Chapter 7
On Monday morning—or D-day (David makes my Dreams come true day) I’d woken up at 5 a.m. and kept myself busy by cleaning and organizing. When I ran out of things to sort, I headed up to the shared roof deck where I sipped a Coke to settle my stomach, admiring the sunrise over the Manhattan skyline. Soon, I’ll make it to the other side, I promised. Living in DUMBO—or Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass to non-New Yorkers—was a pit stop, not my destination.
When David’s receptionist called at 7 a.m. to organize a meeting later that morning, I’d been at the small desk in my bedroom that looked over the Brooklyn Bridge rearranging my highlighters by color.
After hanging up, I called Viv, relaying the conversation word for word as I jumped up and down Tom Cruise style on my purple sofa. She assumed I was being attacked and shouted out instructions like Liam Neeson in Taken.
“Scarlett, what does he look like? Look at his face—tell me what he looks like! Does he have a tattoo? Can you kick him in the balls?”
Her panic brought me back down to earth, and I relayed that the deal was about to be mine. My life could change in the next few hours. She squealed excitement down the phone, and I continued my crazy Tom Cruise impersonation.
She picked me up two hours later—with a fresh iced latte waiting in the cup holder.
I stayed silent during the drive, a hand gripping the passenger seat as Viv rattled on in the background about her loud neighbor’s latest drama.
We pulled up at the building, and Viv yelled, “Go get ’em, bitch!” through the passenger window as I walked to the lobby doors. I was too nauseous to flip her off.
The elevator doors swished open on the sixty-third floor, and I steadied my breath. My knees knocked as I walked down the same corridor to the outer door of David’s office.
I took a steadying breath. Here we go.
If Sally held any feelings about me blowing up their toilet, she didn’t show it. Her face didn’t move at all as she pointed again to the black leather couch.
Like the last time, I remained standing—except this time I did it to avoid my beige romper crawling up my ass, thus leading to an undignified pull at the crotch. Note to self: Never wear rompers to major business meetings again.
David stood at the door seconds later, beckoning me in. “Scarlett, come join us.”
Us? A sense of foreboding prickled the hairs on the back of my neck. David’s face remained neutral as we shook hands, and I stepped past him into the office.
The occupant of the first chair in front of David’s desk didn’t turn around at my entrance. The back of his head looked just as irritating as the front. The cut of his jacket sharpened his shoulders.
“Take a seat.” David pointed to the second chair.
Gulping, I did as he asked, crossing my legs and swinging the top one back and forth.
“I guess you’re wondering why both of you are here,” David stated, adjusting the backrest of his chair until it tilted forward.
“Some version of real estate Hunger Games?” Jack guessed, casting a glance at my dangling leg. “Fight to the death?”
“I’m game if I get to use a bow and arrow.” And your head for target practice.
“Nothing that involves butchering each other, no,” David answered.
Shame.
“The Crystal is my pride and joy. It’s the culmination of years of hard work?—”
“You should be proud, David,” Jack interjected.
I threw him a dirty look. Kiss-ass.
David ignored Jack’s comment. “And I want to make sure it’s in the best hands possible, you understand?”
“My hands are the best,” Jack declared with a wink.
Arrogant bastard. “Of course.” I smiled with enthusiasm, ignoring Jack’s assertion. Here it comes.
“And out of everyone I met with, I decided you two were the best,” he said, tapping a fountain pen off his knee.
“Thank you,” we said in unison.
Jack gave me the side eye then ran his gaze down my bare legs. He blushed when our eyes met. Caught you looking.
“So here’s what I’m thinking.” David clapped his hands together, and my intestines twinged. “I want both of you.”
“What?” I squawked.
“Excuse me?” Jack yelped.
This is what it’s like to have an aneurysm. It’s happening. I should have read more books. Ate a vegetable.
“I’m thinking of a co-listing,” David explained. “This type of project needs two people at the helm, and I’ve found success with that setup in the past.”
Co-listing. The word every real estate agent in the world dreaded. It meant joint responsibility for marketing the property, arranging showings, and worst of all… splitting the commission.
“Co-listing isn’t always the best idea,” Jack said.
“It could get complicated,” I agreed. In other words, I’m not breathing the same air as you for longer than necessary.
David didn’t budge. “That’s my decision. Either co-listing or no listing. I’ll speak to your bosses; it shouldn’t be an issue. I’ll meet you there tomorrow at twelve, show you around, all right? In the meantime, exchange numbers and start working on a plan.”
I’d rather take a hacksaw to my arm. “Sure thing, David.”
David stood up and rounded the desk, patting Jack on the shoulder like he was a good dog. “Great, see you tomorrow.”
Instead of a shoulder pat, I received a handshake. Perhaps he was worried about a sexual harassment suit. We were dismissed without another word.
For the second time, we found ourselves face to face outside David’s office. Sally didn’t acknowledge us as we passed by.
“This has got to be a fucking joke,” I muttered as we stalked toward the elevators. We fell into step with little effort. His brown Oxfords were shiny and free of scuffs. The perfectionist in me applauded him.
Jack’s shoulders were no longer square; they were slumped. “A fucking bad one.” His index finger hammered the elevator call button.
His aftershave drifted up my nose and evoked the best memory of my father. Christmas shopping for my mom’s perfume in a department store. He’d let me spray him with a couple of different scents and let me pick the one I liked best.
I jammed my finger against the other call button. No way I could share an elevator with him right now. “Why do bad things happen to good people?”
