Leah's POV
The realtor's office smelled like desperation and vanilla-scented bleach. Floor-to-ceiling windows glared with Miami's midday sun, bouncing off marble floors so polished I could see the exact moment the man behind the desk decided we weren't worth his time. His name tag read Bradley Kensington III, which explained the smugness oozing from his salmon-colored tie.
Seth shuffled in behind me, wearing a T-shirt that said "I Paused My Game To Be Here" and cargo shorts with more pockets than sense. I wore Liam's shirt and pants that were obviously oversized. We looked like two raccoons who'd fought a lawnmower and lost.
Bradley didn't stand. Just swiveled his chair, lips curling like he'd caught a whiff of dumpster juice. "Walk-ins before noon require an appointment," he drawled, examining his manicure. "But I suppose I can pencil you in for a studio apartment tour next Tuesday. Cash-only, of course."
Seth snorted. "Dude, we're here to buy a..."
"You mean rent," Bradley cut in, smirking. "Let's not embarrass ourselves, hm? The rental application requires a credit score above 600. Do you even know what a credit score is?"
I dropped the duffel bag onto his desk. The zipper snarled open, spilling stacks of hundred-dollar bills across his keyboard. Bradley froze, his tan draining to the color of spoiled milk.
"We're here buying," I said. "Not renting. Not a studio."
His eyes bulged. "Oh! Oh, I—my apologies, madam! I'm so dreadfully sorry... the sunlight, you see, it plays tricks on one's perception of... of character! Please, sit! May I offer you champagne? Caviar? A foot massage, maybe?"
"A house," I said. "With a moat."
"A moat! How delightfully medieval!" He scrambled to his feet, tripping over his own wingtips. "We have a stunning Venetian-inspired villa with three koi ponds! Or perhaps a modern masterpiece with a shark tank? The previous owner was a rapper, you know, they have the best taste of everything!"
Seth flopped onto a white leather couch, grinning. "Sharks. Definitely sharks. Can we get ones with lasers?"
Bradley tittered, shooting me a conspiratorial wink. "Your, ah, young friend has such a… youthful imagination!"
"He's not my friend," I said.
"Right, right!" Bradley nodded vigorously, mistaking my annoyance for discretion. "Youthful… companion. Of course. No judgment here! Love is ageless, like fine wine! Or… cryptocurrency!"
Seth choked on his complimentary macaron. "Companion? Bruh, she's my—"
I shot him a look that could flay skin. He coughed. "...boss. Very scary, very not-my-girlfriend boss."
Bradley's smile tightened, clearly convinced I was a cougar funding my boy-toy's shark-laser dreams. "How… progressive. Now, let's discuss budget! This villa here is a steal at $12 million..."
"$20 million. No neighbors. Underground tunnels. Bulletproof windows," I said.
"Tunnels!" Bradley's voice cracked. "How… pragmatic! For, ah, wine cellars, I assume?"
"For avoiding sniper fire," Seth said cheerfully. "Also, I'm gonna need a server room the size of Nebraska."
Bradley blinked. "Of course! A… hobby room! Many clients enjoy… data storage as a pastime!" He pulled up a listing, hands shaking. "This fortress... er, estate... has a panic room, a helipad, and a literal missile-defense system! Owned by a paranoid tech mogul who thought Alexa was spying on him."
Well, Miami does have everything.
"Perfect," I said.
"Splendid!" Bradley trilled. "Shall we tour it? Our limo is just outside..."
"We'll walk," I said.
"Walk? In this heat?"
I stared at him until he sweat through his shirt. "Right! Walking! Excellent for the calves!"
-
The house was a concrete monstrosity that screamed "drug lord chic".
Seth immediately raced to the rooftop terrace and yelled, "I'M KING OF THE WORLD!" while Bradley dabbed his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief.
"Note the retractable bulletproof shades," he wheezed, trailing me through a bunker-like hallway. "And here's the master bedroom! The bed is upholstered in Italian silk infused with… aromatherapy?"
I sniffed. "It's bulletproof Kevlar."
"Is it?! How versatile!"
Seth burst in holding a mounted marlin he'd yanked off the wall. "Can I shoot this like a bazooka?"
"Put that down," I said.
Bradley giggled hysterically. "He's such a free spirit! You must let him express himself!"
Back in the office, Bradley slid the paperwork to me with the reverence of a priest offering communion. "Just sign here, here, and here! May I ask… how you acquired such liquid assets?"
I scrawled Leah Winters, my pseudo human name, with a flourish. "Inheritance."
"From…?"
"A very dead relative."
He paled. "Lovely! Now, as a token of appreciation, I'd like to gift you and your, ah, associate a couples' spa day! Hot stones, champagne baths... perfect for bridging age gaps!"
Seth, busy licking caviar off a cracker, paused. "Are you saying she's old?"
"No! No! She's… vintage. Timeless! Masterpiece! Like a Renaissance painting!"
I stood, the chair screeching behind me. "We're done here."
Bradley lunged to shake my hand, thought better of it, and kissed his own fingertips instead. "A pleasure, Ms. Winters! Do call if you need a larger moat... or a prenup!"
Outside, Seth doubled over laughing. "That guy thinks I'm your sugar baby!"
Well, can you blame him?
"You're more of a fungus," I said, striding toward the next disaster.
"A sexy fungus," he called after me. "Hey, if we get the shark tank, can I name one after you? Leah the Laser Shark has a nice ring..."
I didn't answer. But I didn't say no, either.
Boys gotta do what they gotta do.
Seth reminded me of a feral cat someone had dressed in human clothes and taught to use TikTok. All elbows and sarcasm, with a laugh that sounded like a bike chain snapping.
Kids his age all blurred into static - annoying, loud static - but Seth? Seth wore mismatched socks with purpose. He'd argue about quantum physics while microwaving ramen at 3 a.m., then fall asleep mid-sentence on my couch, limbs dangling like a marionette cut from its strings.
"You're zoning again," Seth said, waving a Twizzler like a conductor's baton. "Is this a 'I'm planning a murder' stare or a 'I miss my Wi-Fi password' stare?"
"It's a 'shut up before I donate your spleen to science' stare."
He grinned, unfazed, and tossed me the Twizzler. "Cool, cool. But seriously, you got that look. Like you're mentally reciting pi to drown out my magnificence."
I threw the Twizzler at him. He caught them midair, because of course he did.
I stood up and left.
"Where are you going?" Seth asked.
"Shopping." I replied, because of course I did.