Page 24 of Diego

Matteo says something from across the room, but I do not catch it.

I read the message again and type back.

I’ll pick her up in front of Meridian at nine.

My assistant responds almost immediately.

I’ll let her know.

I set the phone down on the arm of the chair and look back toward the television, though I have no idea what is happening on the screen.

Tomorrow morning, 9:00.

A whole day with the very beautiful Blair Owens. Maybe being kicked out of my apartment isn't so bad after all.

Chapter Six

Blair

I pull into the parking garage beneath The Meridian Group at 8:43, ease my car into its usual space, and turn off the engine. For a few seconds, I stay exactly where I am, both hands resting on the steering wheel.

The blue 1973 Chevy Corvette Stingray has always made me feel better before a difficult day. Maybe because there is nothing timid about it. The long hood, the curves, the low growl of the engine—everything about the car is consistent and reassuring.

Dad loved that about it. He used to say there was no point owning a beautiful car if you were going to apologize for being seen in it, and somewhere along the way, I adopted the same philosophy.

The Corvette was his long before it was mine, and I learned more about engines leaning over its open hood beside him than I ever expected to know. Now it belongs to me, and there are mornings when sliding behind the wheel feels a little like carrying him with me.

Today, I could use the company.

I glance at the time again and reach for my bag. My laptop is inside, along with a folder containing printed details on every property I managed to arrange for today, even though everything is also on my phone and tablet. I spent most of last night working through listings, calling brokers, begging for access, adjusting times, and trying to build something that looks like a carefully planned day rather than a frantic attempt to save my career.

Diego Conti did not exactly make that easy.

I know enough about him now to understand who he is professionally. I know his family owns Conti Enterprises, that Meridian now belongs beneath that umbrella, and that he is one of four brothers involved in the company.

I know he has money on a scale that makes it completely unnecessary to ask about budget. And I also know he apparently needs a new place immediately.

What I do not know is what he actually likes.

Randall was spectacularly useless on that front.

The listings he showed Diego yesterday are unavailable to me unless I want to go crawling back into his office and ask, and I would rather spend the morning licking parking-garage concrete.

So I started from scratch. I researched what I could, rejected anything that felt too obvious, and tried to imagine what kind of home suits a man who walks into a room looking completely comfortable with everyone noticing him.

I may have gotten it completely wrong.

That possibility has been sitting in my stomach since I set up the first listing yesterday.

I am excited about one listing in particular, though. I had to pull every single string I had to get it the showing. Strings that I don't even really have yet, and I don't know what it's going to cost me.

But if I manage to pull this off, it'll be worth it.

I climb out of the Corvette, lock it, and head toward the garage exit rather than the elevators. Diego said he would pick me up in front of Meridian at nine, which means there is no reason to go upstairs first. It also means I have plenty of time to stand around trying not to think about the fact that my entire future is riding on whether a man I have never spoken to likes the houses I chose for him.

No pressure.

The cool morning air helps. I step onto the sidewalk and adjust the strap of my bag over my shoulder before checking my phone again. Everything is confirmed. The first showing is ready. The second broker sent me the access instructions at 7:00 this morning. The third listing required enough negotiation that I now owe Leah coffee for approximately the next six months because she gave me a name to call.