Page 8 of Safer Alone
That’s one of those things about me, always wanting what’s best for everyone else. No matter the consequences, I always put myself last. If this Elliot Sands fellow doesn’t seem to be in love with the house, then I’m better off pointing out the negatives and waiting for someone who sees its true beauty. Someone who will look after it. But the check that the sale of this house will provide is larger than normal and will be put to good use; some pampering for myself number one on the agenda. Then I have to also remember the owner who has entrusted me to sell their home, and this man viewing it today has the money to do that. So I’ll go into this viewing with positivity.
The drive gives me plenty of opportunity to think about how I am going to tackle this sale, and with many different options flowing through my head, it takes me slightly less time than usual to arrive. The clock in my car tells me that it is just after 2:00 pm. I park in the large semicircular driveway, just a little farther forward than the entrance to the home, allowing that space to be vacant for my guest when he arrives. It had been drizzling this morning and that made the cobblestone steps of the pathway leading to the front door glisten, which was lovely; it brought out the blues, greens and greys in the rock.
I open the front door and ensure I make my way into each room, opening the curtains and windows to allow the gentle breeze to flow inside. Once I am satisfied that the interior presents as well as possible, I return to my car and retrieve the muffins, along with my work folder, pinching my phone from my handbag and popping it in the front pocket of my folder. I then lock my vehicle and walk back into the cottage. I set up the muffins on the kitchen counter and place the flyers beside them as I had yesterday. I could have just left those here instead of taking them with me. Maybe I will leave a couple here when I leave later.
Checking my watch, it is now 2:22 pm. He will be here momentarily. I grab the small room spray that I keep in my folder and spray it a couple of times near the open windows so it will waft through, not wanting it to be overpowering, its fragrance, the sweet, floral scent of gardenias. I extract my lip-gloss from its hiding spot within the zippered compartment of my folder and quickly press the wand to my lips, gliding over my top and bottom lip once each, smacking my lips together, I close it once more and then return it to the safety of my folder.
Next, I pull my cell out to switch it on silent mode. I hate when phones rang during a meeting, it doesn’t matter if it’s theirs or mine, I find it rude. I mean really, you know ahead of time you’re going to be in a situation for which you shouldn’t really need outside contact. You don’t need to be disturbed by a phone ringing. To me it’s just like being at the cinema; just switch it on silent.
When the screen flickered on to confirm that indeed the silent feature had been enabled, I see that there is an email notification. Upon further investigation, it was sent at 9:30 this morning. I can’t believe I didn’t see it. That would have been around the time I was vacuuming, which would be why I didn’t hear it ring. I hadn’t a reason today to look at it. I really hoped it didn’t say that he wasn’t able to attend. That will have made all this effort wasted. I could have stayed home in my pajamas.
I open the email, and there in clear font is his name, and email from Mr. Sands:
Miss White,
See you today at 2:30pm
Regards,
Elliot Sands,
CEO Sands PTY Limited
Well he hasn’t cancelled, in fact he has confirmed today’s appointment, early this morning. It is now 2:27 pm. Is there really any point in replying? Why not? It’s rude to ignore people, I figured I can always say it must have been sitting in my outbox for some reason in limbo. I quickly compile a quick reply;
See you then, Mr. Sands.
Warm Regards,
Angela White.
Licensed Real Estate Agent, Nashville Realty
As soon as I press the send button, I hear the tell-tale signs of river rock give away the presence of four wheels pulling into the driveway, then coming to a stop, followed by the open and close of heavy car doors. He has arrived right on time, just as he said he would. That is a good first impression to make. I run my hands down my body, starting at my breasts, over my stomach all the way down until the hem meets my bare skin smoothing my dress, bending over and flipping my head to pull my fingers through my hair quickly in order to give it some body. Once complete, I stand back up.
Okay Angela, here we go, he is just the same as any other client, treat him the same, polite and professional, you got this! Taking a deep breath, I wander toward the front door, opening it and then closing it again behind me. Another deep breath and I begin to walk down the front path towards where my client would be waiting. The time has come to meet Mr. Elliot Sands.
~ Chapter Four ~
“Mr. Sands, how very nice to meet you. My name is Angela White.” I give Elliot a warm smile and offer my hand. He envelopes my outstretched, much smaller hand within his own, performing a firm handshake.
