Chapter 3
chapter three
Angelo
Mia,
Attached is the mortgage approval letter you requested. Let me know what the next step is.
Angelo Duran
COO Duran & Son
_
Angelo,
I appreciate you sending that over. Though I did request it first thing this morning and noon is considered afternoon.
Unfortunately, a fake approval letter will not get us in the door of any properties, so at your earliest convenience have those numbers looked over and updated before sending that back.
Regards,
Mia Russo
Licensed Real Estate Professional
"Best of" South Florida winner
Branting Company Agent of the Year
Social media: @soldbymiarusso
_
Mia,
My apologies. Considering it's a Saturday, my assumption was that most people are enjoying their well-earned time off instead of checking emails upon opening their eyes.
The letter is accurate, but thanks for double-checking.
I'm sure the budget is well within the scope of possibility for this area.
Let me know when you've done the work on your end.
Angelo Duran
COO Duran & Son
_
Angelo,
Well within the scope of possibility, yet not the budget I'm used to working within, so forgive me if building a list takes more time than expected.
In the meantime, feel free to do your own digging and send over any listings that pique your interest. I will say, nothing in Pompano Beach specifically emulates "mother’s basement" so you may need to think outside the box.
Kindly,
Mia Russo
Licensed Real Estate Professional
"Best of" South Florida winner
Branting Company Agent of the Year
Social media: @soldbymiarusso
_
Mia,
You're just as spirited as I remember. What an excellent quality for a woman in a staunchly male field. Reminds me of old Bessie who worked for my father and me, nailing sheetrock until her fingernails bled. Always something to prove, good ol' Bessie.
You might benefit from trading the Birkin for a toolbelt, just to see how the other half lives.
Angelo Duran
COO Duran & Son
_
Angelo,
Which reminds me to suggest changing your signoff. It's a bit misleading. How about something more buzzy? Like: failed business owner, intern at TechOps, homeless drifter.
Sincerely,
Mia Russo
Licensed Real Estate Professional
"Best of" South Florida winner
Branting Company Agent of the Year
Social media: @soldbymiarusso
_
Mia,
Can't. I already used that for my Tinder bio. People might start connecting the dots. You, on the other hand, might benefit from someone else kissing your ass instead of kissing your own.
Who even uses a fax machine anymore?
All my love,
Angelo Duran
COO of Kiss My Ass Corp.
123 Mom’s Basement Boulevard
Son of the Year since ‘93
_
Angelo,
This is a highly inappropriate employee-client conversation, and moving forward, I recommend that our correspondence is kept as minimal as possible.
Mia Russo
Licensed Real Estate Professional
"Best of" South Florida winner
Branting Company Agent of the Year
Social media: @soldbymiarusso
_
Mia,
Have you not gotten over Vegas yet? That was like four months ago.
Angelo Duran
COO of Kiss My Ass Corp.
123 Mom’s Basement Boulevard
Son of the Year since ‘93
—
Angelo,
Let me know if your schedule is clear for Tuesday and I will make the necessary viewing appointments.
And no, I haven't.
Mia Russo
Licensed Real Estate Professional
"Best of" South Florida winner
Branting Company Agent of the Year
Social media: @soldbymiarusso
—
Mia,
Tuesday is open. We should probably call it a truce before then. Wouldn't want to make this arrangement any more inconvenient than it already is.
Angelo Duran
COO of Kiss My Ass Corp.
123 Mom’s Basement Boulevard
Son of the Year since ‘93
—
Angelo,
Never.
See you Tuesday.
Mia Russo
Licensed Real Estate Professional
"Best of" South Florida winner
Branting Company Agent of the Year
Social media: @soldbymiarusso
I still hadn't gotten used to the humidity in Florida.
Septembers in the Bronx could be hot, but the more temperate, breezy fall weather snuck through more often than not.
It was something to look forward to after summers of swimming in community pools and blacktop burning the soles of your already bald shoe soles.
Back-to-school shopping hadn't come around yet to get a new pair.
In South Florida at nine a.m., it was already creeping close to ninety degrees, and the white concrete sidewalk reflected the sun brightly enough to make my eyes water.
I checked my watch—two minutes past our meeting time—and wondered if Mia was getting her revenge on me for not living up to her punctuality expectations.
