The Ivy House - By Drea Stein Page 0,4

you sure?” he said, snapping his fingers. “Because I swear, you remind me of someone. Let me see, someone famous. A model?”

Phoebe managed to arch an eyebrow. She had a swimmer’s body, moderately tall, wide shoulders and slim all over, but she’d never been mistaken for a model before.

“Nah, not quite tall enough, though those shoes make your legs go on forever,” the guy said, his eyes twinkling. He was smiling so outrageously that Phoebe almost didn’t mind that she was being blatantly hit upon. Perhaps his recognition of her had been fake, a cheesy come-on. Maybe he had no idea. “A singer?”

“Tone-deaf,” Phoebe countered.

“Too bad—you’d look pretty bad-ass up on stage.” Somehow, the guy had moved closer to her, invading her space and yet, Phoebe didn’t mind at all. He had lines around his eyes, as if he squinted too much in the sun, and his hands, one of which was splayed on the wall, like his clothes, were not those of a man who spent all of his time inside.

He snapped his fingers. “The stage. That’s it. You’re an actress. Theater? TV. A cop show. I can see you arresting the bad guys.”

Phoebe shook her head, feeling the smile that was lighting up her face and the buzz in her body as she decided to play along.

“Medical drama?” He tried again.

“Hate the sight of blood.”

“You’re sure I don’t know you from somewhere?” The guy leaned over her, his eyes looking into hers. Thoughts, none of them coherent, raced around Phoebe’s head and she was aware that it was warm, very warm in the house, where before it had been cool, almost too cool.

“No, I’m nobody,” Phoebe said and managed to take a deep breath, almost willing that to be true.

“I don’t believe that for a second, miss.” He leaned in close to her and his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “With a face like that, you’re surely someone.”

Phoebe didn’t know what to say to that and she didn’t have to. Her phone beeped and, eager to break the intense connection between herself and this man, she pulled it out of her bag and saw that there was a text from Sandy, the real estate agent.

Have interest from buyer, heavy hitter, wants to see house ASAP

Phoebe cleared the text in frustration. She thought she had been very clear. She wasn’t ready to entertain any offers for Ivy House yet. But some people were rude and didn’t take no for an answer. Phoebe looked up. The guy, this “heavy hitter,” apparently hadn’t gotten the message because he was already looking around the place as if he were measuring how well his flat-screen TV would look above the fireplace in the living room.

Phoebe texted back, “Not interested…send away…”

Fast and furious came the text message back: “Too late, he’s already on his way…”

Phoebe gritted her teeth in frustration. “Fine, I will take care of him.”

She put the phone away just as it started ringing. It was Sandy, but Phoebe decided to ignore her. She wasn’t interested in hearing the woman try to save her own commission.

“Excuse me, sir.” Phoebe found him in the back room, the one she had already imagined would be perfect as the studio study, looking out the full wall of windows.

“Quite a view,” he said with an easy gesture, seemingly unembarrassed at having been caught roaming around the house.

“I’m sorry, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. The house is not for sale,” Phoebe said, drawing herself up to her full height.

The man looked over at her, a lazy smile on his face. “Is that so? It’s a prime piece of property. I’ve had my eye on it for a while. The old owner never would give me the time of day, though, no matter what I offered.”

“Well, guess this isn’t your lucky day either because I have no intention of selling,” Phoebe said. It wasn’t exactly true. Last night, she’d had every intention of glancing the place over, getting a price from the real estate agent, and heading back to the city. But now…she’d already imagined sipping wine on the terrace.

She heard the ping, but before she could reach for her own phone, she saw the man take his out of a pocket. The conversation was brief, but Phoebe was almost certain Sandy, the real estate agent, was on the other end of it.

He hung up, looked at Phoebe, a sharp, appraising look.

“Well, I guess I was mistaken. But you know what they say: the harder you