He snorted. “You’re good people?”
I pushed the memory of that day back into its box and blinked back the water in my eyes. “I didn’t mean… It doesn’t matter.”
He took out his wallet and flicked through it, pulling out a business card and handing it to me. A weighted cream rectangle with his name printed in gold capitals: JACK SHANE.
“Aren’t you going to give me yours?” he asked, replacing his wallet.
I pocketed his. “I’ll email you.”
He straightened his already poker-straight tie. “Fine.”
His elevator arrived first. “See you tomorrow, partner.”
“Not for long,” I told the elevator door gliding shut over his dumb, gloating face.
Of all the people in the world? Even Clarissa wouldn’t be as bad. No, I take that back.
The face staring back at me in the elevator door looked a far cry from the self-satisfied reflection I’d worn ten minutes ago. My mouth turned down toward my chin, making me look like a—I hated to say it—barracuda.
Reaching the SUV parked across the street, I yanked the door open on Viv lip-syncing to Taylor Swift.
She turned the volume down and looked at my screwed-up face and watery eyes. “Jack Shane?”
I jumped in and punched the dashboard. “Jack fucking Shane.”
* * *
Nine words rattled around my brain as I walked into the office.
How am I going to explain this to Lacey?
My boss hated co-listings even more than I did. She didn’t like to share. Sharing wasn’t my thing either because something always went wrong. The clients themselves were problematic enough. Throw in an opinionated agent that I couldn’t stand, and it would end up in shambles.
I could try stalking David and talk to him alone—convince him I was the agent he needed and beg to listen in on the phone call when he fired Jack.
Although, that didn’t exactly scream team player, and David believed in sending his employees on corporate team-building retreats to make them get along. “Happy employees make more money,” he’d told a journalist for a New York Times article three years ago. He didn’t even pretend to care about his staff’s well-being, only their ability to boost his bank balance. Details like this were why I’d spent six weeks researching and stalking him online before the pitch.
For now, I’d need to play nice.
Will this affect my chance at making managing partner?
“Are you going to tell her before David calls?” Viv asked.
“Might as well,” I answered. Better to rip the Jack Shane Band-Aid off. This morning I’d fantasized about skipping into Lacey’s office as fast as my stilettos allowed, ready to bask in her approval. Instead, Viv took my handbag, and I began my walk down The Green Mile.
Lacey called for me to enter after my firm knock on the door. She sat behind her glass desk, texting.
I hovered on the periphery. “Do you have a minute?”
“Sure, what’s up?” She didn’t look up from the cell phone.
Don’t sit down. Don’t get distracted. Do it.
“I heard from David Steel about The Crystal listing.”
At that, her head snapped up, the phone forgotten. “And?”
“I got it.” My eyes flicked to the ivory-flocked wallpaper that always made me feel like a thousand creepy faces were watching.
The smile almost cracked her face. “Congratulations! Good j?—”
I stepped inside just enough to shut the door behind me. “But so did Jack Shane. From the Levine Group.”
She jumped up and rounded the desk, scrutinizing my face. “What?”
“It’s a co-listing. David wanted both of us.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No.”
“This isn’t some weird joke?”
“No.”
“Fuck.”
“That’s what I said. Not to David obviously.”
A discernible furrow emerged between her eyebrows, an infraction she’d sack her dermatologist for if she knew about it. “Co-listings are a shit-show.”
“I agree. But he’s adamant. He said he’d call you.”
She ground her heels into the plush taupe carpet as she paced in front of me. “What’s the timeline for selling it out?”
Shit, neither of us asked. Idiots. “He didn’t say, and I got thrown off by the co-listing order. But going by his previous projects, it’s safe to assume six months to a year, which will give us plenty of time for marketing.”
Lacey didn’t shout, smash things, or attack. Still, the downturn of her mouth felt so much worse than a slap in the face. Why did disappointment cut twenty times harder than anger?
“The whole point of landing this listing was to prove that David Steel should give us all his business. He’s got another two projects coming up on the West Side that are worth two hundred million easy.”
“I know.” I’d spent hours researching those projects so that I could bring them up in the pitch.
She stopped at the wall to straighten a picture of her and Meryl Streep at a charity gala. “Having another agent on board means he’s going to be doing the same, trying to show David he should get his business.”
“That won’t happen,” I assured her. “But will this affect my chance at making partner?”
She moved away and leaned back on her desk. “Not if you convince David we’re the agency he should be working with on all his future listings. Exclusively.”
“And if I don’t?”
Lacey stared me straight in the eye. “Then you may not be the right fit for running this company.”
A sledgehammer came down on my chest. “And Clarissa is?”
She shrugged. “Alongside you, she’s the biggest seller. She’s determined. Connected. Dedicated.”
She’d be nothing without her daddy’s connections. That’s how she coasted through her career and landed big-name clients. I’d spent the last five years climbing the ladder, one rung at a time, but Clarissa had ridden a gold elevator straight to the top. “All of that and she didn’t land The Crystal. I did. Because I’m better.”
“Look, Scarlett, I like you. You’re as hungry as I used to be at your age. But Clarissa isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty.”
Translation: no moral compass.
I tugged the waistband of my romper down. “If she’s that good, David would have chosen her, but he didn’t.”
“He also didn’t think you could handle this on your own.”
Her words were salt in the wound I’d spent years trying to close. You’re not enough. Second best.
Fire flared in my belly. “I’ll get his future business.”
Lacey’s eyes softened for a second. “I hope so.”