Dirty Flirty Enemy Page 7

  “You don’t?” His eyes light up, making them even more irresistible.

  Jeez, I would not have thought that was even possible.

  I giggle. “No. I understand that our views on dating are different. If the women you’re with know the score, then it’s mutual. I don’t judge them or you.”

  He chuckles lightly, his eyes falling for a moment before they pierce into mine. “You surprise me, Bella.”

  Hearing my name off his lips sends tingles across my skin. “Thanks.”

  “Have a good night,” he says, lingering on the other side of the door.

  I let the glass door close, effectively locking him out.

  “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you in my dreams,” I mumble, because though I won’t admit to it anyone else, I’m very attracted to Carmelo Mancini. I don’t judge those women. I’m jealous of them. Much to my own disappointment.

  Chapter Ten

  Bella

  I stop applying my mascara, resting my hands on the edge of the bathroom sink. Why is Carm occupying every cell in my brain today? Last night was one thing, but it’s a new day. I even put on a shirt I always get compliments about, on the off chance I run into him at the office today.

  I’m not naïve. The sexual tension between us last night wasn’t my imagination. Since neither of us had enough to drink to give us the illusion that we could sleep together and blame it on the alcohol, I’d left him last night, feeling unfulfilled. If he’d been anyone else, when he walked me into the lobby, I might’ve asked him upstairs.

  I apply a little more powder under my eyes to try to hide the dark circles. Staying up half the night trying to convince myself I’m not attracted to him was a useless endeavor. His lips were the first thing that crossed my mind as my hand slid down past my mound. His hands and eyes came next. Then the way his biceps tug at his shirt sleeves, followed with me imagining how the scruff on his face would feel scraping against my inner thighs as he teased me. He was who I imagined as I bucked into my hand.

  My phone rings, distracting me from the memory. I swipe the screen and put it on speaker. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Sweetie, I’m so glad I caught you. Instead of dinner, let’s do brunch, okay? Greg has somewhere he wants to take me tonight.”

  I think through my schedule for this morning, but Max can handle anything that comes up. And I can work late anyway. My excuse last night of an early morning meeting was a fib. “Okay.”

  “I want you to meet him. He has a quick business meeting first, then he’s going to join us at our table.”

  “Oh, it’s not necessary if he has business to attend to.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ve already told him all about you and how proud I am of the business you’re starting. He’s dying to meet you.”

  I highly doubt a man like Greg Throttle, whose reputation in this town is unmatched, is impressed by my measly FSBO company. “Where and what time?”

  “Ten thirty at The Cobbler. That way we get some time alone together while he’s doing business.”

  “Perfect. I’ll see you there.”

  That means I won’t be fresh-faced and wrinkle-free before seeing Carm, which kind of means the whole hour of getting ready was for nothing.

  I know. I know. Stop thinking of him.

  If only.

  “Can’t wait, and oh, I brought you a tin of cookies for Max.”

  “She’ll love hearing that. See you in a bit, Mom.”

  We say our goodbyes, and I stare at myself in the mirror, grab my mascara, and start applying again. After I’m ready, I send Max a message to say I’ll be in this afternoon and to call me if anything important comes up. Otherwise, I’m working from home until brunch.

  * * *

  At 10:25, I step out of the cab in front of The Cobbler. It’s a large restaurant below a condominium building I’m fairly sure is owned by Greg Throttle. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised he chose this place, if he really is the Greg Throttle.

  I head inside, but before I approach the hostess, someone else opens the door behind me and a rush of air tousles my perfect curls that took twenty minutes to get just right. What a waste. By the time I reach the office and the possibility of running into Carm, my red hair will be thrown up into a ponytail.

  My mom stands from one of the tables, and I spot Greg Throttle next to her. No one owns a room quite like him. His salt-and-pepper hair and perfectly trimmed beard work with the slacks and polo shirt he’s wearing. Both of their skin has the bronze coloring of a Floridan. At least he’s not someone pretending to be Greg Throttle. My mom has the real deal at her side.

