9| Come hither

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Competing with Milo involves a lot of glaring over polystyrene cups. We're opposite each other in another pointless board meeting, him in his expensive suit and a green patterned tie that would look stupid on anyone else, but somehow he manages to pull off, and me in a blue dress with a foundation stain on the collar that I'd only noticed an hour ago.

He's clutching his coffee cup, listening to Paul drone on and on, but it's me he's staring at. His eyes have taken on this dark, come hither look, like he's thinking about our elevator tryst. Despite being over a week ago, I can't stop thinking about it, either.

"So, any updates before we wrap this up?" Paul asks. "Your staging problem fixed, Kenny?" I almost glare at him for calling me Kenny, but Paul is sweet, and my glare is sharp enough that he'd probably turn to stone.

"All fixed," I say, making a point of staring at Milo. "I've got a private viewing tonight and an open viewing tomorrow."

The private viewing had been a last-minute saving grace from Jess. A friend of her friend, who happened to be a wealthy IT guru for some start-up company, had heard about my property and thrown me a bone by arranging a private viewing. Apparently, when you're that wealthy, you don't want to have to explore a property with the rest of us lowly peasants. Still, if all goes well, I could be looking at a hefty commission and will have beat Milo to the punch. Even though he's kept his dealings close to his chest, it's clear no one's risen to his bait.

"And what about you, Milo?"

His eyes flit to mine. "I have an open viewing tonight and tomorrow also."

"Sounds good," Paul says as he turns to Harry and Patricia, but I've already zoned out.

Milo has a showing on the same night as me. His apartment is opposite mine. The viewing will be the most important night in this promotion thus far, and there's no way in hell I can avoid running into him.

Great.

As soon as the meeting is over, Milo and I are practically in a two-person race to the coffee machine. I get there first and feel the tiniest satisfaction despite the fact we are behaving like children.

"I hope your viewing goes well tonight," he says. It sounds as if he's being sincere, but I'm certain if I were to turn around, he'd be smirking.

"Thank you," I say, pressing the button for Espresso. "My client seemed very interested on the phone, so I have high hopes." I pick up my coffee cup before slowly turning to face him. "What a coincidence that we have a viewing on the same night. Planning on more sabotage?"

His eyes darken like maybe he's actually hurt. "I didn't mean to sabotage you." He leans closer now and positions his mouth near my ear. "I'm sorry."

I swallow hard. Not because I don't believe him, but because I think maybe I do. "Well," I say, "I hope it goes well for you."

He laughs now, a deep, warm guffaw that I feel in my toes. "You're a god-awful liar, Kennedy."

"I mean it," I say. "Part of being professional means being able to cheer on your opponents."

He takes the tiniest step closer, making my breath hitch. "Professional?" He says the word so quietly, so disbelievingly, that I just know he's thinking about our kiss and my sabotaging. "Is that what we are?"

I can't take the way he's looking at me. It's so different from the way he usually looks at me, like behind those blue eyes, there's something other than disdain or judgment or a desire to rip off my clothes. There is vulnerability.

Briefly, I think about what could have been. About how things would be if we'd carried on after the day Luke came to pick up his stuff from my apartment. Our dinner and subsequent walk through the city had felt like a fairytale, and that kiss...God, that kiss. In another world, another life, Milo could have been it, the one, butterflies, fireworks, explosions – the lot.

"Yes," I say, straightening up, "We're professional." Then, because I can't take the way he's staring at me, I take a sip of my coffee and hurry back to my desk.

For the rest of my day, I am the hard-working, go-getter Kennedy James. I don't think about Milo or how good his lips taste. I don't think about how hurt I'd been to find out he'd sabotaged me. And I definitely don't think about what it would be like to actually sleep with him.

Definitely not.

***

It takes forever to decide what to wear. A viewing is never just about the property, it's about me. I'm not just an estate agent when I'm showing around a client, I'm practically an escort, forced to laugh at their jokes and make them feel special, even when they're making me uncomfortable. I'm a model, pressured into wearing a sexy outfit and six-inch heels that are definitely not practical when showing off the decking. But mostly, as I smile and go through each feature of the property, I am an incredible actress.

