Teddy screeched in shock, and then burst into cackles. “Ohmyfuckinggod, Laurel McGillis! Are you a grown woman or a teenage boy? God, that’s gross.”
“Just keeping it real, Theodora Pike.”
“There will be no nut-busting.”
“Then what’s the point of Tinder dates?”
“I haven’t gotten that far with anyone on the first date in years,” she said, her tone breezy. “It takes a hell of a lot to get me that far out of my own head. Tinder dates, for me, are for actually finding someone I like. So I can have a relationship.”
“God, you’re weird,” I said, but I laughed as I said it.
“Yeah, I’m the weird one of the group.” A pause. “Oh, hang on, Lizzy is on the other line. Let me let you go. I’ll get the cleaners to that house this afternoon yet.”
“Bye, Ted,” I sing-songed.
“Bye, Laur!”
I left the earbuds in, in case another call came in; the rest of the drive to the next house was occupied by my own internal attempts to corral the voice inside my head that was telling me something extraordinarily unusual had happened.
“Six bedrooms, seven and a half bathrooms,” I said, leading Titus through the upper floor hallway. “Lots of natural light, open plan kitchen, dining room, and den, plus a formal room and another den downstairs in the full walkout basement. Fenced-in pool, as I said. Big butler’s pantry, huge closets in every room, every bedroom is en suite, plus a full bathroom in the basement and a half bath off the kitchen. Newer construction, top-of-the-line appliances, of course.”
Titus was quiet, peeking into every room, every bathroom. Eying the ceilings, the crown molding, the thick carpet upstairs, the hardwoods downstairs and the marble floor in the kitchen. He was nodding here and there, but wasn’t saying much.
I refused to break first, so I carried on like this was any old showing with just another client. “I know the sellers are motivated to get some movement. Their price is a little high, which is why it’s been for sale for over a hundred days, at this point. Come in with a cash offer, I think you could get this for twenty percent under asking.”
We were back in the kitchen by now, on opposite sides of the island, which was a mint green in contrast with the white cabinets.
Titus nodded. Glanced out the backyard, his aviators still in place, hat brim pulled low, what I could see of his expression inscrutable. “It’s good. Jeremy and Bex will love this.”
“Okay, then.” I smiled, a fake, bright, professional smile. “I’ll get the paperwork drawn up and we can put in an offer. You want to come in at…” I prompted, waiting. He didn’t bite, so I finished it with my personal recommendation. “Two-point-zero-eight?”
He plucked at his beard along his chin. “Nah.” He reached into his back pocket. “What are they asking? Two-six-four?”
I nodded. “Yeah, two-six-four, five hundred.”
He had a checkbook in his hands, and a pen. He filled in the amount line and box and signed it. Tore it off, and set it on the counter where I could see it. “Make it out to whoever the hell it gets made out to. Send over whatever I have to sign to Alaina, just get me keys by the end of next week.”
“Titus, that’s not—”
He grinned. “Throw money at the problem, and it goes away. They’ve been renting a place and their lease is up next week. I don’t want them to have to sign another lease, and they’re too fuckin’ cheap to buy a place like this. They’re savers, you know? Cash-only life. Which is great. But they need a good home, and I like doing shit like this. It makes me happy to see people I like happy. So.” He slid the check to me. “Full asking, in cash. If getting the deal done means greasing some palms or whatever, fine. Tell me how much and to who.”
“It takes weeks to close, Titus. There’s waiting periods. Inspections.”
“The fuck I need an inspection for? Is the house sound?”
“Well, yes, of course, but—”
“I got the cash. No bank involved. None of the fancy mumbo jumbo bullshit.” He tapped the check. “It’s a purchase. I pay money, I get the house. The only complication is I want it in their name.”
He rounded the island, moving with pantherish grace and rock star swagger. Breezed up to me, up against me. Lips nuzzled my cheek, briefly, ghostly. “Make it happen, Laurel.”
And then he was gone. Just like that.
Motherfucker.
5
I resisted the urge, barely, to chuck my phone against the wall. It was Wednesday, and I was still working on making Titus’s absurd demand happen. The existence of a check for $2,640,500 definitely helped, but the real estate apparatus did not like being hurried, even by that much cash. He’d signed the inspection waiver, but the bank which held the seller’s mortgage was being obstinate about dotting i’s and crossing t’s. But, I think just I’d managed to brazenly bully and intimidate the banker-nerd-in-chief into understanding that my client was determined to own this home as quickly as possible, and then sign it immediately over to someone else as a tax-free gift. It was complicated. It was hard. It required a lot of talking, wheedling, and convincing, and I’d had half a dozen showings in the meantime, and another closing meeting with clients and underwriters.
An hour after clinching that phone call, I had confirmation that the deal could go through as Titus had requested. I just needed him to meet me for some in-person signatures. Only…I didn’t have his number.
So, I called Alaina.
“Hello, Ms. McGillis,” she said, her voice smooth and cultured. “Do you have good news for me?”
“I do. It’s all set. I have a big stack of paperwork for Titus to sign. I just need to talk him through a few things.”
“He’s out of town.”
“He’s the one who wanted this done by the end of the week,” I said, exasperated. “Can I have his phone number?”
“Mr. Bright doesn’t own a phone.”
I coughed in surprise. “He doesn’t? Not at all? Not even, like, a secret one only you have the number to?”
“Nope.” A laugh. “He’s in Chicago for a pop-up—he should be back Friday. Send me the details, and I’ll make sure he’s there.”
“He really doesn’t own a cell phone?”
“He really doesn’t.”
“Not at all?”
Alaina laughed. “It’s an alien concept, it seems like, isn’t it? But really really—Titus Bright does not have a personal phone and never has.”
“Wow. Strange.” I sighed. “Well, okay. The deal is ready to go as soon as he’s available to sign this dictionary-sized pile of papers.”
“Like I said, that should be Friday. Could be sooner, could be after. You just never know. He’s not exactly a predictable person.”
“Wait…you said he’s doing a pop-up in Chicago? What’s that mean?”
“Oh, well, it’s how Titus operates. He doesn’t do stadiums or any of the usual venues. You don’t book Titus. You don’t buy tickets. He plans these impromptu shows, what he calls pop-ups, or flash concerts. He just shows up with his gear, picks a spot, sets up, plays a set, and leaves. He has Jeremy post it on Titus’s social media—which, I should add, Titus doesn’t even have access to, nor ever sees, he just leaves it in Jeremy’s hands. So, an hour before the pop-up, Jeremy posts the details, and bam, impromptu concert. He has shirts printed with the date and location and a custom graphic, all done by Jeremy. There’s QR codes handed out at the pop-up itself, which lets the audience access the livestream of the show, which becomes a downloadable, shareable video file once the livestream is over.”