The first few clients start to arrive, and I put on a show, offering them champagne and making small talk about the property. I'm lucky enough to have a young, friendly couple who are wowed by the property and a kind, old man with a friendly demeanor. There's nothing worse than when a client walks in and acts like you're beneath them.

When a few more guests arrive, I give them a mini-tour and go through my usual spiel, before letting them explore alone. The first thing most of them do is head out onto the balcony, taking in the sight of Manhattan. I don't blame, them either. If I'm ever lucky enough – and rich enough – to afford this kind of view, I'd be out there all the time.

My chest suddenly tightens. I've been trying not to think about the fact that I can barely afford my apartment, but with rent coming up and this promotion on the line, it's weighing on my mind more than ever. If things don't work out, I'll have to move out and find somewhere else, which is hard to do on such short notice, especially with a cat. It means I've got to make this work, somehow. I've got to sell this property and claw my way to seven, or else everything I've done will mean nothing.

I've got to win.

I'm busy shmoozing when a gentleman walks over, tall, with sandy blond hair, pale blue eyes, and a Hollywood smile. He's holding the glass of champagne I'd given him earlier, but he's hardly taken a sip.

"How many apartments did you say were on this floor?" he asks.

"Two," I say. "The walls are soundproof, of course, so you'd have the utmost privacy."

"Thanks." He gives me this bashful smile that makes him look adorable. "I'm Wyatt, by the way. I didn't catch your name."

"Kennedy," I say, holding out my hand. "Kennedy James."

He smiles again. "Nice to meet you, Kennedy James."

"Likewise. Let me know if you have any other questions, and don't forget to check out the view."

He nods and heads straight for the balcony to join some of the others. Even though it'll do no good to check out the competition, I stand in the doorway of my apartment and hover. I've got a direct view straight into Milo's apartment, where he's standing near the patio doors, looking straight at me. We both smile at the fact we're just as sneaky as each other and then head back to our respective clients.

Wyatt comes back at one point and asks a few questions about the property. I'm always slightly nervous that I'll forget something, despite pouring over the details of this property for weeks, but I don't. I answer every question with ease, impressing him.

We make small talk for a little while longer. I learn he's CEO of some family firm, which doesn't surprise me. A lot of the buyers here are only able to afford this kind of place because of nepotism. I don't blame them, either. If I had rich parents who could buy me a house, I wouldn't say no.

"I know what you're thinking," he says.

"What am I thinking?"

"I'm your typical trust fund brat."

I'm the picture of innocence as I say, "The thought never crossed my mind."

He laughs. "Sure it didn't. I'm a pro at reading people's faces, and you don't have a particularly good poker face. It's all about the eyebrows."

"The eyebrows?"

"Sure." He takes a step closer. "People are good at keeping their expression neutral, except for the eyebrows." He lifts his hand, careful not to touch me, and hovers it over my eyebrow. "As soon as I mentioned my family's firm, this part of your eyebrow twitched slightly."

I can't help but laugh at his Sherlock Holmes routine, but I have to admit, I'm eating up. He's not like the other spoilt or entitled trust fund guys I usually come across. He's down to earth, almost bookish, with this easiness about him that you can't help but be drawn to.

He says something funny, and just as I laugh, Milo walks in, scans the room, and stops when his eyes find mine. I'm suddenly on high alert, the way I always get whenever he's around. It's like his body is magnetic, and the second he's in the vicinity, my body draws to his. 

Whatever Wyatt is saying now fades out of existence. Milo's still watching me, his mouth tilted down into a subtle, sexy frown. I smile at Wyatt, nodding along to whatever he's saying because I don't want to be rude, but it's hard now that I've got a spectator.

Eventually, I tell Wyatt I'll be back in a moment and casually walk toward Milo. "That was quick," I say. "You ended the viewing already?"

He looks past me to Wyatt. His eyes flash with something. Annoyance? Jealousy? It's hard to tell. "Client put an offer down," he says. His eyes flit to mine now, warmer than a moment ago. Electric. "Closing first thing tomorrow."

I nod, expecting my stomach to sink with dread, but it doesn't. God help me, I'm happy for him. "That's good," I say. "I'm glad."

"You are?"

