Page 1 of Father Knows Best (A Family Affair #1)

. . .

avery

The Staging

One year ago.

Pulling the white linen handkerchief from my back pocket, I blot along my forehead and upper lip, letting out a sigh.

“I don’t know about these massive homes,” I comment to Brandon as he adjusts the faux-fiddle leaf fig plant atop the walnut table, behind the sectional.

“I’m exhausted, and we only did three rooms.”

Brandon, his blonde hair darkened by all his hard work, heavy beads of sweat balancing on his brow-line, says, “Yeah, but rooms in a place like this are the size of small houses. So it’s like we just did three regular homes, you know?

It makes sense to be tired.” He blinks down at me, wearing his lopsided smile. “How’d you get this gig, anyway?”

Tipping my head to the side, I analyze the rattan-back chair I’d positioned around the fireplace earlier.

I chose rattan for the texture it adds to the otherwise modern space, but now, on final look, I’m not so sure.

I slip out of my sneakers and walk carefully across the silk flat pile rug I’m using for the very first time.

Moving a cream throw blanket onto the rattan, I look back at Brandon, who nods. “You’re right. That’s better.”

As I’m cautiously crossing the space, the digital keypad on the front door sounds, a quiet echo of beeps drifting from the entryway to here. A moment later, a man appears.

A man dressed in a fitted suit the color of a stormy sky, a marigold necktie like the sun, black shoes and matching belt, he slides his cell phone into his pocket and looks up.

I’ve never met Sutton Mercer but somehow, I know it’s him.

The smoky and serious tone he held on our phone call last week had me curious, so I looked him up. A professional headshot on the Mercer Properties website told me that Sutton Mercer is unbelievably handsome, with a face made for sales. But that photo did not do justice to his presence in person.

Sutton Mercer is the most handsome man I’ve quite possibly ever seen.

He glances around the space, and I follow his gaze, my pulse pumping hurriedly. From where I’m standing behind the curved black and gold lamp, he doesn’t notice me right away. Setting his focus on Brandon, he asks, “are you done?”

Brandon’s brows furrow, and he pulls a long breath into his chest before pointing at me with his eyes, replying, “ she’s done, yes.”

Entranced by him, I must’ve missed the second set of fancy dress shoes clicking along the Italian marble floors, because another man appears, coming to stand at Sutton Mercer’s side.

He’s much older, his swoopy hair and beard almost completely silver.

From my website research, I know that he is Geo Mercer, founder and CEO of Mercer Properties.

He’s also Sutton’s father and business partner.

My mother used to always tell me that people act differently around you when you’re poor, and as I age, I realize how right she was.

Not having what everyone else seemingly had made me deeply insecure, and it made everyone around me unsure how to behave.

I feel that same way now, feeling dwarfed by the enormous house and the presence of these two.

They’re so handsome, their suits so elegant; success radiating off them–I shift in socked feet in the corner of the enormous staged room, hit by a crushing wave of insecurity.

I’m good at what I do, and I’ve built a name for myself in the real estate staging industry, but even so, nerves storm my belly.

Insecurity storms me, burning its way into my guts, my fingers, the ends of my hair, like fast-moving fire.

I hate this part of business—having to remind myself that I’m worthy to stand up next to these men.

I’m worthy to work with them. Intimidation is such a mind game.

Geo Mercer spots me in the corner, and smiles, ear to ear.

“There she is.” He motions me over, and I move through the room cautiously, nervous to have their eyes on me.

I slip into my sneakers and tuck the wild strands of hair behind my ears, hoping I don’t look the sweaty and exhausted state I feel.

“Avery Bennett?” he confirms, brows raised.

I nod my head. “Hello, Mr. Mercer. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Avery Bennett, of Bennett Staging.”

This is my first time staging a home for Mercer Properties, not to mention, the first massive home I’ve staged. I think it looks wonderful but Sutton Mercer, whose hazel eyes are locked fastidiously on mine, is making me second-guess myself.

His father pulls my attention back, adding, “The place looks gorgeous. You’ve done a wonderful job, from what I can see so far.”

Brandon speaks up, twisting the lid onto a bottle of water. “I can take you through and show you everything,” he offers to Geo, who glances at his son. I can’t help but look back at Sutton, too.