I settle on a tight black dress with black heels, simple and predictable but always a goodie. I straighten my hair but lightly curl the ends, letting it tumble down my back. With a lick of light makeup and some lipstick, I'm ready.

Mulan meows just as I'm heading out. I sigh and reach down before giving her ear a quick rub. "I'll be back in a little while, you fiend," I say, and then I give her an air kiss. Cat fur is not something I want stuck to my lipgloss.

The subway ride lasts forever as I try not to think about Milo. He'll no doubt be able to charm the pants off his clients at his open house viewing, because he's naturally charismatic like that. He doesn't need to fake it like I do, and I bet he doesn't rehearse what he's going to say in his head; he's just effortless that way. I can't decide if I hate or admire him for it.

As luck would have it, Milo gets to his property before I do. The door to his apartment is propped wide open, and as soon as he hears the clickety-clack of my heels on the wood, he steps into the hallway. His eyes drop to my outfit as I do the same back, hating how smart yet casual yet sexy he looks in his navy shirt and black trousers. He's got a champagne bottle in his hand, the same one I've got tucked away in my purse.

I pull it out and wave it at him. "Great minds think alike."

He nods and raises an eyebrow at me. "A glass for good luck? Since we're being so professional."

"Just one," I say and then step into his apartment.

While I'd gone for the bachelor route with my staging, he's gone for the opposite. A modern yet lived in apartment with mustard yellow sofas, white rugs, and warm oak furniture that makes the place feel homely. I'm impressed.

He heads over to the counter, where he's got one of those circular trays carrying champagne glasses. He pops the bottle open, pours us both a glass, and we head out onto the rooftop. The skyline is just as breathtaking as the last time. The added addition of the outdoor sofas and the egg-shaped heater, which he's already turned on, takes away the briskness and offers a warm, mellow glow.

Milo steps beside me and leans on the balcony, champagne glass loosely in his hand as he takes in the backdrop of the city. "I guess this is it," he says, looking somewhat pensive. "All four of us have open viewings this week. Someone's bound to snap up one of these properties soon, and then one of us will be moved up to seven after Christmas."

"I guess it is," I say, and I'm hit with this melancholy I've never experienced before. This thing with Milo, this strange sexual rivalry, is something I didn't think I'd miss. "Do you think if you get it, you'll miss working on six?"

"Yeah, do you?"

"Yeah. I mean, I love the people on our floor, and Jess is my best friend." I stop, and even though I know I shouldn't, I can't help but add, "There are other people on the floor who aren't so bad, either."

He balances his glass on the railing, then slowly turns to face me. "Yeah? Like who?"

I shrug and start listing off people in our office. "Patricia, Harry, Kara."

"That it?" He leans in a little, and my eyes involuntarily fall to his lips.

"I guess, despite your lame attempts to sabotage me, it hasn't been so bad having you in the office."

His eyes turn serious. "What if I hadn't?"

"What if you hadn't what?"

"Accidentally sabotaged you. What if–" he pauses for a moment, clearly conflicted, "what if we'd continued where we'd left off that night?"

Goosebumps spread across my arms, right down to my wrists. This feels like a confession, or as close to a confession as someone like Milo can get, at least. And I'd been wondering the same thing myself, where we would be if his comment to Ashley hadn't unraveled my hard work. Would we have kissed again by now? Taken things further? Would the taste of him have forced me to admit what I've been trying so hard to deny?

"I guess we'll never know," I say lightly. He's already so close, but I'm tempted to lean in just a little, a smidgen, until his lips are near mine. God, how can I be thinking about this right now? I'm about to have a viewing that could make or break my promotion, and one way or another, Milo and I will be working on different floors, one of us on seven, the other left on six  – not exactly a fairytale romance.

