Renewed, p.7
Renewed, page 7
part #1 of Chance Brothers Series Series
“Does it work?” I asked, grinning. “Because I didn't need a child to be with you.”
The corners of her mouth twitched upwards as a blush crept onto her cheeks. “I thought we agreed not to mention that in public.” As she spoke, her gaze locked with mine. Then cooed to my nephew, gently stroking his hand that was wrapped securely around my finger.
My nephew nestled comfortably in my arms. Lowering my voice to keep our conversation private and not to disturb his sleep, I said, “It's funny how small the world is. You were this mysterious Samantha I’ve been trying to find since that night. You know I’ve been back to that bar a few times hoping I’d see you again and lo and behold we bump into each other at another industry event.”
I couldn't help but inhale the soft, floral scent enveloping her as she leaned in.
“Why didn't you call me back after that night?” Her tone wasn't angry or irritated, just genuinely curious. “We did meet at the realtor event, right? I was a speaker. After I finished my presentation, Carol convinced me to join her at the bar. And trust me, I needed it after standing before that crowd.”
A light bulb went off in my mind. “Now it makes sense. When I went to the front desk, they had no clue who was in that room. I left you a message, but you probably didn’t get it. I was told that the room was reserved under the convention name.”
She nodded in affirmation, “Yeah. It was complimentary since I had to present at the last minute.”
“I awoke to housekeeping and an empty room I took it as my cue to leave. Your side of the bed still holding the impression of where you'd lain, but no note indicating when and if you’d return.”
Regret flashed in her eyes. “My daughter, she’s four years old, had a fall from a jungle gym—a bee scared her. She sprained her arm. My phone had been on silent. I missed Mom’s message for hours; I was wracked with working mother guilt. I couldn't just let her handle everything.”
My eyes widened, surprise overtaking my features. She was a mom. And the dad? Where was he in all this? “You mentioned a daughter. Is there an ex in the picture?”
“No… no ex, never got married. Amelia’s father was out of the picture before she was born. It’s always been just us.” She seemed taken aback but responded with honesty. “Believe me my heart aches at the thought of my daughter having an absent father, but Warren chose to disappear before Amelia was even born. It’s a matter of choice. I decided to keep her, and he chose to run.”
My temper flared. “What an absolute charmer.”
Her lips quirked in a half-smile. “Right? His rich folks shipped him off to some East Coast college. And now he wants to play the prodigal dad.”
“She’s lucky, your daughter, to grow up with you as a mom. Not everyone’s so fortunate. I certainly wasn’t.”
She reached out and touched my forearm and squeezed. “I’m sorry. This isn’t the venue for deep topics.”
“My adoption might have been the best thing my birth mother could have done for me. My adoptive parents took in not only Dale, Carlos and myself but had three sons of their own.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“My brothers and I have always had each other’s backs. They're my family, and we’re partners in all my real estate ventures. And your daughter? Is she okay now?” Genuine concern laced my voice, tightening my grip around my nephew. Protective instincts, honed from years of feeling abandoned, flared up.
“She’s developed a new phobia of bees but brave the jungle gym again. If not, I’ve failed as a mom.” She said with a bittersweet smile.
“If only you’d told me, I would've driven you myself.” Then I abruptly changed the topic.
A teasing smile danced on her lips. “I may be rusty with dating etiquettes, but we'd just met. Can you imagine what you’d tell your buddies if you’d accompanied me? I didn’t want to spook you.”
I glanced down at my nephew, then back at her, my tone half-joking and half-serious. “You’re right. Moms and I don’t usually mix. When it gets tough, everyone feels the heat.”
A shadow of hurt crossed her face, and I realized my misstep. Rushing to clarify, I said, “Don’t take it the wrong way, my birth mom was a single mom, too. It was hard for her in the U.S., especially with a kid and no support system. She hid me from her boyfriends, fearing they'd leave.” This wasn’t something I shared with others outside of my brothers, but I didn’t want her to believe that being a mother pushed me away from her.
* * *
As if on cue, Jack squirmed in my arms, restless. “Parenting’s a journey,” she murmured, her gaze steady. “I’m working on it.”
Her vulnerable admission made me see her strength. This was a woman who wouldn’t back down and would stand by her promises, unlike the mother who'd vanished from my life, leaving behind broken vows.
8
Jenni
With a keen ear, I absorbed the myriad of conversations whirling around me. Marcos, his siblings, and the crew members shared stories, all filled with laughter and camaraderie. Among them, two or three of the network's most popular TV hosts were seated, their fame born from home design reality shows. Despite their celebrity status, no airs of superiority tainted the convivial atmosphere. Instead, it was a family reunion with inside jokes and shared history.
Every time Marcos' leg brushed against mine, an electric jolt shot through me. The familiar sensation stirred up a whirlwind of emotions I hadn't felt since our last encounter. Yet, as much as it unnerved me, I refused to give Marcos the satisfaction of seeing his effect on me. The conversation shifted into an enthusiastic debate about soccer stats and best plays. Humor and sportsmanship peppered their lively exchange, a testament to the bond shared between the folks around the table. “Did you see that assist?” a voice shouted from the far end of the table. Another chimed in with a heated opinion about the team's goalie, while Marcos sparked many responses with his commentary on a memorable back pass.
