Page 57 of Just Friends Forever
I raise a brow. “Isn’t it?”
“And what happens if your plan fails, and the paparazzifindus frolicking in said pajamas?”
I shrug. “Maybe they’ll come frolic along with us. Or maybe they’ll realize celebrities are human too.” I grab her hand, which is totally allowed when you’ve shifted into best friend mode like I have. “Come on, Stevia. Give it a chance. You know you want to.”
Her lips press together thoughtfully as she stares at our hands together. She looks up, still incredulous. “You really think you can pull it off?”
“Girl, I’ve got evasion skills you’ve never seen.” I move my shoulders from side to side, drawing a smile from her. “We can do it after the showings later. Do you trust me?”
She hesitates for a second. “Yeah. I trust you.”
My mouth breaks into a smile. “Let’s do this, then.”
19
STEVIE
It’sour third and final showing of the day. We’ve been through the entire mansion—beautiful and faultless—and now it’s time to check out the security features of the home. This is the part Troy has been waiting for.
It feels strange, looking at these massive houses I’d be sleeping in alone. I’ve always felt a little dwarfed by big homes. Having said that, they have all the security you could ever want—there definitely won’t be paparazzi hanging out on the sidewalk—but that can’t make up for the strangeness of being alone in such a huge space.
The listing agent walks us to the exterior gate, stopping just in front of a panel on the inside. “The gate can be programmed to work from your phone or car,” she says. “It will open automatically once you’re within a certain distance so you don’t have to wait once you’re ready to pull into the drive. Obviously, this gate is a secondary security measure, as the community itself has a gate and security booth.”
“When is the booth manned?” Troy asks.
“Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”
“How are those guards vetted?”
The woman explains the hiring process for the guards as Troy listens with a frown, nodding here and there.
I suppress a smile. He has all sorts of questions about the security options of every home. The fact that he’s so concerned about my safety fills me with a tangible warmth. I don’t deserve Troy, but boy, am I ever grateful for him. I hope Lyla appreciates what she’s got.
A car comes down the road, slowing as it approaches. The tinted window of the red Porsche rolls down, and a middle-aged man in a sports coat grins at us from inside.
“Hey there!” he says with a wave.
I glance at the listing agent, unsure what to make of this stranger’s unabashed curiosity or what exactly is expected of us.
“This is Richard Nelson,” the listing agent says. “He lives in the property just above this one.”
I smile politely at him, wondering if he recognizes me or if he just stops to say hi to every potential neighbor.
“You can call me Rick,” he says. “You thinking of buying this dump?” He winks.
“My client is looking at a number of properties.” Troy sounds so businesslike, as if our relationship was entirely formal. You’d never know how often he spontaneously breaks into the Carlton dance.
“Always good to know your options,” the man agrees. “This is a great neighborhood, though. Probably heard of a few of the residents. Rose Bryant. Rocco Sterling.”
Ihaveheard of them—I’ve met Rocco a number of times, actually—but I just give my besthow interestingexpression.
When Troy asks another security question of the listing agent, Rick seems to take the hint.
“Well, it was great meeting you. We’ll hope to see more of you.” With an eyebrow wag, he zooms off.
Once I’ve asked my questions and Troy has sufficiently grilled the listing agent on all things safety related, we get back in his car and start the drive back to his house.
“International business tycoon,” Troy says, reading from his phone while we’re stopped in bumper-to-bumper traffic. “That’s how our buddy Rick has enough money to live in that community.”