I shrug. Maybe this is what it feels like to grow up. "You've worked hard for it," I say, "and it's not like it's over. If I close the deal, we're on equal ground. If I don't close the deal–" I take a deep breath, "–well, I guess that means I'm not good enough for seven."

"You're good enough," he says, stepping closer. He positions his mouth near my ear like he's about to tell me a secret. "Even if they don't see it."

I swallow hard. The warmth between my thighs is something I don't need in the middle of a viewing. I take a step back, certain the look in my eyes says everything I can't. He smiles a little, nods briefly, and heads back to his apartment.

Despite not being able to stop thinking about Milo, the rest of the night goes surprisingly well. I'm shmoozing and exuding confidence like never before, and clients are taking the bait. There are several time wasters, which is always the case, but also several who are clearly serious. By the end of the night, I've got a list of clients who've confirmed they want to put in an offer, and by tomorrow morning, one of them will have snapped it up.

It's late by the time the viewing ends. I sink onto the sofa, head back, and grin. It feels like a weight has lifted off my chest and I can finally breathe. Even though the playing field is even again, I don't seem to mind. I don't want to compete with Milo anymore, I don't want to keep comparing myself to others. This night is about me, my achievements, and come tomorrow morning, I'll have done what I've always loved doing: selling properties.

I'm contemplating getting up when Milo walks in, exhausted, and sinks onto the sofa next to me. "Is it just me or has tonight been exhausting?"

"It's not just you," I say. It's strange, but it feels as if my body has been running on fumes these last few weeks, focused only on selling this property, and now that it's pretty much over, my body has ran out of gas. "I don't think I could move if I tried."

Eyes closed, Milo puts an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. I'm startled for a moment, confused by this sudden display of affection, but my doubts are overridden by how good it feels to lie like this – how natural.

We're silent as we lay here. Snuggled to his chest, it's impossible not to imagine what it would be like to do this every night, to curl up next to Milo and Mulan in some human-cat burrito. I keep thinking about what he's said earlier, and I half expect him to kiss me now that we're alone with no interruptions, but when I next look over, he's fast asleep.

He looks so peaceful that I'm afraid to move in case he wakes up. I lightly brush his cheek, enjoying the soft, warm feel of his skin. It's not typical for me to catch him in such a vulnerable position, but I realize I like it.

Like him.

Breath held, I lean in closer, chest fluttery, and whisper, "I like you, Milo Woods."

He doesn't stir, but it feels nice to say it to him, even if he doesn't hear it. It feels like a step in a right yet terrifying direction. Then, out of nowhere, he mumbles something. It's hard to make out at first, but as I lean closer, straining my ears to make out the word, I hear, "Anna."

I don't move. I can't, I'm still trying to process, to convince myself that he didn't just mutter the name of his ex while curled up with me. But then he says it again, and there's no mistaking it.

It's impossible not to take it personally. It's not like Milo has any control of his subconscious, or whose name he mutters in his sleep, but I can't help but feel rejected all the same. Slowly, I shift from under him and grab my phone, calling myself an Uber. It's going to be expensive as hell, but the thought of an awkward subway ride, followed by Milo driving me home, is too much to bear. I wait until it's right outside before shaking Milo awake.

He stirs a little, groaning. I try again, and this time his eyelids flutter open and he groggily looks around. When his eyes find mine, they soften slightly. "What time is it?" he asks.

"Late," I say. "I need to get back – my Uber is outside." I don't mention what happened. I just get to my feet and grab my coat, zipping it up to my neck. A part of me wants to ask him just what he was dreaming about, but the other part doesn't want to know – I don't think my ego can take it.

Milo, sensing a change in my mood, gets to his own feet. "You called an Uber?" There's a layer of hurt in his voice.

"Yeah," I say. "You're tired, and I don't want you to have to go out of your way to drop me home. I'll see you tomorrow."

He frowns, still groggy, and runs a hand through his hair. "I'll walk you down."

I nod, and we slip on our coats before heading into the elevator. As soon as the doors open, I'm hurrying outside toward my uber. Milo grabs my arm and pulls me back, spinning me into a hug.

"You're acting weird," he says in my ear.

"I'm not," I say, stepping back, "you are," and then I climb into the Uber, relieved when the driver pulls away.

A/N

Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! ❤️