I lifted my Merlot, my lips meeting an empty glass. A flicker of amusement danced across Marcos' face as he picked up the wine bottle and signaled to me. “More wine?”
I nodded, extending my glass toward him. Our fingers brushed, and I sucked in a breath, the unexpected contact sending shockwaves through me. His grin widened. “Feel that?”
I knew exactly what he meant, but this was neither the time nor the place. So, I countered with, “Just static electricity.”
His expressive light gray eyes met mine, and his arched eyebrow clearly said: liar. Still, he let it go, a gentle smile on his lips. “You seem a bit quiet. We're a rowdy bunch, but it's all good fun.”
We let our brief exchange fade into the background as the lively discussion continued. Marcos leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don't mind the noise. We've had a grueling three months.”
“Why's that?” I asked.
“We've all been working hard to make this show a success. It's a collaborative effort, and we always support each other.” The camaraderie they all shared stirred up a pang of envy within me. “It's wonderful how well you all get along.”
He inched closer, and I forced myself not to react. His closeness brought back memories of our past intimacy. “We're celebrating finishing our second season. Marisa was on maternity leave, and we worked around it.”
“How many episodes does a season have?”
“Twelve to thirteen. But a lot of work goes on behind the scenes, too.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Sounds exhausting.”
“It requires organization, planning, and a lot of juggling. It's like a pressure cooker. The relief comes once we finish shooting.” He said casually, dismissing the strain they must be under.
He handed me a plate of broccolini sautéed in olive oil and garlic as he spoke. Our fingers brushed, and my heartbeat quickened. “Would you kiss someone who had just eaten garlic?”
I wrinkled my nose, shaking my head. “No. I wouldn't want to subject anyone to it either.”
He chuckled, popping a piece of broccolini into his mouth. “Of course not.”
Ding...ding...ding. I pivoted towards the tinkling sound. Rebecca was rapping a spoon against her wine glass. “Everyone, may I have your attention?” The room quieted as her voice floated above the din. “Renovated has set a record and raised the bar in home design shows. We have outperformed all other programs and have earned another season.”
The room erupted into applause. Rebecca raised her palms, quieting the cheers. “Please, let me finish. Every one of you has contributed to us being the number one show in the ratings, enabling us to expand and diversify the Levi and Marisa brands. We achieved nothing without the collective efforts of all present.” With these words, she lifted her champagne glass high, the rest of the room mimicking her gesture. “So, let's raise our glasses one last time to our success and its repetition in the seasons to come.” She barely had time to lower her glass before her husband, Dale, swept her into his arms, planting a Hollywood-worthy kiss on her lips. I forced myself to look away from their PDA to catch Marisa exchanging a similar celebratory kiss with her husband. An unexpected pang of loneliness hit me like I was the only one standing when the music stopped. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I was being observed as if under a microscope. I hastily grabbed the napkin from my lap, swiping it across my mouth in case some rogue piece of dinner was making a spectacle of me. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
His response was a mumbled string of words that barely reached my ears. “I swear I could read your thoughts just by the look on your face.”
“So, you're a contractor, a realtor, and now a mind reader?” I teased, trying to hide my discomfort.
“Yeah, because all this”—he gestured to the room—” takes some getting used to. You'll need to acclimate if you will work with this group.”
“I’m not against a bit of affection. I think it’s wonderful you all care so much about each other. Plus, I find it cute that they're so into each other.” I winced at the wishful note that had crept into my voice and quickly backtracked. I wasn’t a doe-eyed romantic panting after some man's attention. I was here for a purpose. This was not how I acted towards someone I'd just met. I couldn’t afford to fumble this opportunity.
A hint of a smile danced across his lips. “You seemed to drift away there for a moment. Sorry if I said something wrong. I know you're not a prude. I've had my share of experience with that.”
“I’d rather not talk about that if it’s all the same to you. It's a memory I can't seem to burn away. What matters is that if I'm hired, I'll prove myself indispensable.”
His brows arched in surprise. “Confidence is attractive in a woman.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he started laughing. “Relax. I get it. My brothers have made me somewhat of an outcast with some realtors.”
“An outcast with your looks… doubtful.” I countered, and my gaze caught his. I needed a moment to gather myself, so I quickly looked away.
“I’m not lying. The Chance Brothers have a long history in the real estate and construction industries. Many women have been ghosted by my brothers, which has caused them to be angry with me. It’s gotten to the point where those women won’t even work with me.”
“So, you want me to feel sorry for you because your siblings are womanizers? Don't bother. I'm not your pity party.” The corner of my mouth twitched upwards in a half-smile before I continued, “And I don't need to tell you that the property market is pretty hot in South Florida. Since that conference, the jobs have been steady. It's kept me busy.” I shrugged for emphasis.
A tap on my shoulder interrupted us. Rebecca stood there, ready to leave. “I wanted to chat before I left. Our babysitter’s waiting and Dale’s already at the valet getting the car.”
