His Dirty Bargain (Dirty Billionaires 3)

“You’ve showed this more than a few times?”

Anger flares at his amusement, at the morons I’ve shown this place to who didn’t appreciate how beautiful the home is. “The changes aren’t big, and the payoff would be huge. I don’t understand why people can’t see that. This home is beautiful, a home to be passed down from one generation to the next. All they want is the same damn cookie-cutter houses with boring gray walls and granite and stainless steel appliances they don’t even use.” Oh, it came out a little more harshly than I intended. Enzo is smiling, his dimple flashing at me. “I just—I don’t get it. Anyway, as you can see there are the same details, wood around the doors here, chair rails, and crown molding. There are eight wood-burning fireplaces in this home.”

Another frown. “Everything is brown. Combined with the wood in here already, it weighs down these rooms. And the surround on the fireplace is bland.”

“Those are simple fixes. Don’t you dare touch the surround, it’s original. If you want to add depth you could update the mantel or do something with the space above the mantel.” I huff, annoyed at him for concentrating on things like the color on the walls. “It’s a way of making this home your own.”

An eyebrow goes up. “Those ‘simple’ fixes will add up.” Then we walk into the kitchen and he sighs. “This is no simple fix.” Shaking his head. “I’m beginning to understand why it’s been on the market for so long. There is a lot of work to be done and none of it will be cheap.”

He’s not seeing it. I’m disappointed, so I do the only thing I can do. I open the door out to the backyard. It takes a few minutes for him to follow me. When he steps outside he takes in a deep breath; it slides out of him in a sigh. “You have privacy all the way around you. You’re on the corner, nothing behind you. To one side of you mature trees and bushes screen you from prying eyes. There is room for a pool and it’s still a yard where kids can play and kick or throw around a ball. This is a quiet neighborhood and street, you have a driveway and parking on the street. The lake is a five-minute walk that way, coffee shops, restaurants and a Jewel are a five-minute walk in the other direction.”

A small nod. “What does the upstairs look like?”

As we walk the second floor he’s quiet. All of the bathrooms need updates. At least the en suite off the master is large enough for all the things he wants in it. There aren’t any more frowns until we get to the basement. It needs almost as much work as the other house. Once we exit the house, I fight to keep from staring at him, wondering what he’s thinking. We walk back to my car without him saying a word. He opens the door for me, and again I’m reminded the Sabatinis are a different breed from the men I’m used to. All the more reason to stay far away from him.

“I have a lot to think about. I’ll call you.” Then he walks away.

I’m sitting stunned. What? He moves fast, yet he’s in no hurry; his hands are in his pockets again, his head up scanning the view in front of him as he walks. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do, so I go home.

5

Chloe

My nerves are shot. It’s Friday, almost five o’clock. I haven’t heard a single word from Enzo since he walked away yesterday afternoon, nothing from Dante either. Not for the first time I bring up the homes we looked at, wondering which one Enzo will pick. The idea of Enzo all alone in any of the homes seems wrong, the homes screamed family, children running from one end to the other, family around the large table in the dining room, a little girl pleading to be watched as she does a somersault in the lush green grass. It’s what he wants. I saw the look on his face, felt the longing running through him, recognized it because I felt it too. The ringing of my cell phone startles me, I don’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Meet me downstairs at six. I want to see the two Maher homes again.” Nothing else, the asshole hangs up without waiting for me to even say yes.

I seriously hate him right now. My shoulders are screaming in agony from the stress. With a sigh I give in and pop a Klonopin, even though I had one at the start of the day. It’s been almost eight hours. I don’t think I’ll manage to get through the next few hours without losing it if I don’t take it because it doesn’t matter if I hate him, I’ll be downstairs at six on the dot.

I’m waiting in front of the building in my car at a few minutes before six. He gets in with only a small nod. I hate the way my heart starts pounding at the sight of him. The way every sense goes on alert, taking in the smell of him, how it feels like I’ve been a desert and am now being flooded with rain. Knock it off, Chloe, this is almost over.

Nothing is said on the drive. It’s almost forty minutes in traffic, without traffic the drive is right around a half hour. I pull into the larger, red brick home.

He’s laser-focused on this tour. Nothing misses his attention, not the patched hardwood in the dining room or the width of the lot. He fires questions at me: what would I do with the kitchen again? How would I change the layout of the bathroom? I’m surprised by how often he asks for my input. Sometimes he nods, other times he frowns, yet he doesn’t argue. We spend more than an hour walking the house.

As we make the walk to the other house he’s quiet, thoughtful. Opening the gate, he stops for a moment. The curb appeal is nothing short of majestic: set back from the sidewalk behind a black wrought-iron gate, the two-story gray brick home is fronted with wide windows in white wood detail. A little sigh escapes me. This is my favorite home of all the ones I’ve shown over the last few years. If I had the money I’d buy it and figure everything else out later. But the price makes it out of my reach, just another dream to add to all the rest.

Without thought I turn to Enzo to find him studying me. “I hate the blue trim.”

I nod. “It is too pale. Either a dark blue or a dark red would change it completely.”

Entering the house, he shakes his head at the piano filling the foyer. “It doesn’t go here. Whether it stays in the house at all is debatable. The foyer is larger than most, but the piano makes it seem smaller.”

“You’re right, if you want it to stay it could go in one of the sitting rooms.”

He goes into one of the dark brown rooms, one set up as a living room and the other also a sitting room, only slightly smaller. “They changed the configuration, one of these rooms should be the dining room, both of them need to be painted.” As we walk into the current dining room, he shakes his head. “The piano would fit here. This isn’t a dining room. It could be an office. I hate the office now, there’s too much damn light wood everywhere. I’d rather it be turned into a bathroom or another bedroom.”

As I follow him into the kitchen, he runs his hand through his hair, and I wonder if his hair is as silky as it appears. Focus, Chloe, damn. “Explain to me how this kitchen can work?”

“We gut it. The appliances don’t fit. The refrigerator doesn’t go there, this island is an eyesore. Shaker white cabinets with glass, a pantry can go here, the refrigerator on this wall.”

“What do you think for the countertop?”

“I’m not sure if it should be butcher block or marble.”

“Butcher block on the counters, marble on the island?”