“Thank you, Miss White. It’s nice to put a face to the name.” He returns my smile; his, however, shows perfect white teeth. Did he wear braces as a child, or was he just born that way? I imagine that this smile has gotten Mr. Sands anything he has ever wanted, from an extra scoop of ice cream to panties being dropped. His smile changes into a grin, as though he knows what I am thinking. I retrieve my hand back to my side and commence my visual inventory of the man before me.
First things first, he is ridiculously good looking. I don’t think I can recall ever seeing anyone this good looking. Well, perhaps not up close in the flesh anyway. Some of Hollywood’s current leading men are handsome. I can think of a few sexy lads appearing in some recently released movies. This man in front of me though isn’t someone who graces the big screen. He is here, standing close enough to touch, and he puts those guys to shame. I mean damn, the photo that had been uploaded onto Wikipedia didn’t do him justice at all.
I allow myself the luxury of giving him a very thorough once over. His sandy blond hair is slightly messy, just like the photo, however here in the flesh, it almost looks like it’s been styled in a ‘just woke up’ way. Or could it be that a female companion has recently been pulling her hands through it during a make out session? Never mind that, why do I care if he has been making out with someone? Get your head back into the game.
The sun above us is trying its hardest to show itself through the cloud cover, and with it I can see a few different colored strands, some real blond highlights, darker, almost light brown lowlights, and possibly, could that be a hint of copper? Maybe it looked like this because of the sunlight; the other possibility though is because he gets it dyed. A highly successful, wealthy young man surely would want to look his best at all times, even if that meant visiting a hair salon from time to time to have a color put through. Though I doubt Elliot Sands would be that kind of man. I bite my tongue. There is no way I am going to ask him if he does.
He removes his sunglasses and places one of the chrome arms into his jacket pocket, allowing the dark black, impenetrable lenses to sit flush against the fabric. With these safely secured, I take advantage to stare into his eyes. Ah, his eyes. Their color the same as the ocean, round orbs of such a beautiful deep blue, some lighter flecks as you move out from the pupil and get closer to the white. Just looking at them would make you want to jump right into their depths. Or maybe that is just me? My eyes drop just a little. His cheekbones are strong, showing the masculinity in his face; his nose is the perfect size. And then, I reach the base of his face, his mouth. His lips are full, and currently pulled up slightly at the edges, like you would in the moment before giving in to a smile, they look so soft. I find myself wondering what they would feel like to kiss. How they would feel on my sensitive skin? What has gotten into me today? That’s twice in a matter of minutes that I have thought about this man Elliot in an unprofessional way.
Needing to clear my head, I look away from his face, noticing that he is dressed as though he had just come straight from an important business meeting. His toned body is clothed in a dark navy, three-piece suit, white button-up shirt peeked through the top of the vest, and a tie, the color of which almost matches his eyes. I say almost, and not exactly, as I think it would be an injustice to match anything to his beautiful eyes. I wonder how many people shower him with compliments on a daily basis. How many women have gazed lovingly into these eyes? And just who is the lucky women who gets to gaze into them every morning and night?
I wear suits myself to work quite a lot. So do a lot of the men at the agency. This suit that Elliot is wearing isn’t one you can just purchase off the rack. No, no, no. This suit had been tailor made specifically for this very man, made using all of his measurements. I can tell by the way it fit him like a glove, this suit was made especially for him. No one else could pick this suit up and wear it like he could, and didn’t he know how to wear it. Another reason why I know that no one else could just wear this suit, is because it probably cost more for this one suit than every single item in my closet put together.
I can feel my pulse beginning to quicken just thinking about what it would be like to slip that jacket from his arms, letting it fall to the floor and unbutton his shirt, running my hands along his no doubt muscular and well-toned chest. I scold myself at that thought. Angela, what has gotten into you today? What in God’s name are you doing? This man is not a piece of meat to be ogled at, and even if he were, he isn’t about to let you do any of these things drifting through your thoughts. You need to remain polite and professional, remember?
With my pep talk over, I stop gawking at him, instead diverting my attention to the side. I had caught a glimpse of a second gentleman earlier. He was still positioned on the opposite side of the vehicle from where Elliot was standing. He had gotten out of the driver’s seat and was casually leaning against the front hood, concentrating on something that was on his cell phone. His short black hair not moving at all in the gentle breeze. And even though he was not looking in my direction or paying me any attention whatsoever, needing to break away from Elliot momentarily, I take a chance.
