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Ugh, get a hold of yourself, she chastised herself as her stomach fluttered. She’d never been so grateful to have a moment interrupted by the sound of her cellphone buzzing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

BY LATE AUGUST, Carmela had no concrete prospects, diminishing returns on all their marketing strategies, and not a single o er to show Yeardsley after months of constant work. He hadn’t said anything negative yet, but their weekly phone calls were getting shorter and a little less friendly despite her statistical proof that houses at his price point could easily take a year to sell. Despite her best e orts, it was obvious Carmela and Rhiannon’s novelty had worn o , and Yeardsley was second-guessing his decision to go with a team that had never sold a house on the island.

As Carmela paced her o ce, she was starting to feel the deal slip through her fingers and there was nothing she could do to stop it. They’d already invested a ton of money.

Money they’d lose if the house didn’t sell. Barreling forward was her only option, but she was running low on ideas.

Carmela’s sore stomach grumbled. Despite cutting everything acidic in her diet, including co ee, which made for a rough couple of weeks, her gastritis had gotten so intense even her new prescription wasn’t working. Maybe the acupuncture she’d scheduled for later in the week would help.

“Hey,” Rhiannon said as she interrupted one of Carmela’s laps. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking,” she replied as if it was obvious.

“Ummmm okay,” she said before o ering her one of two co ee cups in her hands. “Here.”

Carmela stared at the cup like she’d been o ered poison.

Her stomach burned at just the thought of co ee. “Thanks, but I’m o ca eine.”

Rhiannon rolled her eyes. “Do I look like an idiot? It’s not a latte.”

Carmela cocked her head to one side. “Then what is it?”

“Oh my God. Why is it so hard to be nice to you! Just take it,” she insisted.

“Ugh, fine,” Carmela groaned before accepting the cup. A familiar heat warmed her palm. In her abstinence, she’d missed the ritual of hot drinks and indulged in the scent. The light, grassy smell was unfamiliar, and she sipped the cup’s contents hesitantly. The sweet, floral flavor was pleasant and surprisingly tasty.

“Do you like it?” Rhiannon asked when Carmela took a second, more enthusiastic, sip.

Carmela looked up at the girl staring at her expectantly.

“Thank you. It’s really nice. What is it?”

Rhiannon relaxed her shoulders and smiled. “Green tea, Manuka honey, and some other stu . It’s supposed to be really good for your stomach. This lady at the tea shop told me it’s supposed to be the best.”

Carmela could have blamed the warmth that flooded her chest on the tea, but she knew it wasn’t the cause. There was no stopping the smile that bloomed on her lips. Rhiannon had gone to some tea place looking for something for her.

“That’s really sweet of you. Thank you,” she said, her voice low as she inched toward her. “How did you know—”

“You’re the only one that uses those extra bold co ee packets, and they’ve been sitting in the kitchen forever.

Untouched,” she replied, her eyes dipping from Carmela’s

eyes to her lips. “And you’ve been pressing your palm against that spot under your sternum.”

The emotion choked her and left her speechless. If someone had told her all those months ago that the same girl who conned her out of a deal would be looking for ways to ease her gastrointestinal distress, she would have doubled over laughing. But now, with those gray eyes trained on her, she was helpless. A prey animal caught in a predator’s hypnotizing gaze. Do rabbits ever get tired and stop running?

“Make sure you drink it all,” Rhiannon warned before smiling again and disappearing out of her o ce, sipping on whatever was in her own cup.

Half an hour later, Carmela finally had a moment of relief, but it was short lived. After a long meeting with Liz to discuss new tactics, Carmela was on her way back to her o ce when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She didn’t recognize the number. Hoping Jackie’s wedding planner hadn’t found some new way to get her to respond, she picked up the phone.

“Buon pomeriggio! ” A man greeted her enthusiastically. It took her a moment to place the voice. Luca Prieto-Marquez, the Spaniard interested in the house if only he sold his Miami Beach property first.

“Luca, so nice to hear from you! To what do I owe the pleasure?” She smiled even though he couldn’t see her.

“Is Rhiannon with you? I called her but she didn’t answer,” he replied, forcing Carmela to clench her jaw . . .