Page 22 of Claiming Lily

His eyes quickly sweep over me. I plaster on my professional smile and ignore it. This guy is single and rich. I know I’m pretty. Sometimes that simple fact alone helps me sell a home. I’ll need to make sure I don’t flirt with him and give him the wrong idea.

That should be simple enough, manicured nails on a man is not my type. I prefer the calluses of a hard-working man. While I won’t be flirting with Tom, I need to do everything I can to land this sale.

Tom studies the surrounding trees. “So far I love the land. Shall we start with the tour?”

I gesture toward the entrance, letting him lead the way until we get to the door. I quickly unlock it and step aside as I open the door. Tom heads in first. I take a breath, falling into what I do best. I launch into my practiced spiel about the property’s features. “The home sits on twelve acres with complete privacy. No neighbors for miles, which I understand was important to you. The main level features an open concept design with floor-to-ceiling windows to showcase the mountain views.”

We move through the space, my heels clicking against the polished floor. The house is a masterpiece. All warm wood and stone. An upscale, sophisticated cabin style mansion that belongs in an architectural magazine. The kind of place where you could disappear from the world completely and never miss reality.

“The kitchen features top-of-the-line appliances and custom cabinetry,” I continue, running my hand along the marble countertop, pushing on a small circle of marble that’s been specially cut. A little plug unit pops out. “Cutting edge features.” I push the plug down and tap on another element. A compartment pushes up to reveal a simple espresso machine anchored to the hidden cubby. “What do you think?”

“Do you cook, Ms. Emerson?” The question is innocent enough, but he steps a little closer. His expensive cologne tickles my nostrils.

“Not often,” I lie, thinking about the dinner I’d promised to make for the guys tonight. “My schedule keeps me pretty busy.”

He smiles, flashing straight, pure white teeth. Money can buy a perfect smile like that. “A beautiful woman who’s dedicated to her career. I admire that.”

I move toward the stairs, continuing the tour and refusing to humor the flirting. A bachelor like him is probably used to women fawning. So why aren’t I? My mind zips to three men, each with their own unique smile that’s not magazine perfect. That’s what I like.

Focus, Lily!

Clearing my throat, I explain more about the house. “The second level has four guest suites, each with their own ensuite bathroom. And the third level . . . ” I pause dramatically as we climb. “Well, that’s where the magic happens.”

The third level is entirely dedicated to entertainment—a home theater, game room, and full bar. But it’s the view of the heated infinity pool that is most impressive. It seems to spill right off the edge of the mountain, the water reflecting the sky so perfectly it’s impossible to tell where the pool ends and the heavens begin.

“Wow,” he breathes, moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows. “This view is incredible.”

I join him at the windows, careful to maintain professional distance. “The pool is heated year-round, and the hot tub seats eight. The outdoor kitchen makes the space perfect for parties.”

We continue the tour. While he generally behaves, his knuckles brush against my arm in the primary bedroom. The hint is not so subtle. The primary suite is stunning—a true retreat with a fireplace, sitting area, and balcony overlooking the valley. But when I turn to point out the walk-in closet, I find Tom settling onto the king-sized bed like he owns the place. Playing dumb, I excuse myself so he can think and take a breather in the hall. I kind of want to tell him to fuck off.

Too bad I need this commission, otherwise I would.

You’re almost done with the tour. Wrap it up and then you can leave.

Smoothing my blouse, I head back in, keeping several feet between me and him so he doesn’t read into anything. “Ok, what do you think so far? Does this fit what you’re looking for?”

“It’s close to perfect,” he says, eyes fixed on my face instead of the home. “But I think we need to discuss the details more thoroughly.”

He pats the mattress beside him. “Why don’t you come sit? I’d like to go over the numbers and hear about the other options you mentioned.”

Every instinct I have screams at me to refuse. The way he’s looking at me, the presumption in his gesture, the fact that we’re alone in a bedroom on an isolated mountain—it all feels wrong. But the price on the house flashes through my mind. The credit card balances. Mom’s care costs. My nonexistent savings account. I need to play nice, get him to buy a home so I can crawl my way out of the bottom of the barrel.

I force my features into what I hope passes for professional composure and perch on the bench at the foot of the bed, opening the folio I’ve been carrying. “Of course. Let me show you the comparable properties I’ve selected.”

The space seems to make it clear I’m not interested. He maintains a respectable distance as I spread out the listing sheets. I breathe a little easier knowing he’s not going to push for more.

“This one here,” I point to a modern glass house, “offers similar privacy but with more contemporary finishes. The price point is slightly lower, but the acreage is smaller.”

“And this one?” he gestures to another.

“Mountain lodge style, like this property, but with a few more bedrooms and a larger entertaining space downstairs.”

“Hmm.” He’s not looking at the listings. His attention is entirely focused on me, studying my face like I’m the property he’s considering purchasing. “I’m not sure any of these are quite right.”

My heart sinks. This is exactly what I was afraid of: that I’d spend hours showing him properties only to have him walk away empty-handed. “I have several other options that might interest you. Different price ranges, different styles.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” He smiles and his gaze darkens. “You strike me as the type of woman who knows exactly what a man needs.”