Page 21 of Claiming Lily

She intercepts me. “You stole my lead.”

I rear back. “Uh, no. I asked Addison to help me out and she sent me a client who had yet to find an agent.” That’s not stealing. That’s just business.

Her perfectly manicured eyebrows pull down. “I have first dibs on new leads.”

Who the fuck does she think she is? There’s not enough time for this argument. “Fine, whatever, you can pee on Addison if it makes you feel better.”

“You think you’re cute, don’t you?” she snarls, marching after me as I walk toward my desk.

I shrug. “I know I’m pretty.” Smirking over my shoulder, I take in the angry red splotches on her pale face. “Shouldn’t you be chasing some leads?”

With a grumble of annoyance, she stomps off.

Fucking hell. She’s a nightmare. If it weren’t for Mr. Sampson, my boss, and my dire need for income, I would have already left this company. As it were, I’m stuck here and I have things to do. Dealing with Laura’s temper tantrum is the last thing I need to worry about.

I drop into my chair and immediately start organizing the stacks of papers and notes on my desk. The familiar routine helps settle my nerves. I finally have a solid client. Things will turn around soon. As I pick up a pile of paperwork to straighten it, a photograph flutters to the floor. That’s weird. I frown, bending to pick it up and slowly turning it over.

My breath catches and my eyes widen. What the hell?

The picture is of me sitting at the guys’ dinner table three nights ago, laughing at something Cole said while Hudson passes the risotto and Gage refills my wine glass. The lighting is dim, taken through what looks like a window, but the focus on my face is crystal clear. The only way to get that sort of clarity is to be close, which means that someone stood outside their house and photographed me without my knowledge.

My hands shake as I study every detail. The angle suggests the person was positioned near the side yard. My stomach lurches. Who the hell would do this? More importantly, why?

The only person I’ve pissed off lately is. . . shit. It has to be Matt. Who else could it be? Who else would want me to know that they saw me with the guys? He’s the only person who would be vindictive enough to follow me around with a camera. The only thing I don’t understand is his endgame. He’s already moved on. So what is this? Some sort of punishment for shacking up with his friends?

It’s not like I did it on purpose, though that would be the least of what Matt deserves.

“Hey, Lily.” Ryan appears beside my desk. He glances at the photo I’m clutching, leaning in. “What’s that?”

I shove the picture into my purse so fast I nearly rip it. “Nothing. Client photos,” I say with a wave of my hand.

His eyebrow arches. No one prints out pictures anymore at work, but thankfully, he doesn’t push. Good. The last thing I need is to explain that my piece of shit ex-boyfriend is apparently stalking me. It fully tracks that Matt would finally start paying attention after the relationship is over.

“So listen,” Ryan continues, perching on the edge of my desk. “I was thinking about getting a drink at Maura’s place after work. Do you want to come?”

I swear this is the fourth time this month he’s asked me. Part of me wants to say yes. It would be normal, going out with coworkers, pretending my life isn’t completely falling apart, but I already promised myself I’d cook dinner for the guys tonight. If they won’t let me pay rent, the least I can do is make them dinner whenever I have time.

“Thanks, but I can’t tonight. I already have plans.” Disappointment mixed with frustration flickers across Ryan’s face. He stands up, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You know, I’m starting to think you don’t like me.” His laugh sounds bitter and hurt. “Every time I ask, you have some excuse ready.”

Fuck. He’s right. I do always have a reason to not hang out with him. “Sorry,” I say quickly. “Next time, I promise.”

“Yeah, okay, next time.” He searches my face for a moment, as if he wants to say more, but he simply nods and walks away, shoulders slumped.

Shit. I scrub my hands over my face, adding fix things with coworker to my ever-growing list of problems. I glare at the ceiling. What else are you going to pile on me? I ask whatever divinity might be listening, not that they’d waste time answering me.

My phone alarm chirps, jolting me back to reality. Twelve-thirty. Dammit. I need to get moving if I’m going to make it up the mountain. This lead Addison gave me is the dream client. Wealthy and looking to buy a mansion in the smoky mountains. Ryan takes on plenty of well-to-do clients, but this one will be my first BIG client, and I desperately need the commission off this multi-million-dollar purchase.

No more distractions. I shove the picture deeper into my purse then review the property details one more time, memorizing the security code to get inside and the finer details that I should point out with razor focus. I try to ignore the creepy photo burning a hole through my bag. If Matt wants to play games, he can bring it to my face instead of lurking in shadows like some sort of deranged paparazzi.

Standing up, I smooth down my skirt and grab my car keys, ready to pretend I’m a functioning adult with a good credit score and a place of my own. What sort of client wants to buy a house from a realtor that doesn’t even have one? Enough with the self-loathing, Lily. Get it together.

As I head toward the door, I catch a glimpse of Ryan at his desk, pointedly not looking in my direction. My chest tightens with guilt even though I haven’t done anything wrong. Worry about it later. Right. Focusing. One crisis at a time.

The client—Tom Wilson—is already there when I arrive. He’s exactly what I expected from a billionaire looking to buy vacation homes. Mid-forties, perfectly styled dark hair, a watch that probably costs more than I make in six months. Jeans that are probably more expensive than my car and a button up shirt that’s just as fancy. The kind of polished that screams money.

“Ms. Emerson?” His smile is practiced. The kind that’s probably charmed boardrooms and closed million-dollar deals. “Thanks for accommodating such a short notice.”

I shake his offered hand, noting the firm grip. This man is all business. “Not a problem at all, Mr. Wilson. I hope you’ll find this property worth your time.”