She would do something like that. Chess moves, always.
We might have been too similar to get along, if I thought about it.
I pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of my jeans and lit one, taking a long drag before turning toward the house we were viewing.
Not much of a front yard to write home about, artificial grass landscaped nicely against spider-plant-looking bushes and flower patches, black mulch, gnome ornaments, and ceramic frog decorations lining the walking path to the windscreen front door.
An old couple probably lived here. That, or maybe a preschool teacher.
Someone with time and whimsy and a fascination with Alice in Wonderland.
I prodded at a red-and-white windcatcher sticking out of the ground.
As a contractor, I could appreciate the little things about handiwork.
I noticed things like expensive siding, gutter work, window installation, materials.
This house was well loved. The owners were prideful, and that was only speaking for the exterior.
I did a short walk to the backyard fence and jiggled the gate latch, testing its integrity.
The AC unit on the side of the house looked new and clean.
A low rumble filtered out of it, indicating it was doing its job inside, while I melted outside with a half-smoked cigarette and a bead of sweat trickling down my temple.
A car door slammed on the street, and the sound of heels clacking on asphalt brought me back to the front of the house.
Mia was rounding her silver BMW, wearing a pair of white slacks that hugged her nicely, a blue button-down tucked into the front, and a designer belt buckle at the helm.
She slid her sunglasses into her hair and looked around impatiently.
As if I had been the one wasting time. Admittedly, even with pursed lips and nostrils flaring, she was annoyingly pretty.
It was too bad everything else about her didn't match. There wasn't an ounce of warmth inside that little body. Not a single morsel of hospitality, nor even the ability to pretend for the sake of it.
The thing about Mia was that she would never actually go away, right? The same way I wouldn't. Our siblings were married. We would share nieces and nephews, birthday parties, and holidays, forced into one another's lives no matter how hard we tried not to be.
I was ready to put the past in the past and forget. But Mia wasn't. And if there was one thing I learned as a youngest child, second-born son, and behaviorally inept young adult—it was how to hold a grudge.
"Look who it is," I boomed, meeting Mia at the landing of the front door. "My darling real estate agent decided to show up."
She gave me a crass smile before her hand shot up to my lips, snatching the ashy cigarette and throwing it on the ground. The toe of her heel stomped it out aggressively.
"Rude," I pouted.
Even with a lift, Mia was several inches shorter than me, and with my back to the sun, my shadow totally shaded her from the blazing heat.
"Listen here, Mario. Luigi might be my brother-in-law, and the father of my niece or nephew, but that is the only reason I'm standing here right now.
I'm doing this as a favor. So you wait for me if I need waiting on, and you stand at the door until I get here with a passcode with your hands in your pockets like a good little boy.
The quicker I can get you into a house, the quicker my life can return to normal, so let's focus on that. "
Mia punched a series of numbers into the front door keypad, dislodging a key and opening the door with a push.
"Normal?" I followed her inside. "Like, with your broomsticks and cauldrons and what not?
" Before I could move beyond the open foyer, Mia's arm stuck out across my chest and stopped me.
She pointed at my work boots, scuffed and a totally different shade of brown than they were when I bought them.
The steel toe was peeking through the leather on my left foot, laces fraying and only half tied.
Mia slipped her manicured feet out of her own shoes, then waited for me to do the same. "You're in my doghouse, you bark when I tell you to. Or you can keep skipping across the hallway at your parents’ place with a towel over your junk after a shower and never get laid again."
"It's never been a problem before," I assured her, hesitating to take off my shoes.
She flailed her arms. "Any day now."
Reluctantly, I pulled one foot out of my boot and then the other, revealing two completely different socks. At least there were two and neither had a hole in them, so I considered that a win.
Mia snorted, raising her eyebrows at them. "Why am I not surprised? Old cut-off T-shirts, grease-stained jeans, boots that look like they're trying to escape the feet inside them, and not even a matching pair of socks."
"Yet you show up like this," I said, stepping forward and overshadowing her again.
Her hazel eyes stayed level at my chest for a moment before lifting to meet mine.
A snarl curled her lip. "Form fitted, low cut…
" I bent to deeply inhale the floral scent drifting off her skin.
"Perfume. Who are you trying to impress? "
"Miami would freeze over," she snapped.