I know I’m starting to care about the girl because every instinct is yelling for me to hold her.
But she needs a backbone.
Not coddling.
One thing I learned in business is this.
Get a thick skin.
Or they will eat you alive.
Eyeing me, she walks up as I jog my chin to the property. “Let’s get on with it. Stop dragging your feet.”
Frowning, anger flashes across her, but she walks faster and by the time we enter the nine bedroom home Emma’s shoulders have squared and she’s pulled her hair into a bun. Only trouble is, she’s blinking around like she’s forgotten everything she knows.
Prodding her I firmly ask, “When was this built.”
“1967.”
“Is it up to code?”
“Of course.”
“How are the windows?”
“They…aren’t double paned,” she frowns, remembering. “But we could talk them down in price to cover that upgrade.”
Thatta girl, Emma.
Keep it up.
You can do this.
“The appliances?”
She inhales, eyes clearing. “Those are new. They have three refrigerators. Sorry, two. One is a dedicated freezer. This doesn’t have the luxury of the last property but it has the charm the other lacks. Let me show you.” Her steps become more confident and I let her lead me through the house. At each detail she points out, a little more confidence shines through the hurt and fear. She does make a pit-stop for a tissue in one of the bathrooms, but quickly returns, streaked mascara cleaned off, lips firm with determination.
When the tour is complete, a slow smile appears, directed at me.
I don’t return it. “Next one?”
“There is only one more.”
“What are you waiting for?”
Her lips
