I should have let Adam seduce me. We could have stayed right there, pinned to that living room wall, and I would have let him give me an orgasm, maybe even two. It would have done me good to let loose and have fun. It’s been so long since I’ve fooled around with anyone, I’ve probably forgotten how to do it properly.
“Madeleine?”
Adam didn’t seem to mind though. I mean, he minded when I forced him to leave, but up until that point it seemed like he was enjoying himself just fine. Maybe I’m not so rusty after all.
“Madeleine? Yoo-hoo? Have we lost you?”
I look up to find every set of eyes in the conference room focused on me. I’m at work, stuck in an endless loop of meetings, and apparently, sometime within the last ten minutes I drifted off into Adam-land. Helen is standing at the head of the long table, uncapped dry-erase marker in hand. Behind her, she’s scrawled three words on the white board: Real Estate Mixer.
I sit up straight and try to offer an apologetic smile. “Oh, sorry about that Helen. I must need a little more caffeine this morning.”
She doesn’t laugh, so I uncap my pen and glance down at my notebook. I haven’t jotted down a single word from the meeting. Lori probably has a binder full of notes taken within the last five minutes.
Helen sighs and turns back to the white board. “Right, well, as I was saying, we are going to shake things up around here. As you know, I like to host a company event once a quarter to engage the community and expand the Hamilton Realty brand. Next weekend, instead of hosting a brunch over at Hamilton Brew, we’ll be hosting a mixer at the local microbrewery!”
Lori claps so fast and so loud that I think her wrists are going to snap. “Such a brilliant idea, Helen!”
Then, of course, we all take turns kissing Helen’s ass before she can continue explaining the logistics.
“I’d like each one of you to commit to bringing three clients or potential clients to the mixer. They don’t have to currently be in the market to buy or sell a home, they just need to have potential!”
I’m already running through a mental Rolodex of people I could possibly invite, and I’m coming up embarrassingly short.
“Can I count on you all to send out invitations today?” she asks, pointing her marker out at us. “We want to give people plenty of time to RSVP before next week.”
“Absolutely!” Sandra says, pumping her fist in the air.
I’m left nodding mutely, agreeing to bring people though I have absolutely no clue who I’ll be able to coerce into attending. I could ask Adam, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. Hell, I don’t even think I should be showing him houses today, which is why I’ve taken it upon myself to invite his mom and sister-in-law to tag along for our lunchtime appointment. It’s a brilliant plan: they can offer their input on the homes we tour, and they’ll provide a buffer so Adam doesn’t get any ideas about continuing where we left off.
I saw him at the training class last night. He was polite, and handsome, and so good with Mouse. He was the one to suggest house hunting today, and I was relieved to know he wanted to continue on as my client given how tumultuous the last few weeks have been for us.
Still, given the circumstances, it’s best if we aren’t left alone together. The other week, when I ran into Kathy at the grocery store, she gave me her number and made me promise to call her if I ever wanted to hang out. I used that number this morning for more self-serving reasons, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she sounded incredibly excited to tour houses with us.
I meet Diane and Kathy at Hamilton Brew as planned, then the three of us caravan over to the first home. Adam’s black Audi is already parked out front. He’s leaning against the driver’s side door, checking his phone, and I appreciate—and abuse—the few seconds of uninterrupted gawking. He looks ridiculously good in a set of navy blue scrubs. His jaw is clean-shaven, his skin is tan, and every hair on his head is perfectly in place. How does he do it, I wonder as I park my car behind his. He looks up and smiles, and then that smile slowly fades as his gaze shifts to his mother in the passenger seat.
“Uh oh, he doesn’t look too happy to see us,” Diane comments with an amused grin. She takes no offense at the fact that her son is so annoyed by her presence.
“Ah, yeah…” I turn to face Diane, prepared to face the music. “I might not have informed him that you two would be joining us, but it’s for his own good. You two bring a female touch to the process, and you might be able to provide valuable insight that Adam wouldn’t have thought of himself.”
When I explain this to Adam, he heartily disagrees. “No. No way. Too many cooks in the kitchen.”
“Pfft.” I wave away his concern. “That’s nonsense.”
Diane and Kathy stand behind me, smiling and waiting for us to stop arguing.
“Why didn’t you tell me you invited them?” he asks, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “Is this about the other night?”
Jesus! He might have lowered his voice a smidgen. Everyone this side of the Atlantic Ocean just heard his question.
“Ah—” I turn to face the lot, ignoring his question and refocusing the group on the subject at hand: real estate. “As you can see, this house is a redone ranch-style home with plenty of modern amenities.” I jerk open my folder full of housing specs and quickly hand out an info sheet to everyone present. “The lot is oversized for this neighborhood, and the previous owners have taken great care in preserving the oak trees around the property.”
Diane and Kathy ooh and ahh. Adam crosses his arms and puts on his best scowl, annoyed with me for bypassing his question. I walk them around the entire exterior of the home and then we proceed inside. Adam is barely glancing around the place. His attention is on me, not the shimmering granite countertops the owners installed just last year.
“And did I mention the farm sink?” I ask, sweeping my hand across the appliance like Vanna White. “They’re very in demand right now.”
“Oh!” Diane squeals. “I’ve been wanting to put a farm sink in my kitchen for years. Look at all that space!”
Kathy agrees. Adam says nothing.
I smile over at him, trying to ease the tension. “Do you like farm sinks, Adam?”
He grunts and walks away.
“Now I see why it was important to invite us,” Diane says, metaphorically patting herself on the back. “He probably doesn’t even care about the kitchen sink, but any future wife of his will want this farm sink.”
“I’M SINGLE AND I DON’T CARE ABOUT FARM SINKS!” Adam shouts from the next room.