“I take it you aren’t comfortable with that?”
“Oh, I didn’t say that!” I scurry to cover my tracks. Helen loves Lori. In Helen’s eyes, Lori can do no wrong. Meanwhile, I’m the agent on probation. If Lori stalks her clients until they give in and work with her, then maybe it’s not such a bad idea. It’s clearly working for her—her bell has chimed three times this week while mine has collected another layer of dust, much like my love life.
I open my mouth, prepared to tell Helen I’m fully prepared to go into stalker mode, but right then, my cell phone starts to ring. Unlike most work environments, we’re encouraged to have our phones on us at all times in case a client is calling. Helen wants us available 24/7, and that includes now. She waves for me to answer it and I glance down at the unknown number.
Unknown numbers are good. While 50% of them are scam calls from Nigerian princes or credit card companies, some of them (okay, there’s only been one) are clients trying to get ahold of me. My heart soars with the possibility that it’s the latter. I excuse myself from Helen’s office and swipe my screen to answer the call.
“Hello, Madeleine Thatcher speaking.”
“Madeleine, hey. It’s Adam.”
I rack my brain trying to think of an Adam I’ve been in contact with at the agency lately. I usually only have a handful of clients, but I like to treat each of them as if they’re my only client. I like to be up to date with every email, every phone call. If I’ve been in talks with an Adam lately, it does not ring a bell. Still, I play it cool.
“Mr. Adam! Of course, nice to hear from you.”
It’s a good, neutral greeting.
“Um, right. Can you talk for a second? I’m sure you’re at work.”
I frown, confused.
“Yes, I’m at the agency, but I’m definitely available to chat.”
Then he laughs and I freeze. Have I said something wrong? Usually clients find me courteous and professional.
“You have no clue who this is, do you?”
I laugh, if only to join him and make it less awkward. “Of course I do. It’s Adam!”
Meanwhile, I’m sprinting to my cubicle so I can pull up my recent email history. Adam. Adam. There’s an Adam Keller I tried to work with last year, but that can’t be—
And then it clicks.
“Ohhhhh, the vet! The puppy man!”
He laughs again. “Yeah, most people just call me Adam.”
I blush. “Of course. Sorry. I’m just a little surprised you called. How did you get this number?”
My work phone number is listed on our agency’s website, but he called my cell phone.
“I might have found it on the puppy training waiver.”
I relax in my chair. “Wow.”
“Sorry for the breach in privacy.”
I shake my head, though he can’t see me through the phone. “No, it’s not that. I’m just surprised to hear from you.” He seems remarkably happy to be chatting with me on the phone now considering the last time I was around him he wanted nothing more to do with me, except to maybe—
“Oh god, are you kicking me out of the training class because of what I did last week? I know that was out of line, but I swear I won’t pester you about real estate anymore. You have my word.”
“No, it’s not that. Actually, I’d like to apologize for how I handled that situation. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”
My eyebrows hit the ceiling. “Oh. Wow. Okay.” Then I think for a second. “Is that why you’re calling? To…um, apologize?”
There’s a pause, and for a second, I think the call cut off. I move it away from my face and see the call time ticking away. By the time I press it back to my ear, I catch the tail end of a sigh.
“Actually, no. I have a proposition of sorts.”
A proposition?
Why does that sound like the start of a sex contract or something? Oh god, it’s not that. My mind is jumping to conclusions because I wish it were a sex contract. Hell, at this point, any contract might get Helen off my back.
“Oh?” I ask, hoping to sound only mildly curious.
“Yeah. I’ll just cut to the chase. Basically, I’ll let you sell me a house, but you have to do something for me first.”
Sex.
He wants lots and lots of blowjobs. Oh god, I’m starring in a low-rent porno.
Or worse…
He wants my organs.
That’s fine. He can harvest all of them if he’ll let me sell him a house. I imagine it now: in a week I’ll stroll into Helen’s office and announce I’ve sold a huge house. She’ll beam and ask me how I did it, and I’ll lift up my shirt and show her the scar from which they took my kidney.
“Madeleine?” Adam asks. “Did I lose you?”
I laugh because he’s done the exact opposite.
Without hesitation, I reply in earnest, “Adam Foxe, whatever you want, you have yourself a deal.”
CHAPTER NINE
MADELEINE
I forgot to ask Adam what he needs me to do for him. I just accepted his proposal and hung up before he could go into details. Armed robbery, midnight séances, free tax preparation—I’m prepared for anything. I even consider for a moment that he might be asking for help at the veterinary practice, so I watched a cow birthing video on YouTube and only threw up in my mouth once. That’s how badly I want to sell him a house.
Friday night, I’m sitting at Daisy’s house with Mouse, watching old movies and scrolling through Tinder profiles. Daisy likes doing it with me since she never used dating apps herself.
“Oh, God no!” she says, swiping past yet another prospective mate.
“He wasn’t half bad!” I snap, trying desperately to claw the phone out of her hand.
“He was posing in front of a cherry red Corvette in his profile picture. What kind of guy does that?”
Sure, his picture screamed insecure douchebag, but if I swiped past every guy who didn’t perfectly meet my specifications, it would just be me and Mouse growing old together.
Daisy doesn’t believe me.
“There are going to be better prospects, you just wait.”
My phone buzzes in her hand with an incoming text and from the look on her face, I know it’s not from my mom. Since I’m currently with her, I know it’s not from Daisy, and that rules out the only two people who text me on a regular basis.
“One new text from Adam Foxe?!” she exclaims.
I try, yet again, to snatch the phone away from her, but she holds it over her head. Mouse leaps to his feet and starts to bark, assuming this is all some spontaneous game.
“Hand over the phone, Daisy,” I snap in a very authoritative, very no-nonsense tone.
It only makes her laugh as she starts to read the text aloud.
“Hey Madeleine, it’s Adam. I’ll pick you up at your place tomorrow around 11:30 AM.”
I pretend not to care, sitting very still with my arms crossed on the other end of the couch. She can read all the text messages she wants; she’s not going to get any information out of me.
“Adam is texting you.”
“Yes.”
“Adam the vet?”
I shrug.
“Why is he texting you? And why is he picking you up tomorrow?”