He’s still looking at me. Staring? Analyzing? Asking himself why he hired me for this job? I have no idea, because he’s hardly spoken. I glance at the room, running down a quick list in my mind of stylistic choices I can change to make him happy. If he is indeed un happy.

“That would be great,” Geo says slowly. He and Brandon move through the rest of the space on the lower level, their voices a hushed echo a moment later.

I grab my cardigan off the kitchenette chair—one I found at a French craftsman shop in Boho last summer.

I’d purchased all four chairs and shoved them into my storage space, unsure of where they’d make their first appearance, but positive they’d make some space gorgeous one day.

Feeding my arms through, Sutton tracks me with his gorgeous eyes, watching as I put on my sweater.

He then glances at the small chairs positioned around the table.

Our eyes meet.

My stomach turns over into itself, queasiness flashing through my limbs, sweat beading along the curve of my spine. It feels like high school or worse, junior high. My heart is racing and my palms get sticky, my mouth chalky.

He brings a hand to his stomach, freeing a button on his suit, and I watch him, staring at the bulging veins in his hands. Outstretching my hand, I introduce myself. “Hi, I’m Avery Bennett. We spoke on the phone.”

Sutton slips his hand into mine, and my stomach clenches at the strength in his grip, the softness of his skin, and the way his eyes intensely hold mine. “Ms. Bennett,” he tips his head. “Sutton Mercer.” Oh my.

He glances back at the living space, casting a final, inquisitive look before facing me again. “It’s completely transformed. And on such short notice,” he says, eyes gripping mine with intensity. I’ve never experienced intense eye contact. It’s… intense . “I’m impressed. And also grateful.”

I lift my shoulder and let it fall. “No biggie. That’s my job.” My heart is pounding so loud, I’m about to yell at myself to be quiet.

His brows fall into a flat line, and he presses his lips together. “It was very short notice.”

I smile. “That’s how it goes in real estate.” My heartbeat begins to steady, and I lick my lips. He watches me.

The intense way he watches me has my stomach doing backflips.

My eyes fall to his hand, the one at his core, suit coat still between his fingers.

I’m struggling to shift my focus off of his virile hand, with veins running over the top, and the glittering watch adorning his wrist. My cheeks grow warm, and I curl my toes in my sneakers as I peer up at him, feeling like I’m in the presence of a mythical god of some sort.

Sutton notices me looking at his hands and watch, and smiles. Embarrassment codifies the warmth in my face, and I know for the rest of this encounter, my skin will never calm. I will be a cherry to Sutton Mercer, real estate god.

Geez.

I wrap my cardigan around myself as a shield to stand between my sudden attraction and him, hoping something prevents him from noticing how much I want him.

Eyes still transfixed on mine, he tips his head back toward the hall where Brandon and Geo disappeared. “Is he your boy friend?” He says boy like it’s a criminal offense. And it makes my skin tingle.

But then I laugh. I blink. I furrow my brows. “ What? ”

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t smile. He just repeats himself. “Is he the guy you’re currently dating? Your boyfriend?”

For some reason, I have to physically turn and look down the white hall where the men went, because it greatly surprises me that Sutton would make that leap.

I shake my head. “Brandon works for me.” Sutton’s face doesn’t soften, and for some strange reason, I feel the need to further clarify, to take that look off his face. “We are just friends and coworkers. That’s all.”

His lips curve as if he's pleased with my response. Then he hits me with a disarming, obnoxiously gorgeous smirk. “I’m pleased to hear that.”

His comment sets me on the edge of nervousness and anxiety, so I adjust my cardigan again before grabbing my laptop off the table, hugging it to my chest. “I’ll email your assistant the rest of the invoice now that we’re done.

When the property is sold, my team and I will be back and have the house cleared in a day. ”

Sutton’s face gets that grouchy look again, and my stomach does backflips for it. “Your team? Are there other Brandons?”

I smile. “I say team because it makes most clients feel more comfortable but no, it’s usually just us.” I look around the space. “In this case, we’ll likely use movers on the way out to ensure we hit our one-day pack up promise.”

He nods, just standing there, handsome and intriguing, his musky bergamot scent scrambling my senses, making the place between my legs hot and fuzzy.

I’ve never turned into a pearl-clutching, self-fanning, wordless puddle of “ get me pregnant ” before, but Sutton Mercer is a different story entirely.