Page 8 of Wicked Lies Grow Wildflowers

CHAPTER SEVEN

MAEREN

The week went by in a blur and I spent most of it reeling over the fact that my plan to find my mystery man actually worked.

I honestly didn’t expect to run into him like that—if ever again.

For all I know he’s just visiting or he’s like me and never bothers to go out.

I wonder if that was pure chance or if he was hoping I would come back too.

Is he thinking about me as much as I am him?

There’s an allure to not knowing anything about the man encroaching on all of my thoughts. It feels almost taboo to be so focused on him, especially since it’s been days since the second time we met.

My mind sobers when I realize I went the whole week with zero contact from my mother.

It isn't unlike her to go so long without calling or texting me, but I know it's only a matter of time before she’s blowing up my phone to yell at me about something stupid that isn’t my fault and has nothing to do with me.

My peace of mind is a ticking time bomb, slowly winding down until the moment she comes calling.

Then boom , I'm thrown back into the mental prison she loves to keep me in.

I try to disassociate from the impending doom, busying myself in preparation for the last showing of the week in the most beautiful part of town.

I look up the details of the house and refresh my memory.

It's a two-million-dollar build, which isn't insane as far as real estate goes, but still nicer than anything I could ever dream of affording.

As I lock up my apartment, I notice three flowers lying on my welcome mat, carnations specifically.

I scrunch my face in confusion and try to figure out what they’re doing here.

Maybe someone dropped them on their way to one of the other apartments in the building?

I’m on the top floor with only one other apartment situated directly across from me, but maybe they were dropped on the way there?

I don’t dwell on it too long and leave them there, needing to get to my showing on time.

Pulling into the driveway, my jaw drops in awe.

It's even more gorgeous than the listing made it seem.

The first thing I notice is the beautiful front porch and four-car garage.

Continuing down the long driveway, I find the circular parking area, feeling more broke than I have in my entire life.

The whole home is surrounded by large trees and intricate landscaping, despite the shrubbery being well on its way to the grave from the plummeting temperatures.

I park and grab the key from the lockbox next to the massive front door.

Letting myself in, I take a quick, routine walkthrough to familiarize myself with the layout before my client arrives.

I swoon at the gorgeous kitchen with shiny stainless steel appliances, marble countertops, and bold green cabinets.

As I make my way through the house, I find the primary bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows, a walk-in shower, and a separate soaking tub big enough to fit two people.

A freaking dream. A huge walk-in closet is on the same wall as the bathroom and is adorned with built-in shelving.

Swoon. And oh my God, the sliding glass door walks out to the fenced-in backyard, and in the center is a freaking pool.

I knew to expect it all but seeing it in person is completely different.

I think this is the nicest house I’ve ever seen in person.

If I can sell this place, I’ll make enough commission to pay for several months of rent and student loans.

A slight panic sets in because I really need to make a good impression with the potential buyer.

I have to sell my ass off. While I’ve been a real estate agent for four years, I still get nervous sometimes, especially when I know how much money is on the line.

Hopefully my client is a serious buyer and not just someone who wants to look for the sake of looking.

I hate when that happens because it’s a waste of my time.

And I get it, I really do. I’m nosey too, it's part of why I like this job, but man, does it suck to not close a deal.

I hear an engine approaching and take a few deep breaths as I put my selling face on and steady my nerves. I’ve got this, it’s just another day with another house, no biggie at all.

Opening the front door reveals a sleek black Mustang parked in the driveway. I’m not a car girl so my knowledge ends there, but I can tell it cost a pretty penny as I side-eye my beat-up Camry. Maybe I’m in luck and this is a serious buyer after all.

I step out from the foyer and onto the porch to meet the client, a man named Xander Morris according to the required showing questionnaire.

The man gets out and it’s a testament to my professionalism that my jaw doesn’t hit the floor.

He’s gorgeous in his dark jeans that hug muscular thighs, dress boots, and navy blue blazer that dresses up the white t-shirt underneath.

Fit, but not overly so, he looks like he walked right off the page of a menswear catalog.

