Just One Night. Nancy Warren
Stiffly. When he went to sit down, he leaned on the table and lowered himself slowly into a chair.
She turned away, busying herself with coffee so he wouldn’t think she was staring.
“Do you take milk and sugar?”
“No. Black.”
She brought coffees to the table and sat opposite him. According to her electronic planner she had thirty-five minutes until she had to be at the office for the weekly meeting and pep talk. She was determined to use the time to save her listing.
He sipped coffee. Seemed to savor every drop.
“You like your coffee,” she said, somewhat amused.
“When you live the way I do, you don’t take things like coffee or a good meal for granted. Even clean water is a luxury.” He sipped again, caught her gaze and then said, “I got shot. That’s why I’m limping. It’s no big deal, but I need to rest up for a few weeks.”
“Shot? I thought you were a photographer.” She wished she’d listened more closely.
“I’m a photojournalist. I work for World Week.”
World Week was one of the top news magazines in the country, covering international affairs, finance, politics and the arts. “Wow. That must be fascinating.”
“It is. Obviously the nature of my job requires me to cover war zones, famines, devastation both natural and human made. As you can imagine there isn’t a Starbucks on every corner.”
She sipped her own coffee, for once stopping to enjoy the flavor. How often did she even really taste her morning brew? But, with only thirty-four minutes left, she couldn’t waste time savoring coffee. She had work to do.
“Do you have a wife and family?”
The question obviously startled him. He nearly choked on his coffee. “No.”
“Are you planning to live in this house?”
She asked it innocently, but he had to know where this was going.
A crease formed between his eyebrows. She could see that he was actually thinking about her question. She decided to help him along. “A house this size might not fit with your lifestyle. I imagine you’re not home very much.”
“See the thing is—”
He stopped talking when they both heard the front door open and a female voice called, “Can I come in?”
Julia. “Sure. In the kitchen,” she called back.
“So the coast is clear.” And then Julia walked in, a swish of red cashmere coat and black pants, saw the man sitting there and said, “Oh.”
His lips twitched, which made her feel once more that strange sense of connection with him. “Julia, this is Robert Klassen.”
“I go by Rob,” he said as they shook hands.
“Hi, Rob,” she said, and flicked Hailey a glance. “Are you interested in buying Bellamy House?”
“I might be, if I didn’t already own it.”
In a few seconds Hailey had filled her friend in on the situation. Julia poured herself a coffee and sat down. “It’s great that you’re here to see Hailey at work. She’s fantastic. This place will sell in no time.” She turned to Hailey. “How did the MacDonalds like it? I think we were genius to stage the small bedroom as a nursery.”
“I think they’re interested,” Hailey said, keeping her tone carefully neutral.
“They’re not the right people for this house,” Robert Klassen, call-me-Rob, announced.
Hailey and Julia exchanged glances. The unspoken message being trouble ahead.
There was an awkward silence, then Julia broke it. “I dropped by to see if you want me to finish the staging on Tuesday night. I had to rush on the upstairs.”
“Don’t you have a date Tuesday night?” Hailey had been so excited about the blond guy that she had added a notation to her agenda just so she’d remember to phone and ask how the date had gone.
“No. He had to postpone. His business trip has been extended. He’s got to go to Nigeria next week. I’ll meet him the week after.”
“Oh, too bad.”
“Gives me time to lose a couple more pounds before we meet.” She turned to Rob. “We connected through LoveMatch.com.”
“What kind of work does he do?” Rob asked.
“He’s a civil engineer.”
Hailey said, “I’m not sure about Tuesday. Can I let you know?”
“Sure.” Julia took another quick sip of coffee, and then rose. “Sorry to run, but I’ve got to write up a staging proposal and head to an old friend’s baby shower. And I’m already running late. Nice to meet you, Rob.”
“You, too.”
“I’ll call you,” Hailey said.
When her friend had gone, she only had twenty minutes to convince this man to let her keep the listing. She opened her mouth to get back to business when he surprised her.
“So your friend hasn’t met that guy?”
“What guy?”
“The one she has the date with?”
“No. Not yet. Why?” He was messing with her careful arguments on why she should keep this listing. And besides, what business was it of his if two people he didn’t know had a date?
“Tell her he’s probably a scammer.”
“What?”
“Nigeria is the scam capital of the world. And something about ‘civil engineer’ sounds fishy to me.”
“How can you be so judgmental? She’s talked to him on the phone. I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Maybe. You spend long enough in the news business, you get an instinct.” Between telling prospective buyers ghost stories and trying to kill her friend’s happy buzz, she wasn’t too sure about his supposed instincts. Apparently he didn’t have much of an instinct for dodging bullets. “Just tell her, whatever she does, not to send the guy money.”
“All right. Fine.” She shifted and glanced at her watch. “Can we talk about us?”
He had the sexiest way of looking at her. She’d known the man all of about an hour and every time he looked at her thoughts she had no business thinking flitted through her mind.
“Us?”
As their gazes connected, she thought maybe Julia had a point. It had been way too long since she had sex if a shaggy drifter who was trying to mess with her career could make her overheated with a mere glance. She crossed her legs. “You know what I meant. The listing.”
He leaned back in his chair, savored another sip of coffee. Then he said, “Okay. Here’s what I propose. You can keep the listing. I’ll be living here so you have to work around me. I don’t want open houses. Appointment only. We’ll see how it goes.”
She was so relieved not to find herself fired before she’d started that she nodded. “Okay.” However, she wasn’t a complete fool or a pushover. “I have a condition of my own.” And she drilled him with her serious-business-woman look. “No more stories about your grandmother dying in that bed. As I’m sure Mrs. Neeson taught you, if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”
4
AFTER THE HOT REALTOR LEFT, Rob drained the rest of the coffee into his mug and began to wander through the house.
She was