  “I see my party, thank you,” I say to the hostess.

  Her eyes aren’t even on me, but on whoever is behind me. I reflexively glance over my shoulder to see what’s grabbed her undivided attention, and I’m greeted with an egocentric smirk so big, all the blood flowing through my body zeroes in between my thighs.

  Damn, I dressed to impress, but Carmelo Mancini upped his game this morning too.

  I feel confident he didn’t do so for my benefit though.

  “Good morning.” His voice sounds rougher than I’ve ever heard it. “What are you here for?”

  “Um… good morning.” I bow. Why am I bowing as though he’s some prince or something? I straighten my back. “My mom… she’s in…” Jesus, his tailored suit is distracting. Like it covers but shows off his body all at once.

  “What?” He chuckles under his breath.

  I’m totally giving him the pleasure of knowing he has me tongue-tied.

  “Bella! Sweetie!” my mom calls from her table.

  I turn to see her and Greg Throttle’s eyes are on me.

  Carm follows my line of vision and sets his eyes back on me. Questions fill those blue hues instead of the desire I swear I saw when I first turned around. “That’s your mom?”

  I look back one more time as though I don’t recognize the woman who raised me for twenty-eight years. “Yeah.”

  “With Greg Throttle?”

  “Yes.” I release a breath. “New relationship. And now I’m meeting the boyfriend.”

  “Interesting,” he says, stepping toward the hostess. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  “Nice seeing you.” I wave, almost tripping over my feet as I turn. “I’ll see you at the office.”

  His lips tip up. “I think sooner than that.”

  I stop. “What?”

  His lips turn into a megawatt smile. One that lights up every cell inside my body. But this time, there’s something I can’t decipher behind that smile. “Nothing. If we finish at the same time, we’ll share a cab.”

  I nod. “Sure.”

  Man, we totally have this being civil to one another thing down pat.

  “Bye.” I wave as if he’s all the way across the street or something. Get a grip, Bella. He’s not Bradley Cooper.

  “See you soon.” He winks.

  I circle around, and my mom’s up and out of her seat before I can make sense of his words.

  “Sweetie, you look beautiful. You’re glowing.” Her hand lands on my cheek as she takes me in.

  It’s been less than six months since I saw her over Christmas, but sometimes it feels like a lifetime.

  “It’s summer in New York. I’m flushed from the humidity. I wouldn’t call it glowing.”

  “It’s only May. Wait until July.” Greg Throttle stands from his chair. “Are you going to introduce us, Linda?”

  “Oh yes, sorry. I just can’t believe how good she looks.” Her eyes fall over my body once again. Truth is, my mom usually gets the slouch version of me since it’s my downtime when I visit her. “Bella, this is Greg Throttle, my…”

  “Boyfriend.” He holds out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a lot of great things.”

  I shake his hand and nervousness plagues me. This is the Greg Throttle. Real estate mogul. He makes and breaks people’s careers. Rumor has it that at one time, you had to go through three of his employees to score
a meeting with him. How on Earth did he land in my mom’s bakery in Florida asking about a book club?

  “Thank you. She does love to brag,” I say and smile.

  “I’m sure there’s a lot to brag about.” The male voice comes from behind me.

  I still have Greg’s hand in mine as I turn around to find Carm standing there. Of course. Carm must be the meeting my mom mentioned on the phone.

  “Bella,” he says with a nod, ignoring the fact that he knew before I did and didn’t warn me. “Mr. Throttle, Carmelo Mancini.” He holds out his hand.

  Greg slides out of my grasp and into Carm’s. “Yes, I saw the two of you over there. You two know one another?”

  My mom looks on with intrigue, waiting for answers.

  “Not really,” I say at the same time Carm says, “Yes.”

  “Our offices are across the hall from one another,” I rush to explain. “I recently relocated my office to the same building as his.”

  “You’re a realtor?” my mom asks. If I only could give her the Cliff’s Notes version.