We quickly confirmed plans for a formal meeting at the Home Design offices, and then she was gone. As I settled back into my chair, my phone buzzed. It was Sonia, letting me know she was nearby.
I turned toward Marcos after reading the message and texting her back that I’d be out in a few minutes. “My ride is outside. It appears that we'll be seeing more of each other if everything works out on Monday.”
“Is that it for us then?” he asked, a hint of regret in his eyes.
“I've given you, my number. You can call me. As for us repeating what happened months ago…” I motioned between us, “Not happening. I have too much on my plate, and it wouldn't be healthy if we work together on Rebecca's projects.”
As I extended my hand to say a professional goodbye, he pulled me in closer and whispered in my ear, “Sure, Samantha… not if I have anything to say about it.”
The door to my townhouse creaked open, shutting out the humid Florida air behind me. I had just kicked off my heels when my phone vibrated in the purse. A message notification lit up the screen.
Marcos
Just checking, you made it home safe.
Safe and sound, thanks.
That's not the only thing I was curious about. I needed to make sure you were real.
I let out a soft laugh. What a charmer.
Ouch, that stings a little. Would I lie to you… Scratch that. Don't answer.
I'd like to see you again, Jenni
That message stopped me in my tracks. I stared at the screen, suddenly unsure of how to respond.
If everything comes to fruition, we'll see quite a bit of each other.
'Fruition' – look at you with those dictionary words.
I do crack open a book from time to time.
Well, color me impressed. I am looking forward to seeing you around.
You too. Goodnight, Marcos.
With that, I set my phone down on the entryway table. I sighed as I kicked off my shoes, glancing at the time. Late. It's too late to be trading banter with handsome men over text. I had work, a career to uphold, and a daughter to raise. It was just another day in the life of a single mother, businesswoman, and… potential love interest. Oh boy, this was going to be interesting.
9
Jenni
Fighting off the urge to turn around and retreat to my car, I gathered my nerves, reminding myself of the numerous client interviews I'd attended. This should be a walk in the park. Rebecca and Sarah were already in the reception area when I walked through the sleek glass doors of the Home Design Networks office. Uncertain about what to expect, I found myself pleasantly surprised. The monochromatic color palette was nothing short of impressive. Smooth, polished concrete walls showcased bold, modern art. A stylish linen sofa held court in the waiting room—far from worn or frayed, unlike many corporate spaces I had visited. The floor, smooth grey concrete made to mimic large tile slabs, lent an edgy touch.
They were in deep conversation with a photographer, as I deduced from the rolling cart filled with equipment by his side. Catching sight of me, Rebecca waved.
“Jenni, you're punctual. We're wrapping up here and will be with you shortly,” she said, pointing at the man and then at me. “Dan's one of the best photographers you'll work with.”
He lifted his hand in greeting, and I returned the gesture with a smile.
“Let's divide and conquer. I'll fill Dan in on the project, and you take Jenni back to the conference room,” Sarah suggested, turning toward Rebecca.
“Sounds good to me. Follow me,” Rebecca said, motioning me to follow her. We passed a shared workspace with employees engrossed in their morning discussions over coffee. They waved as we made our way to the glass-enclosed conference room. “Can you believe it's already been three years since we moved in? Feels like just yesterday.”
“I adore what your designers have done with the workspace. It invites creativity,” I complimented, my voice laden with admiration.
“The best part is our in-house design center,” she said, her eyes sparkling with pride. “It's every decorator's dream. It allows our guests to visualize the materials chosen for their homes.”
A spread of croissants, other pastries, coffee cups, and water bottles were arrayed on a sideboard. Sarah walked in at that moment, a freshly brewed French-pressed coffee carafe in her hands.
“Would you like some coffee? Thanks to the morning rush, we've yet to have our ritual morning cup,” she said.
I nodded gratefully. “Yes, thank you. I'm usually on my third cup by now, so truth be told, I'm functioning on lower caffeine levels than usual.”
Once we were all settled with our steaming mugs, Rebecca slid a folder across the table. “Jenni, let me summarize the legal details before you decide. Of course, I'd insist you have your lawyer look it over before signing. The contract contains our offer for your work. Let me know if the numbers work for you.”
I opened the file and glanced at the figures, especially the dollar amount, before approaching the two women's expectant gazes. They must've done their homework to match my usual rates.
“Of course, I'll need to study the numbers and get back to you,” I said, closing the file and meeting Rebecca's pleased smile.
Sarah continued the presentation. “Your expertise lies in creating the perfect setting for filming on the day of the homeowners' reveal. The décor budget is built into the project, or once it's completed, the clients can choose what they wish to keep.”
Taking a bite of a chocolate croissant, she urged, “Try one of these. They're my favorite.”
“Well, you don't have to twist my arm. I'm a sucker for carbs,” I replied, placing one on my plate.
Rebecca, who had been wiping her fingers on a napkin, then chimed in. “Jenni, you would be a great addition to the Home Network family. You could also pursue your other entrepreneurial ventures without any conflict of interest. We were hoping you could handle the behind-the-scenes staging for the Renovated show as a consultant, plus any spinoff shows that might come up. Your brand will be credited on the show, and you have control of your social media.”
