Saturday Story 2025 #24 (Platinum Properties)

Something new on my Patreon. Synopsis below:

Devon Wright is enjoying a lazy weekend when he’s visited by a woman with an irresistible proposal that’s going to change his life forever.

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An excerpt is available below:

It was a lazy Saturday morning, the ideal time for Devon Wright’s brain to reboot and recover from a grueling work week. Management had been breathing down his neck all week, demanding results they knew were unattainable. The constant harassment was annoying, but not enough to dampen his spirit. He was stronger than that, and bullies would never win as long as he drew breath.
Devon had turned forty-seven last month, though he looked younger than that. His dark, trimmed hair was speckled with just the right amount of grey to lend him an air of distinction, and he had no plans of ever dying it, despite being told often to consider it. Dressed in a simple red t-shirt and linen pants, he exuded a casual elegance, as though he’d stepped straight out of a lifestyle magazine.
His sharp blue eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the crossword puzzle glowing on his tablet. He tapped the stylus against the screen to input another correct guess and took a sip of his steaming coffee. The aroma of freshly-brewed Ethiopian roast filled the air, but the avocado toast in front of him remained untouched. It was more of a prop than a meal, a nod to the trendy breakfasts he’d grown accustomed to during his frequent travels.
The crosswords were a weekend tradition, a challenge he always greeted with amusement. His brow furrowed as he pondered a tricky clue, but the corners of his mouth hinted at a silent smile. The world outside could wait; for now, the only puzzle that mattered was the one on his screen. He thrived in these moments of solitude, for it was in them that he felt most like himself, a man who was both a thinker and a doer, and a solver of riddles both literal and metaphorical.
And yet, as peaceful as the scene was, there was always a part of him waiting for the shoe to drop. His alone time was often interrupted by unexpected contingencies, minor crises that could snowball into avalanches. He didn’t want to think about it, but he couldn’t help himself. Something was on its way. Any moment now.
The chime of the doorbell interrupted his contemplative silence. Devon’s hand froze mid-stylus stroke, his intuition immediately on high alert. “There it is,” he thought. He set down the tablet and rose from the kitchen table, heading toward the front door. The hallway runner absorbed his footfalls, muffling any hint of urgency.
At the door, he paused and peered through the peephole. A tall woman stood centered in his field of view, wearing a crisp ensemble of charcoal grey and pristine white. The pencil skirt was especially tight, highlighting a set of curves no one could be indifferent to, and her heels were so steep that it was a miracle she could walk on them without falling every two seconds. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a severe yet elegant bun, and she clutched a leather portfolio that screamed something like real estate agent. However, there was something in her deep brown eyes that suggested she was anything but a typical property broker.

(…)

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