Flirt With Me (With Me in Seattle 17)

“There’s something about this client that I don’t like. I’d like to have you there, just in case he turns out to be a creep.”

“I’ll be there.”

“As you can see, there’s no direct water view in this home, but you’re only a block away from beach access.”

“Hmm.” My client nods and continues circling the kitchen, his hands clasped behind his back, his creepy eyes moving back to me every few seconds.

I check the time. Hunter should be stopping by any minute.

“Did you want to see the garage?” I ask as he circles the island yet again.

“No, it’s not the garage that I’m interested in.”

“Uh, okay. You’ve been really quiet. I’m honestly not sure if you like the place or not.”

“I’m going to be frank.” He turns to me, and his gaze slithers up and down my frame, making me instantly feel physically sick. “I’d like to fuck you on this island.”

“That’s not included in the purchase price.”

“Oh, come on. We can work something out. I’ve seen you look at me. You want me, you little slut.”

“And…we’re done,” I announce, my heels clicking smartly on the hardwood as I march to the front door. “You can go fuck yourself.”

“Hey, I hired you. That means you do what I tell you to do.”

“No. It doesn’t.” I reach for the door, but before I can get my hand on the knob, he jerks me back by the hair and slams me against the wall. I bring my knee up but miss his balls by about two inches.

“You’re nothing but a tease,” he hisses.

“I haven’t been flirting with you, Dale. Let me go.”

There’s a knock on the door, and I immediately scream. Hunter slams the door open, and when he sees that Dale has me pinned against the wall, he pounces on the other man, punching him in the eye as he drags his ass outside.

Hunter tosses Dale toward the man’s car.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Hunter growls. “Before I fucking kill you.”

Dale scurries to his car, holding his right eye. Hunter turns back to me.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Did he put his hands on you?”

“Just barely. It was mostly what he said. God, what a piece of shit. Thanks for coming.”

Hunter pulls me into his arms and holds on tight. “No more showing houses to single men alone.”

“I won’t,” I agree and take a long, deep breath. “I promise.”

It’s a Monday night, which means we’re busy with baseball lovers catching the game on our big-screen TVs and eating all of the good food out of the kitchen.

We’ve been going pretty much nonstop for a few hours, and Rachel looks exhausted. She’s been working like crazy over the past couple of weeks since Carla left, and life has settled down considerably. Rachel has her dad’s work ethic. There’s no doubt about it.

“Hey, why don’t you take a break?” I suggest. “Go sit at the bar and chat with Grandda for a few. Your feet are killing you.”

“How do you know?” Rachel asks.

“Because this isn’t my first rodeo. Go take a break. We can handle this.”

Rachel smiles gratefully and hops up onto a seat at the bar. My dad grins from ear to ear and pours her a root beer.

I hurry into the kitchen and am surprised to find only Maggie and Cameron.

Cameron curses under his breath and turns to leave.

“This conversation isn’t over, Mary Margaret,” he promises and storms out of the room.

I turn to my sister. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. It’s all bloody fine.” She tosses her hands into the air and storms out after him, leaving me completely confused.

“Where is Shawn?”

“I’m here,” Shawn says and walks out of the refrigerator, carrying bags of fries. “I wanted to give them some privacy.”

“What were they saying?”

Shawn turns and stares at me. “How should I know? I was giving them privacy.”

“You’re really bad at this,” I inform him before I pull my order out from under the warmer and load my tray.

I’ve just stepped out from the kitchen when I see that Carla is walking over to Rachel with a big, muscular man in tow.

Jesus, what is she doing here? There’s been nothing from her, zero contact, for weeks. Why is she back?

I set the tray down and pull out my phone to text Hunter.

Me: Need you at the pub ASAP. Carla’s here.

I hurry over in time to hear Carla greet Rachel.

“Hey there, darling. I haven’t heard from you. I was getting worried.”

“I’m not supposed to talk to you,” Rachel says, her voice low. She won’t look her mother in the face. She’s hunched over, staring down at the bar.

“Well, that’s just silly. I’m your mama.”

My dad steps closer. “The lass just told you she isn’t to speak with you. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave my pub.”

Rachel swallows hard.

“Are you going to let this old, stupid man tell me what to do?” Carla demands of Rachel, and the teenager immediately stands up out of her chair, fury radiating off of her in waves.