  “I am. Good to meet the mother who raised this lovely woman.” He puts out his hand, and I roll my eyes. He’s laying it on a little thick.

  When my eyes manage not to lodge themselves in the back of my head, I notice that Greg saw me. He smirks.

  Great first impression I’m making.

  “This is the realtor I have the meeting with, Linda,” Greg says, placing his hand on the small of her back.

  Since my dad’s death, I’ve seen many men do that exact same move. It never gets easier. Whether it was my father’s sudden death or the fact that I know how in love they were, it’s like a quick slice to my skin every time. I wonder if my dad is up there cursing her for trying to replace him, or does he want her to be happy?

  Carm’s shoulder bumps mine, and I look at him. What I see isn’t gloating or smugness; he appears empathetic. Am I that transparent right now?

  “Let’s sit,” Greg says.

  “Oh, I thought…” I say.

  “All four of us?” Carm asks.

  “Originally I was going to have the meeting with Carm while Linda and Bella caught up, but I just had an epiphany when we made our introductions.”

  I look at my mom and she shrugs, smiling more at Carm than me.

  We sit around the table and I watch as she pulls out her phone. My phone dings seconds later. I’m pretty sure the other two people at the table know she messaged me. Discretion is not in her vocabulary.

  Carm glances at me but swivels his chair so he’s more in line with Greg. Go figure. Anything for the deal.

  The waitress comes over and goes through the specials then takes our drink orders. I slide my phone out to see what my mom has to say.

  Mom: Are you dating him?

  I type a quick response.

  Me: NO

  Mom: He’s handsome.

  I roll my eyes and drop my phone into my purse where it hangs off the back of the chair. She smiles at me. I unwrap my silverware and place the napkin in my lap.

  “I’m just going to cut to the chase. I’m a straight-shooter,” Greg says.

  Carm straightens in his chair. “I’m the same. Tell it like it is.”

  What a suck-up.

  Greg humors him with a smile. “I like you, Carm. I’ve done my research. My vice president said you did a helluva job moving his penthouse. Got him over asking. Said I should give you a shot. I also heard that you’re the new blood who doesn’t accept no or the word can’t.”

  I inwardly roll my eyes this time, because I don’t want Greg to catch me again.

  “Yes, sir. I have some figures from this past year that I think will help convince you I’m the guy for you.”

  Greg raises his hand. Before he can speak, the waitress brings our coffee and teas. I’m tempted to ask her for a large amount of Bailey’s in my coffee.

  “You can cool it on selling yourself, Carmelo.”

  “Carm,” he corrects. “Everyone calls me Carm.”

  I shake my head and roll my eyes, because this is a version of Carm I do not like. I look up from my napkin, and all three of their heads are turned in my direction. “Sorry. I was just thinking about something from earlier this morning. My neighbor and I had it out.”

  Carm smirks. He knows I got caught. My mom’s eyebrows furrow, and Greg smiles as though I just told him my darkest secret.

  “That’s not like you. You get along with everybody,” my mom says.

  “Not everyone,” I say, looking right at Carm.

  “We’re getting off track. I’ve got a building that’s going to be ready by the end of the year, and I want every unit sold before it opens. I have a proposal for you both. You each get a floor. We’ll do FSBO with you, Bella, and Carm, you do what you have to in order to sell the floor. Whoever sells out the fastest gets the rest of the building.”

  “I’m sorry. What?” Carm leans forward as if he didn’t hear him correctly.

  I laugh, manically laugh, because Greg Throttle cannot be serious right now.

  Chapter Eleven

  Carm

  Someone tell me I never woke up this morning. That I’m in some twisted dream.

  I pinch my wrist under my cufflink to be sure I’m actually awake. Yep.

  “Greg, you’re aware that I’m not a full-service brokerage, right? I only work with FSBOs, so you only get your property listed on MLS, whereas Carmelo would handle everything.”

