Series: The Laws of Opposite Attract Series by Vi Keeland
Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 105253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
I didn’t even have to check her out to know she looked incredible. Tarryn was gorgeous—a former Miss Kentucky who had moved to L.A. to do some modeling a decade ago and ended up becoming one of the most successful real estate agents on the West Coast. She’d opened her own brokerage two years ago, and I’d heard through the grapevine that she was killing it in the eight-figure-home-sales market in Malibu. We’d met when we were both starting out. She’d been working on a house sale out in California for a client who was buying a property from me in New York, and we’d been referring business to each other ever since. A few years back, we’d closed a giant deal, and I’d ended up licking celebratory champagne off her body at the end of the night. Since then, we hooked up once or twice a year, whenever one of us was in town.
I gestured to the couch in the corner of my office. “And you look like you eat those born-and-bred L.A. realtors for breakfast.”
She grinned. “I did just steal two listings from an agent on that real estate reality show. I heard she bitches about me on an upcoming episode.”
I chuckled. “So what brings you to town? I hope you’re not setting up shop here. I don’t think I want you as competition.”
“I think it would be fun to go head-to-head with you.” Tarryn’s eyes sparkled. “But no, I’m not coming to the New York market. I have my hands full in California. I’m just here for the day. My friend is getting married, and I’m in the wedding party. We had fittings this morning on the Upper East Side. Her fiancé has a private plane, and he has businesses here and in L.A. She hasn’t seen him in a week, so she went to his office wearing only a trench coat to surprise him. I thought I’d keep myself busy doing a little shopping before we head back later tonight.”
“Nice. I’ve never flown private.”
“Are you up for a drink? I was hoping maybe we could go to that little bar we went to last time I was in town.”
My eyes immediately went to my cell phone. Still no call.
My gut reaction was to say no to drinks with Tarryn, make up an excuse. It felt wrong to spend time with a woman I’d slept with, but really, why shouldn’t I? Devyn had made it clear that we were nothing more than friends. Hell, she hadn’t even called me after the hearing this morning. So why not go enjoy myself? Maybe some time with Tarryn was exactly what I needed.
I checked my phone once more—maybe if a message came in, it would be a sign that I should decline. But I was disappointed once again. So I nodded. “You know what? Sure. Just give me five minutes to wrap things up here.”
***
“Do you remember that overpriced pre-war we sold together up in Morningside Heights?” Tarryn lifted a toothpick with three olives and used her teeth to slip the first one off. “The woman who owned it, Mrs. Anderson, went into an assisted-living facility.”
“Of course. How could I not? When we did the pre-closing walk through, the entire place was empty. At least we thought it was, until I opened the hall closet and a life-sized cutout of Nick Jonas scared the living shit out of me.”
Tarryn laughed and pointed at me with the toothpick. “That’s the one.”
“Did you ever find out why that thing was there? Was the old lady a JoBro fan or something?”
“I’m glad you asked. Funny story…I keep in touch with the buyers. You know, check in once in a while and see how they like their new place to maintain the relationship and stuff. The new owner told me he found a shoebox in the attic, filled with unsent love letters to Nick from the old lady.”
I laughed. “I was just telling Devyn stories the other day about the crazy shit we see. I need to tell her that one.”
Tarryn sipped her martini and tilted her head. “Devyn? Is there a woman in your life these days, Mr. Dawson?”
My eyes slanted to my cell. Still no call. Sucking back the rest of my beer, I shook my head. “Nah. Devyn’s just a friend.”
Tarryn’s eyes glinted. “Good to know.”
Over the next hour and a half, Tarryn and I had too many drinks. She was always friendly, but the alcohol made her touchy feely. She’d laugh and hold on to my arm, or press her hand against my chest while she told a story. At one point, when there was a lull in the conversation, she scraped a fingernail along the top of my hand.
“I’ve missed spending time with you, Owen. It’s easy between us, isn’t it?”