A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)(22)

"I'd like to offer my services. With a relatively small budget, I know I could make some cosmetic changes that would improve first impressions."

"There's not enough money to pay you and buy supplies. Besides—"

Lance cut her off. "You misunderstand. I don't want pay; I want to list the place together. Fifty-fifty. It'll take a team to move that property. And, you'll be safer, having a man around. I could show it with you. Hold open houses with you."

"What I was going to say was, it's a moot point. The house isn't on the market. It may still be an official crime scene, for all I know. But either way, the owner hasn't contacted me."

Lance frowned. "How would you feel about letting me contact him?"

"Absolutely not." Gwen couldn't believe the temerity of the man. Let him contact her client? She strode out of the house toward Maricela's car. He followed her.

"I didn't mean to upset you. I thought maybe I could move the process along. You know, maybe the owner doesn't want to get a hold of you because he thinks you're still traumatized, or something."

"She," Gwen said.

"She?"

"The owner. She's a she."

"Okay, then maybe she thinks you don't want the listing anymore."

Gwen stopped and turned toward him. He had a point. It was possible Fiona thought the subject was too sensitive to raise. She examined his eyes.

His was a hard face to judge. It was too handsome. His appearance tended to distract her from the emotional cues she caught in plainer faces. She'd read somewhere that good character and intelligence are attributed to attractive people whether they deserved it or not, while homely people are assumed to be deficient. She didn't want to fall into that trap with him.

Lance appeared to be sincere. He didn't look dishonest, or shifty. "I'll think about it," she said.

After leaving Coto de Caza, the caravan headed toward the beach. The next listing was Lance's—a tasteful, four-bedroom in an older Laguna Niguel neighborhood. While Lance gave the tour, Maricela sidled up to Gwen. "So, how was your romantic dinner on Sunday?"

"Anticlimactic," Gwen said.

Maricela cocked an eyebrow.

"He drank a bottle and a half of wine then fell asleep on the couch." Gwen flicked a piece of lint from her skirt.

"Maybe things at school aren't so good," Maricela said.

Maricela was making excuses for Art, again. He'd worked hard to get a scholarship for Julissa so she could continue at St. Barnabas after Maricela's divorce. As far she was concerned, Art could do no wrong.

Gwen shrugged. It hurt to think about Saturday night. She'd bought a new, red negligee to surprise him, but by the time she came out of the bedroom to make her grand entrance, he was snoring.

She was as attracted to her husband as the day she'd married him. He'd aged well. His blond hair had darkened to a golden brown. He'd put on weight over the years, but it suited his well-muscled, six-foot-two frame—none of which was wasted on the soccer moms of St. Barnabas.

"I don't know, Maricela. Maybe it's our jobs. Maybe it's my age. Maybe he's found somebody else, but he's just not interested anymore. It's becoming routine."

Maricela took Gwen's arm and pulled her farther away from the group into a child's pink and yellow bedroom. "When Enrique was cheating on me, he brought me flowers, jewelry, talked about vacations. He was always telling me how beautiful I was, you know? It was all an act. He was covering up his guilt. Art's crazy about you, that's why he could just fall asleep. He has a clear conscience."

"One way to tell if your husband is having an affair is if he loses interest in sex. I read it in Cosmo."

"Yeah, or maybe he has the flu. I'm telling you, something bad happened at school. Julissa didn't get the whole story, but she heard there was an accident."

"Why wouldn't Art tell me something like that?"

"I don't know," Maricela said. "Maybe he didn't want to upset you."

Art hadn't said anything about an accident, but of course, she hadn't given him the opportunity. She'd stopped him when he'd tried.

"Are you two planning a major remodel in the second bedroom?" Lance filled the doorway.

"We were saying if you took this wall out," Gwen gestured to the wall that faced the tree lined street, "you could put in a drive through window and sell this place to Taco Bell."

Lance smacked himself in the forehead. "Why I didn't think of that?"

The three of them headed to Maricela's car for the last stop of the day. Maybe Lance was okay. The jury was still out. Gwen wasn't about to give him Fiona's number, but at least he'd come to her. It was possible other agents were already making plans to go behind her back. She wouldn't put it past John Gordon.

Lance was right about one thing; she shouldn't wait around for Fiona to call her. She'd been procrastinating. Her feelings about the property were complicated. But no one ever got ahead by allowing emotion to dictate their actions. She'd call Fiona as soon as she returned to the office.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


The next day Art pushed open the glass doors of St. Barnabas and was hit by a hot blast of wind. The Santa Ana's blowing in from the high desert brought unseasonable heat. It was a phenomena Art never grew accustomed to, even after living in Southern California for most of his adult life. One day you were wearing jackets and sweaters, the next you were sweating in shorts.