Saving Brielle

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Brielle

One-thirty, I note as I tap my fingers idly on the kitchen counter. Another half-hour of this. Man, I hope more people show up.

To say I am disappointed is an understatement; I had hoped that the Prescott home would be overrun with prospective buyers during this span of unfettered access to the property.

There has been one so far.

Maybe the property's cursed, I think to myself, then giggle. I do not believe in such things. Nasty divorce proceedings, where the judge is making the couple sell and divide the proceeds? Now that, I do believe, because that is what is happening here.

Unfortunately, neither one of them listened to me when I advised them that the half-million-dollar listing price they insisted upon was much too high.

Now, four months later, this house has become my personal millstone. I have delivered in excess of fifteen fair and equitable offers for the property to my clients, but since they cannot agree to anything at all between them, we have reached a stalemate. Two more months of this and I will attain a new 'first' in my long career - reaching the end of the contractual period to act as the seller's agent and walking away.

Or in this case, running.

Wonder if I can get the judge to order them to pull their heads out and cooperate - and lower the price, I lament to myself as the last minutes of a fruitless open house drag out into infinity.

I am bored but obligated to stay put until the advertised end time, so I pull out my cell phone and begin listening to voicemails that accumulated throughout the morning. As I review them, I make notes in the peculiar shorthand I have developed over the years. Besides me, only my long-suffering assistant Rita can decipher it.

My hand pauses its movements with the pen when I listen to the eleventh voicemail.

A man's voice, deep and deliciously seductive. My skin forms goosepimples across my body as his sound washes over me, tightening my core with a sudden, almost painful stab of primal longing.

God, his voice is s*x personified…

I am so entranced by it that I fail to capture one single piece of data from the voicemail.

I frown, shake my head, and pull the phone away from my ear long enough to press 'replay', determined to focus this time.

Allen Jones.

Residential and commercial property.

Next week.

By the time I reach the end of his voicemail again my knees are weak, and my pulse is pounding in my ears.

What the hell is the matter with you? That is a potential client. No-fly zone. Grow up!

Even though I am standing in a kitchen by myself, I take a moment to smooth my hair and breathe deeply, trying desperately to stifle both my embarrassment and a long-dormant need that Allen Jones' voice has caused to surface. After several minutes, I finally feel composed enough to attempt to return his call.

Just as I begin to dial, I hear, "Hello there! Are we too late to see the house?" from the front foyer. I tuck my phone back into my bag and move swiftly to greet the couple that have just arrived.

"Not at all," I say warmly, extending my hand to each of them in turn. "My name's Brielle. Let me show you around."

I lead, but only in the loosest sense of the word. I abhor hovering, pushy salespeople, and it carries over into my work. My preferred method of interaction is to quietly tell prospective buyers about certain amenities, then step out of the way and let their surroundings speak for themselves.

Obviously excited, the young woman turns to me with a smile and asks a question, which I readily answer. She nods her thanks, and they continue their self-guided tour while I retreat to the kitchen as I told them I would.

Just before two o'clock they approach me in the kitchen and ask about the deadline for submitting an offer. I hand them a fact sheet about the property and point out my office address and number before shaking their hands again and watching them leave.

Maybe this house was just waiting for them to arrive, I think to myself as I walk through the property and make sure all the lights are turned off before returning to the kitchen to collect my bag.

I step outside the front door, locking it securely behind me, then head to my car for the drive to the first of two closings I have this afternoon.

It is a little after five o'clock before I have a chance to return any phone calls. Although part of me wants to skip ahead to Allen Jones, it is only fair that I return them in the order received.

Luckily for me, only six of the first ten voicemails I received require a callback from me; the other four were purely informational, such as Miss Carmichael confirming the title company's receipt of the corrected documents.

I swing by my favorite Chinese takeout place for my usual chicken fried rice before heading home. Once I have eaten, I settle in at my computer, take a deep breath, grab my notepad, and dial the number that leads to that hypnotizing voice.

Given that it is now dinnertime for most families, I am expecting to have to leave a voicemail of my own. So much so that when a murmured, "Hello?" comes across the line to me, I almost drop my phone.