“Um, I…”
“Have you ever worked as a transactional realtor before?” Mr. Hamilton asks after he drops my hand and steps back.
I shake my head. “No. I mean, I think I can do it, but…aren’t these types of deals usually handled by, y’know, big brokerage firms?”
He grins. “Call me old fashioned, but I don’t need a team of vultures blowin’ smoke up my ass for months. And Mr. Boggs here has already made a verbal offer that’s more generous than any others I’m likely to get. So I’m happy to pay someone local to handle the nitty-gritty.”
I glance back at Mr. Boggs, but he’s staring out at the land as if he’s not even listening at all.
“Oh, okay.” I decide it’s best to continue on with the charade, in case Ashton Kutcher is behind some bush with a video camera. After all, Mr. Hamilton is very convincing. “Well then yes, I would love to step in and act as the transactional realtor for the property.”
“All right. Good.” He nods. “I think that means your commission would increase a bit, since you’ll be getting a cut from each of us.”
I feel faint. I fan my face, laugh, stifle it, and then offer up a gentle, sane smile.
“If I email you the details, can you have the paperwork drawn up this afternoon?” he asks, very calm, so blasé. Ha.
I will draft the paperwork in my blood, right here in the dirt if this is legitimate. I decide not to tell him that. Instead, I nod enthusiastically and promise an expedient turnaround.
“Good. All right. I’ll see you two at the title company at eight tomorrow morning. I’ve already scheduled an appointment to close.”
Then, as quickly as he arrived, he’s gone, back in his old truck, reversing on the dirt road.
“I’m assuming you believe me now?” Mr. Boggs asks with a good-natured smile.
“Can you blame me for being skeptical?” I ask with wide eyes.
He shrugs. “I have kept a pretty low profile since moving here.”
We head back to our cars. In all, the showing took less than half an hour, yet I stand to make piles and piles of money, more money than I’ll know what to do with.
“You know what this means, right?” I ask as we cross below the iron gate.
“You’ll finally have to replace that old car.”
I laugh and nod. “I’m not ready to let it go yet.”
But then, as if on cue, the rearview mirror on my passenger side falls off. For months, it’s been hanging in there with some duct tape, but apparently, it’s had enough. It rolls unceremoniously in the dirt a foot or two away from the car.
Mr. Boggs pats my shoulder. “C’mon, I’ll drive you back to the agency. I imagine I’ll have some explaining to do anyway.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “They’re not going to believe it when I tell them.”
“You’re finally going to stick it to Lori.”
I can barely wait.
“How many times do you think they’ll let me ring my bell for a sale this big?” I ask.
“Maybe just one big bell. Hey, we oughta just fly in one of the bells from Big Ben.”
I grin. “That’s a great idea! I hope we can get it here in time.”
As expected, Helen and Lori don’t believe me when I explain the situation.
Lori actually turns the color of her highlights, and passes out cold. She’s rushed over to Hamilton Family Practice, and Daisy texts me updates on her condition; apparently, she might have had a psychotic break. Poor thing.
When I get home that evening, I pour Adam a glass of wine and tell him to sit down. His eyes are wide with suspicion.
“I have big news.”
“Are you pregnant?”
He seems excited by the prospect since we both want kids.
I try to conceal my smile. “Do you want me to be?”
“I feel like that’s a trick question.”
I hold up my wine glass to stop him, happy with his answer. “I’m not pregnant. My announcement actually has to do with Mr. Boggs.”
“Did you finally kick him to the curb today? Is that why we’re celebrating with wine?”
I laugh. “Not exactly.”
I fill him in on my very long, very strange day.
He shakes his head in disbelief. He too asks what month it is.
“Not an April Fools’ prank.”
His eyes narrow suspiciously. “Let me get this straight: old Boggsy with his fraying clothes and nearly broken cane is going to purchase Hamilton Ranch for close to 50 million dollars, and you’re going to get the commission?”
I beam and pat his shoulder, attempting to be as blasé about it now as Mr. Hamilton was a few hours ago.
“That’s right. Adam Foxe, it looks like you got yourself a new hound and a sugar mama.”
He laughs and I shrug.
“Guess I’ll probably have you sign a pre-nup when we get married. I mean, you’re just a lowly veterinarian. As of tomorrow morning at eight o’clock, I’m going to be a millionaire.”
“We aren’t engaged yet.”
“We aren’t?”
“I’ll probably ask any day now.”
I smile. “How will that look? Everyone will think you just want me for my money.”
“I can’t help but feel like this might be going to your head.”
He’s probably referring to the southern aristocrat accent I’ve adopted within the last few minutes.
I fan myself like a debutante, and lean deeper into my new drawl.
“Oh Adam, that’s preposterous. I’m just a lonely heiress, lookin’ to hire an animal doctor to tend to my many beasts.”
I motion to Mouse and Molly snuggled in the corner.
He reaches for my waist and tugs me down until I’m sitting on his lap. His mouth finds mine and he kisses me senseless. Clearly, he’s had enough of my games.
“Madeleine?”
“Yeah?” I reply, breathless.
“Do I get the job?”
I can’t help but smile.
“Do that thing you did the other night, and I just might consider it.”