The Redo (Winslow Brothers #4) (72)

“I’ll make anything work for you and Shelly.”

Michael is pleased. “I’ll have my assistant send you over our flight and hotel details.”

“Great. We’ll talk soon,” I say and hit end on the call, but just as I set my phone on the coffee table, it starts to ring again.

This time, though, I know the caller—Eleanor Waverly.

Despite the dread in my belly, I blow out a breath and answer by the second ring.

“Maria, I think I made a mistake,” she says, avoiding a greeting entirely. “I’m not sure if that penthouse is the right one.”

I blow out another breath. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Well, you did sign the contract,” I explain to her. “So, it wouldn’t be easy to just pull out of the deal without a valid reason that won’t go against the legal terms you’ve agreed to. Mind explaining why you’re having second thoughts?”

“I don’t know… I mean, is it truly the right place for a woman like me? I have a reputation, a responsibility to this city to only showcase the best.”

I shut my eyes for a brief moment, and when I open them, Remy is offering a soft smile in my direction as he takes Izzy from my arms. And while he finishes feeding her, I stand up from the couch and begin to pace the living room.

“I know you can’t possibly understand the kind of pressure a woman in my position is under, but this is a big decision, Maria,” Eleanor states. “I need to make sure it’s the right one.”

It’s safe to say, she is beyond the point of living in reality. Her money, her entitlement, her entire lifestyle, make her so self-involved, she can’t tell her foot from her ass.

This woman has no idea the kind of pressure I’m under. Not a freaking clue.

And normally, yes, this would be a big decision for pretty much anyone. But Eleanor Waverly changes apartments more than Izzy goes through onesies. Over the past two years alone, she’s purchased and sold five different New York properties and one beach house in Malibu.

“I understand,” I say, even though I really want to tell her she is driving me batshit crazy. “Why don’t you tell me what it is exactly that’s giving you second thoughts?”

“I don’t know…” She pauses, and when I feel something touch my hand, I look down to see that Remy is handing me a breadstick.

I almost want to laugh, but I also don’t hesitate to take it gratefully.

Three bites in, Eleanor finally breaks the silence. “At first, I thought it was the lack of marble, but then I think the kitchen is fine the way it is. And then, I thought it was the fact that the master bathroom had a soaking tub with a walk-in shower, but I guess it would be nice to have both. And then, I thought, maybe I want my walk-in closet to be bigger, you know? But I guess it’s about the same size as the one I have now… So… I don’t know… Maybe it is the right decision…?”

It’s probably for the best that technology hasn’t reached the point where we can physically reach through the phone. Because it’s highly likely I’d be strangling her right now.

I inhale a quiet but deep breath and force myself to go to the place where I’m a real estate agent who can handle clients like this without batting a fucking eye.

“Well, all aspects you just mentioned will be great selling points if you ever decide to put it on the market again,” I state. “So, even if you would eventually decide to sell it, you’d have no problems finding a buyer. Truthfully, there are six buyers with backup offers right now, hoping you’ll decide not to follow through.”

If there’s anything that gets to Eleanor Waverly, it’s knowing she has something other people want. She lives for that shit.

“They’re still leaving the Picasso, right?” she questions.

“Yes. They have to. It’s in the signed contract.”

“Okay. Fine. Yeah. I’ll buy it,” she says, quickly adding, “Gotta go. Toodles!”

Then click. She hangs up the phone.

Goodness. I swear, that woman is a roller-coaster ride from hell.

“Everything good?” Remy asks as I sit back down beside him.

“Besides my client being a certifiable psycho? Yes, everything is good to go.”

He grins at that, but when his phone starts ringing, he sighs and mutters, “Fucking hell.”

“It’s fine,” I tell him and take Izzy from his arms. “Answer it, Rem. Trust me, I get it.”

He sighs again but answers the call, and I attempt to juggle Izzy and eating while Remy talks to someone about market reactions and how he thinks the Fed’s announcement about interest rates is going to affect the stock exchange’s open tomorrow.

And once he ends his phone call, it only takes a minute for my phone to ring.

“What the hell is going on tonight?” I question around a mouthful of pasta, and Remy just laughs and takes Izzy from me again.

“A sign from above that we need to quit our jobs and move to a deserted island.”

I smirk and point a finger in his direction. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“Oh, I never tease. You should know that by now.” Rem grins, and I shake my head on a laugh.

“Your clients would lose their shit if you left them high and dry,” I whisper toward him as I answer my incoming call by the third ring.