Lucas is proof of that.

Milo lowers his head, and now we really are practically touching, but I can't bear the thought of pulling away. I've been replaying that kiss, and now here he is, so incredibly handsome in his fitted blue shirt, looking as if he wants to kiss me right now, and I want him to. Right now, I don't care about the sabotaging or the promotion, because the logical part of Kennedy James has jumped off this balcony.

"I wanted to take you out," he says near my ear. "The day after that kiss. I'd planned to ask you after work. Booked the restaurant and everything."

Hearing this takes me aback. I'd figured he'd viewed kissing me as an enemies with benefits type of deal, but he'd been planning on taking me on a date? "How did you know I didn't already have plans when you booked the restaurant?"

He smirks. "Wild guess."

I can't even scowl. I'm just so shocked and strangely relieved that I can't even think straight.

"Obviously, it didn't work out," he says, "What with you thinking I sabotaged you and all."

"You did."

"By accident."

I shake my head, still feeling confused. Milo likes me enough to take me on a date. Milo likes me. And as much as I want to keep on denying it, I like Milo Woods, but right now, all I can think about is what happened the last time I got involved with a coworker. "How do I know this isn't you trying to sabotage me again right before my viewing?"

He tilts his head slightly, allowing his gaze to fall to my lips. "Forget everything for a second. What do you want, Kennedy?"

I swallow. What do I want? I want to be rich enough that I don't have to worry about losing my apartment. I want to realize my dream of working on seven. I want world peace. And most importantly, I want–

The sound of footsteps pulls us apart. Milo gives me one last look, eyes dark with frustration. Then, with a brief nod, he turns to his clients and pulls out that award-winning smile.

Show time.

My own client, Dean, arrives shortly after. I greet him in the hallway before leading him into the apartment, closing the door behind us to block out the sound of Milo's clients laughing like hyenas next door.

Dean steps forward, takes it all in. It's hard to tell because he's got one of those serious faces that don't give much away, but I think he's impressed.  His dark eyes scan the open-plan living room at the same time I discreetly study him.

He's tall and slim, with broad shoulders, dark spiky hair, and these Clark Kent glasses that make him look both nerdy and handsome. He's in his late twenties, and despite the nerdy vibe he's got going on, I can tell he will make full use of this bachelor pad.

"It's big," he says, looking at me. "Bigger than I'd expected."

I smile brightly and straighten out my dress. "The two apartments on this floor are the biggest in the building," I say. "Here, let me take you on a tour."

He nods, and we set off around the apartment, starting with the kitchen before heading to the bedroom. I explain the finer details of the apartment, telling him about the architectural design and the way the windows were made so that the light could hit the rooms just so, but he doesn't look interested. Instead, he sits on the bed as if testing out its comfortableness.

"This is a big bed," he says, grinning, and he's right. It's one of those wall-to-wall beds that could fit about eight people in it. "Have you sat on this thing? It's like sitting on a cloud."

Laughing, I say, "Actually, no, I haven't. I'll take your word for it, though."

He pats the space next to him. "Seriously, come and sit down. This is incredible."

I think about saying no for the second time before relenting and taking a seat. He's right, it's comfortable but not as incredible as he's making out. "This is comfy," I say, "but just bear in mind that the apartment doesn't come with the furniture."

"We should make use of it before it goes, then." His eyes meet mine, and he's smiling as though he's joking, but he isn't. He's testing the waters.

Passing off his comment with another laugh, I quickly get to my feet. "Come on," I say, "the balcony is the main attraction."

"I thought that was you," he says, but he gets to his feet and follows me to the living room.

I'm suddenly on edge, my skin prickling with heat. It's not the first time a client has tried to make a pass at me, but that icky feeling I get when they do, mixed with dread and slight panic, never gets easier.

We step out onto the balcony, which couldn't look more perfect. The air is cool, the sky a jet-black that highlights the perfect lit-up skyline of Manhatten. It's like something straight out of a movie.

