“O-kay.” He sighs, then hangs up. I start to walk out the front door but stop when I remember that today is garbage day, which means I need to haul the trash can from inside my garage down to the end of the driveway.
“Shit,” I curse, because now I really might be late. Opening my garage door, I flip on the light, then freeze when I see Maxim’s car is parked inside my single car garage. He must have placed it there before he left, and I had no idea, because I never use my garage unless it’s winter, since it’s such a pain to pull in and out of the cramped space.
“Well, I guess that means he was always planning on coming back,” I mumble to myself, then sigh when I see he moved my garbage can, making it completely impossible for me to get it out without seriously damaging his car.
Shutting the door and locking it, I pick up my phone, bag, and keys that I rested on the bench near the door, then head outside, finding Maxim’s number in my phone.
I press Call and listen to it ring as I get into my car, and my heart turns over in my chest when he answers, sounding half asleep. “Hey, babe.”
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I tell him while starting my engine and backing out of my driveway.
“I’m not complaining. I miss the sound of your voice and was pissed we didn’t get a chance to really talk last night,” he says, actually sounding pissed, and my stomach dips. “Is everything okay?”
“Your car is in my garage.”
“Yeah, I pulled it in before I took off, since Gene was taking me to the airport.”
“Oh,” I say quietly, remembering how on edge I was when he told me he was leaving, how I was sure that was his way of ending whatever… whatever this is between us. And all along, he planned on coming back.
“Is that all? You called to tell me that my car is in the garage?”
“I couldn’t get the garbage can out for trash day,” I say stupidly, and he groans.
“Shit, sorry about that. I’ll take care of the trash when I get back home, unless you wanna move it, then the key is in that bowl of junk you got near your front door.”
“That’s all important stuff, not junk.” Okay, it is kind of junk, but whatever.
“All right, then it’s in that bowl of important stuff you got next to your door.” The smile in his voice makes me smile, and I bite my lip. “I miss you.”
“Ditto.” My hands tighten on the steering wheel when he laughs. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing, babe. We’ll get to that another time. Are you heading to work?”
“Yeah, I’m pulling into Harris’s complex now so I can pick him up.”
“All right, well, call me later. I’m gonna try to get a couple more hours of sleep.”
“Sure,” I agree, really, really wanting to ask when he will be back, but I don’t.
“Later, babe. Be good.” He hangs up as I pull into a parking spot, and I don’t even have a chance to shut down the engine before Harris is walking out to my car. The smile that is normally on his face is replaced with a deep frown.
“You’re l-ate,” he greets me, falling into the passenger seat.
“I know, and I’m sorry.” I don’t try to make an excuse, because really, if I had been paying attention to the time this morning, I would have been here when I was supposed to be.
“It’s okay.” He looks over at me and smiles.
I smile back, then ask, “Where is Molly?”
“W-ith her mom, shopping,” he says, and I know then that he was probably bored being home alone.
“That’s fun.” I reverse out of my parking spot.
“She wants to make dinner tonight.”
“Who, Molly’s mom does?”
“Yes,” he groans. “She still doesn’t trust us being on our own.”
Annoyance makes my nose scrunch. I know that it must be difficult having a child who needs extra care, but both Molly and Harris are very high functioning, and they have never given any indication that they cannot handle living alone. Really, they are more responsible than I was at twenty-one. “I’m sorry.”
“Hopeful-ly, it will change with time, or that’s what my mom keeps saying.” He sighs.
“Well, what if you tell her that you guys can’t have dinner tonight, and we go out to eat?”
“I’ll ask Molly.” He sounds happier than he has since he got into the car.
While he talks to Molly on the phone, who confirms she would like to have dinner out, I drive us to our first showing of the day. A potential new client who is looking to upgrade their loft downtown apartment to a larger home just outside of the city. When we arrive at the house, I park in front of the garage and stop Harris when he starts to get out, because there is no way I’m taking any chances.
“We’ll wait until Mr. Andrew gets here,” I tell him when he turns to look at me.
“Why?”
“We’re just changing things up,” I tell him, because the truth is, I don’t know how he will react if he finds out that two women have been murdered in homes they were showing.
“Okay.” He gives me a look that states clearly he doesn’t like it but doesn’t say more. “They’re here,” he says not even a minute later, when a black Mercedes with dark-tinted windows pulls into the driveway. I pull out the file folder I tucked between my seat and the middle console and grab my keys out of the ignition. When I open my door and get out, I slam it behind me, then meet the gaze of the man standing at the hood of the Mercedes, feeling red-hot anger fill the pit of my stomach.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whisper-hiss, hearing Harris shut his door behind me.
“April.” Cohen gives me the smile that has melted a million panties and probably broken hundreds of hearts.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, and he looks between me and the house like it should be obvious. “Right, then you need to find a different agent.”
“I want you,” he says easily, coming toward me, looking exactly like what he is—a rock star. Piercing blue eyes, dark shaggy hair, and thick scuff along his jaw, wearing his ripped jeans with his worn-out shirt that is probably not, just bought at some high-end store and cost hundreds of dollars if not more. “I couldn’t get ahold of you any other way, and we need to talk.”
“No, thank you.” I turn to look at Harris. “We’re leaving.” I open my door, but before I can get into my car, Cohen is there, wrapping his hand around my bicep and stopping me.
“Five minutes, please.”
I tip my head back, and a sense of déjà vu washes over me as I meet his gaze. How many times did I give in to the plea in his tone and expression? How many times did I say okay and let him convince me that things would change? How many times were things between us good—until they weren’t anymore?
Too many. Way too many is the answer to all those questions.
“Let me go,” I hiss, when I really want to shout. The only thing keeping me from doing exactly that is the fact that Harris is here, and I don’t want to scare him.
“Please.” He releases me and raises his hand up between us. “I just want to talk.”