As he gets closer the blood drains from my face. Dark hair, steely gray eyes, tall, imposing. My mind flashes back to the first night at the bar, realizing that this is the rude and slightly creepy man I accidentally stumbled into.

Fuck. Me.

I’m taken aback, completely at a loss for words. Trying to gather my thoughts, I pray he doesn’t recognize me because the mortification from that alone would kill me. I’d die right here from shame. Before I can think of anything to say, he breaks the silence.

“Hello, Marie,” he says in a knowing lilt.

My heart drops into my stomach. If I thought I was stunned before, nothing could prepare me for my second realization; he’s also the man I’ve been dancing with.

The same man that has been occupying my mind for a week straight and clouding my judgment.

I can’t believe I didn’t piece it together before.

I think all the blood has left my body now because what. the. fuck?

I blink myself out of my thoughts and take a sharp inhale. You’re a professional, Maeren, act like it . But dammit, they don’t teach you how to deal with seeing someone you secretly get hot and heavy for at your place of work without warning. I clear my throat, not knowing what else to do.

“Hello… Xander, is it?” I ask with a little snark and a lot of confusion.

“Yes, Xander Morris, nice to meet you. Officially .” His words are coated in a layer of annoyance, yet sound a bit predatory.

He knows I lied about who I am and he’s caught me.

His hand is held out for me to shake and I take it, a familiar jolt rushing through me at the contact.

I act unphased even though every inch of skin that touches his feels like it’s a livewire.

I swallow. “Maeren Laughlin, your realtor. Would you like to get started on the tour?”

He offers me a silent nod.

“Right this way.”

I proceed to take him through the house, trying my best to act like he’s a normal client.

He’s totally not that man I’ve been lusting over for the past week and I definitely don’t notice how good he looks, how delicious he smells, and the way his rich voice vibrates through my body with each word he speaks.

I definitely don’t envision what it would be like to lay in the master bedroom together, or spend an evening skinny dipping in the pool.

Nope, my mind is pure, clear of all things rated above PG-13.

Okay, maybe that’s a lie. But what can I say? I’m only human.

At the end of the tour I ask him if he has any lingering questions about the home, pricing, placing a bid, et cetera. Anything to avoid the obvious elephant in the room. “I have a question but it’s not about the home,” he says.

Here we go. I bite my cheek, bracing for the impact.

“Okay, feel free to ask,'' I say, propping my hands on my hips while using all my willpower to not die of embarrassment and keep my face neutral. I just know he’s going to mention The White Rabbit.

“Why did you lie to me, Maeren? Or should I call you Marie ? Do you lie to everyone? Because I really, reall y hate liars.” His voice drips with venom.

“That is technically three questions, not one,” I snap back, enraged at his audacity to act unprofessional with me right now.

Although, I can’t really be surprised, remembering how he talked to me outside of the bathroom, all due to a simple accident.

I use that thought to steel myself. He might be hot, but he is still an asshole.

“Answer them,” he states matter-of-factly.

And I’m not sure why, but I do. “I didn’t lie directly. Marie is my middle name and I’m not comfortable giving my actual name out to strangers. It’s really that simple.” I cross my arms and prepare for his rebuttal.

“Strangers…” he says, trailing off, gaze narrowed on me, his hands in his pockets. “Do strangers dance like that with each other?”

My face flushes at his question and I gather myself once more.

“They do, it’s actually a normal occurrence at bars and clubs if you were unaware.

Maybe you should get out more. I don’t owe you, or anyone else for that matter, anything.

Now, do you have any questions pertaining to the house or not, because I have other things to get done today and I am at work, if you couldn’t tell.

” Clenching my fists until I feel the sharp bite of nails on my skin, I plaster on a fake smile.

Who does he think he is to try and act like I did anything wrong?

His face takes on a hard expression but there’s knowing in his voice when he says, “No, that will be all Maeren. I’ll see myself out.

It was lovely meeting you face to face, though I much prefer when our bodies meet.

We should do that again sometime.” He smirks at that last bit and with my scoff, walks away and out of the front door, leaving me stunned and more confused than ever.