"This is incredible," he says, and when I glance at him, I see he's finally taken his eyes off me to examine the view. We both move toward the railing, resting our hands on it as we stare into the distance. It's easier to breathe out here, like before I was trapped, confined, and now I'm free.

"It is," I say. "You won't get a better view of Manhattan than this apartment, I can assure you."

"I'm surprised this place hasn't been snapped up already," he says. "I mean, it's big, it's got the view, and you get to be shown around by a beautiful woman for the evening. Why isn't there a line at the door?" He leans in slightly, and I'm acutely aware of his hand resting next to mine on the railing.

Next door, Milo's guests have also poured onto the balcony. I can't see them, there's a concrete divide separating the two balconies, but I can certainly hear them. They seem to be middle-aged women treating the viewing as a chance to get drunk on the champagne than a property viewing.

"There's an open viewing tomorrow," I explain, discreetly stepping away. "The property has garnered a lot of interest already, so if you're interested in buying, I'd put an offer down as soon as possible. I can't see it being on the market after tomorrow." 

He laughs and closes the distance between us. "Is this your subtle way of forcing my hand? You're good, Kennedy James."

"Not forcing," I say sweetly, "just giving you the full picture."

"Don't lean over like that," I hear Milo say to one of his clients next door, and he sounds agitated.

"How sweet of you," Dean says before giving me the eye. As handsome as he is, I can't help but feel a little repulsed. I should be able to go to work and do my job without being hit on by clients.

"I'm a sweet person," I say. "So, what do you think?"

There's more shuffling and sighing next door. Milo, who has clearly had enough of this evening, can be heard telling his clients that the viewing is over as he ushers them back into the apartment.

Dean smiles and pretends to think for a moment, but I already know what's coming. "I love the apartment," he says slowly, "but I don't want to make any final decisions right now, and I still have a few questions. It might be better to continue this over dinner."

It's a tactic I'm very familiar with. The client asks me to dinners, buys me drinks, and tries to steer the conversation away from real estate, but I'm always persistent yet charming. Eventually, they realize they're not going to get anything else from me but professionalism and either agree to buy the property, or they don't. It's usually fifty-fifty.

Briefly, I wonder if Milo ever has to deal with this. I bet he's so straightforward, so no-nonsense, that he'd never even agree to dinner, but the difference is it probably wouldn't make a difference to whether or not his client buys the property.

I've learned the hard way that when I decline the advances of a client who might have been genuinely interested in the property, they'll often do a Uturn and decide on a different property or go with a different broker out of spite.

"I'm happy to go for drinks in a professional capacity," I say clearly because this is my fallback if he throws a hissy fit later on. Can't say I didn't warn him.

As much as I hate this part of the job, it is still technically my job. While in most professions, it might seem absurd to go for drinks with a client, it's almost expected in our broker. Anything to secure the deal, in Lorelle's words. I often wonder how far anything encompasses.

He's silent for a moment before smiling. "Sounds good to me."

Deflated, though I don't show it, I say, "Great. I'll just grab my coat."

Less than a minute later, as I'm slipping on my coat, the door to the apartment opens, and Milo strides toward us like a man on a mission. He stops in front of the sofa, folds his arms, and looks straight at Dean.

Dean, who is quite clearly confused, glances at me before turning to Milo. "Uh, can we help you?"

Milo smiles tightly. "I'm Kennedy's coworker, Mr. Woods." He steps forward now, towering like a giant over Dean, as he sticks out his hand. "Nice to meet you. How are you finding the property?"

"I'm definitely interested," Dean says, smiling at me. "Kennedy and I were about to discuss the property further over drinks."

"Great," Milo says, straight-faced. "I'll join you."

"Uh." Dean looks at me, then at Milo. "That won't be–"

"I know a great bar not far from here," Milo says, striding toward the door, "perfect place to discuss the property. Let's go."

With a downcast expression, Dean nods and follows Milo into the hallway for a night of what I'm certain is going to be hell.

A/N

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