LITMIR.BIZ

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high on the success of her first open house, Nick’s approval and even Tony’s fit of envy. She had no desire to revisit the past, not when the present was so good.

      Nick browsed through his phone and pulled up a photo he’d saved. There she was, on stage, in a yellow bikini and perilously high heels, hair curled and sprayed in place, and gold glitter rubbed into her brown skin. Leila blinked at the photo then scooted off the bar stool, taking her wineglass with her.

      She heard him scramble to his feet. “Are you okay?”

      “I’m bracing myself for the jokes,” she said. “Go ahead.”

      She’d heard it all. It had become a “first date” ritual, of sorts. The guy would say, “Tell me about yourself.” She’d say, “I used to compete in pageants.” He’d follow with asking, “So, what’s your plan to wipe out hunger?” or “How will you bring about world peace?”

      “I wasn’t going to make a joke,” Nick said. “I think you look good.”

      “That’s not why you showed me that picture. To tell me I look good.”

      “Leila, look at me. I thought we’d laugh.”

      “Laugh at me.”

      Nick swore quietly under his breath.

      She wasn’t ashamed of the photo. Similar photos of her posing and twirling and strutting on stage would live forever on the web. All she wanted was to forget they existed.

      She faced him. “I’m not that girl anymore. I need you to know that.”

      “Was she so bad?”

      “She was looking for a shortcut. And I’m here to work.”

      At seventeen, she’d been certain she’d found a fast track to fame and fortune. While her friends worked on their SATs, she’d worked on her strut. And now she had nothing to show for it except an aging sports car and pictures on the web.

      “You sound like me,” he said. “About five years ago.”

      “Oh, really? Are there pictures of you in a yellow bikini out there in cyberspace?”

      He didn’t laugh at the joke. “There may be pictures of God knows what. I’ve screwed up. Partied hard. Wasted money. Crashed a car.”

      “The Miata?”

      He nodded. “I turned it around, though. Switched careers. Ditched my friends. Focused on work.”

      Leila was too overwhelmed to speak. He understood. That was exactly where she was in life. Ditching bad habits and focusing on work.

      “Leila, I’m sorry.”

      Then his phone rang and the mood changed.

      Marisol had an offer, all cash, three million six. Nick jolted into action. Pacing the floor, he told Marisol his client was considering a similar offer from a buyer with sentimental attachment to the property. “She grew up in the house and won’t tear it down. I’m guessing your guy is a developer, in it for the waterfront.”

      Fifteen minutes later, Marisol called back with a better offer: three point seven. Nick wasn’t moved. After consulting with his client, he countered. “Four million clean.” They argued about comparative pricing, price per square footage and the relative value of a canal with bay access. Nick had Marisol on speaker, so Leila could follow the exchange. “This is your bread and butter,” he said to her between calls. “Everything hinges on the negotiation.”

      Then her own phone chimed with a text message from Dr. No asking if she wanted to catch a late movie. The short answer was hell, no.

      Can’t. Working late.

      She couldn’t possibly leave now. Watching Nick in his element, moving the ball down the field, trying to score, was incredibly exciting, better than anything on the big screen.

      You work longer hours than I do.

      How about tomorrow?

      I’m on call tomorrow. Saturday?

      Saturday works.

      No sooner had she put her phone away than Dr. No was forgotten. Nick had her full attention.

      After one hour of furious calls to Marisol, the seller and the sentimental buyer, an agreement was reached. Marisol came up to three point nine, which turned out to be a quarter million more than Nick’s client had expected to make. Leila saw Nick transformed, the tension of the night leaving his face and an unfamiliar calm rolling in like night fog. He was in ecstasy.

      “I’ll need proof of funds,” he told Marisol.

      “You’ll get it, asshole,” she said dryly.

      Nick let out a low laugh. “I love doing business with you.”

      “Sure. Say goodnight to your new girlfriend.”

      Leila rolled her eyes. Girlfriend? Whatever.

      Nick chucked his phone and took a victory lap around the great room, soliciting a standing ovation from an imaginary crowd. Leila obliged him with a slow clap. When they settled down, she said, “Marisol is tough!”

      “She works with developers. There’s good money in that. I knew she could go higher, but wanted to hold out for her client. I respect it, but I don’t have time for those games.”

      “Will they tear down this house for sure?”

      “You said it yourself. This house in any other neighborhood wouldn’t be worth as much. That’s a problem.”

      “I feel sorry for the woman who wanted to raise her kids here.”

      Nick came to stand before her. “Don’t go soft on me now.”

      Leila held his gaze. The world went silent. For a fleeting second, she thought he might kiss her. If he did, heaven help her, she’d kiss back.

      “Are we okay?” he asked.

      Her throat tightened. “We’re more than that.”

      He caught the double meaning. She wished she’d chosen her words more carefully, but it was the truth.

      “I’m not going to pull a stunt like that again. You’re the most interesting person I’ve met in a while. I don’t want to make fun. I want to get to know you.”

      She wanted to get to know him, too. But could she say that? How would that sound?

      “I can’t lose you to Tony.”

      He had to be kidding about Tony. Nicolas Adrian wasn’t that insecure. But when she replied, her voice was hoarse. “You’re not going to lose me to anyone.”

       Chapter 5

      This should count as a first date. They’d hosted a party, and that beat dinner and a movie. They’d had their first fight. Nick hated to see her upset, but with that crucial milestone out of the way, couldn’t they move on to make-up sex?

      He wanted to, so badly.

      They’d moved outside. It was a dull night. Gray clouds walled off the moon. He was stretched out on a lounge chair. She sat at the pool’s edge, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles.

      “My aunt pushed me into it,” she said in response to a question he’d forgotten asking. “I came home with a flyer one day and she went nuts. She thought I had a chance.”

      “It might not have paid off—”

      “It didn’t,” she said bitterly. “A lot of time and money wasted only to place as a runner up when it really counts.”

      “You won a car. Most kids have to slave away at a fast-food restaurant to afford a used clunker.”

      To

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