  This is definitely a dream. Bella Scott is selling me over herself? Hell has frozen over. I glance out the windows to see if pigs are flying too. Nope.

  “I’m aware, Bella, and thanks for the disclaimer. I’m sure we have some intern or lower-level employee who can show prospective buyers the units. You’re Linda’s daughter and I know you’re starting out. Don’t think of this as a handout, but…”

  “It is,” I say before the words travel through my mind to be stopped by the bullshit filter in my brain.

  Greg tilts his head. “Not that I don’t think it’s an excellent idea. I just had a client this week who’d been toying with going the FSBO route and decided to try things out with Ms. Scott.”

  I lean back and sip my coffee with the hopes that my outburst is forgotten, but I feel Bella’s eyes boring into the side of my head.

  “I’ve always wondered if you brokers really work for your cut.”

  I smile and set down my coffee. What an asshole he is if he thinks I don’t work for my commission. My lack of a social life and the fact that my weekends are like weekdays should give him a clue. I won’t even add in the money I spend on advertising and stagers and photographers, or the bullshit I take from clients, prospective buyers, and brokers alike. I’m in the only profession where people pay you for your expertise then fight you on everything you say. No one goes to the mechanic or the doctors and argues with them about how to fix the problem. But my clients don’t want a time sheet for hours worked and a record of expenses paid. In the end, they all think brokers make too much money, even when you’re making them more money.

  “I guess you’ll find out in two months,” I say with a smile.

  “I said three,” he says.

  “I know.” I sip my coffee and let it hang in the air.

  A huff leaks out of Bella to my left.

  “You’re cocky,” Linda says across from me.

  I wink and smile. “For good reason.”

  “Oh.” She looks at her daughter with wide eyes. “He’s dangerous.”

  Bella rolls her eyes, then straightens her back. Our breakfast arrives and the waitress sets my omelet and fruit in front of me, followed by Bella’s yogurt and granola. Greg’s eggs Benedict and Linda’s quiche are delivered next.

  “So it’s three months and we each have our own floor? Interaction between the two of us will be minimal?” I ask.

  Greg chuckles, holding the dripping egg with hollandaise above his plate. “I wouldn’t say no interaction.” He slides the eggs Benedict off his fork a
nd sets down the utensil as he chews.

  I glance at Bella. She hasn’t touched her food.

  “This isn’t nearly as good as mine. Try this.” Linda holds out her fork to Greg.

  Surely, he’s not going to eat it off her fork in front of us? Bella might be quasi-family, but I came for a business meeting.

  But sure as shit, he opens his mouth and allows Linda to feed him.

  “You’re right,” he says. “I told you, let me open you a place here.”

  Bella coughs, and we all glance in her direction to find her choking on something. Her eyes water and her face is red, but she recovers and swallows a good amount of ice water.

  “You okay, sweetie?” Linda asks.

  Bella nods, plastering on her fake smile. “You’re thinking of moving here?” she asks with concern in her eyes.

  Which I don’t understand, because it appears that they have a good relationship.

  “No, I could never leave Vista Park, but Greg thinks I should expand.” Linda smiles at Greg and inches closer to him.

  He looks at her fondly, and I suddenly feel as though I’m interrupting a moment. “Her pastries would do so well up here. Add in some killer coffee and you’d have lines out the door.”

  “You’re a baker?” I ask, trying to steer this conversation anywhere other than the direction it’s going because I can tell Bella’s upset and the last thing I want is to be part of a family spat.

  “I am. Stop by Bella’s office this afternoon. I have a basket full of cookies being delivered to Max.” She smiles.

  “I thought you’d come back with me and we’d give them to her?” Bella interrupts, sounding like a disappointed nine-year-old.

  Linda looks at Greg. “We’re going to see the sights, so we had a courier pick them up this morning. But I’m all yours tomorrow.”

  “Until we leave for the Hamptons,” Greg reminds her.

  “That’s right, and I was hoping we could go shopping?” She looks at her daughter.