Next Man Better Plan novel Chapter 25

Chapter 25

When Quennel woke up, his head was pounding from the alcohol he’d consumed the night before.

He rubbed his temples and sat up abruptly when he heard noises outside his room. She’s back? He quickly washed up, changed his clothes, and opened the door. “Steph-”

He froze mid–word.

It wasn’t Stephanie. It was the real estate agent from a couple of days ago.

The agent was accompanied by a portly, middle–aged man with a thick gold chain around his neck and a black clutch tucked under his arm–the very picture of a pompous,

newly–rich buffoon.

The woman clinging to his arm was dressed scantily, her eyes roaming around possessively. She was obviously his mistress.

Quennel frowned. “What are you doing here again?”

The agent chuckled nervously and offered Quennel a cigarette. “Sir, I’m just showing the property to a client. Were you still sleeping?”

Quennel’s face was cold. “Stay away from me. And get these people out of my house.”

The agent flinched at Quennel’s intimidating presence and took a step back.

But then he seemed to remember he was a professional earning an honest living, which made him no less than these wealthy folks.

He puffed out his chest. “Ms. Jackson told us this villa is in her name, and she gave our agency full authorization to show it. So it’s perfectly reasonable for me to bring clients here.”

The new–money client was getting impatient. “So, is this house for sale or not?”

The agent immediately turned to him. “Yes, of course, it is. Let me show you around…”

The group barged right into his bedroom.

Quennel’s face darkened instantly.

No one knew better than him how much effort Stephanie had poured into this villa.

It was a wedding gift from the Gonzalez family Would she really sell it just like that?

Quennel didn’t believe it. He suspected these people were actors Stephanie had hired just to piss him off.

He suddenly asked, “How much is Stephanie paying you for this little performance?”

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Chapter 25

The agent paused, confused. “Do you mean the commission, Mr. Gonzalez? It’s three–tenths of a percent of the final sale price

He’s a pretty convincing actor.

Quennel stuck a cigarette between his lips.

Perhaps because he’d just woken up, his hair was unstyled, giving him a rugged, disheveled look that was surprisingly attractive.

The woman with the wealthy client kept sneaking glances at him.

Quennel asked again, “So, how much is she selling it for?”

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