Chapter 15
“Bar is booked,” I announced to Viv.
“Table and chairs ordered, along with linen.” Viv spun in her chair to look at me. “This is going to be so much fun.”
“Fun?” Clarissa stopped at her desk. “I guess you haven’t heard from the buyers of the Westpark condo?”
The turn of her lip made my stomach flip. I’d had the Westpark listing for the last five months without a single bite until a couple appeared out of the blue and put an offer in two weeks ago. In my excitement, I’d ignored their mention of being acquaintances of Clarissa’s family.
“What email?” I looked to Viv, who was opening screens on her computer.
“Deal’s dead,” Clarissa squeaked. “Turns out they aren’t relocating to New York. You were CC’d in.”
“They never mentioned it,” I responded, anxiety swirling through my veins as I shuffled through the emails on my phone.
Selling the condo had proved challenging since the owner refused to stage it and the bathrooms needed to be upgraded.
Clarissa didn’t even try to look apologetic. “Shame. See ya.”
Viv gave me a subtle nod to confirm Clarissa’s story. Fuck.
Viv watched her leave. “I’m starting to understand why we don’t like her.”
“My exclusive runs out in two days. If I don’t get another offer, they’re not going to extend it.” I scrambled through my contacts for the seller’s number. “Why do I do this to myself?”
“To have a higher chance of ending up with an ulcer?” Viv suggested.
“The ensure I won’t make it to forty?” I pondered.
“There’s something that will cheer you up,” Viv told me as I spotted the UPS driver hauling in boxes to reception. “Marketing brochures are here.”
I leaped out of my seat like a kid on Christmas morning and made for the first box, lifting it onto the nearest desk and using scissors to rip into it. We paid a small fortune to get them printed overnight, thanks to David’s unrealistic timeline.
The glossy image of The Crystal bathed in sunlight stared up at me in all its resplendent glory. The pages were as smooth as her glass fa?ade as I flicked through them.
“Ugh, Scarlett, did you proofread these before you sent the file?” Viv’s eyes stalled on the cover.
“Of course. Why?”
“You might want to look at the cover again,” she warned me.
“The cover is per—” Oh, fucking shitballs.
In silver-foiled letters the headline read, “Welcome to The Crystal…” Underneath, the subheading read: “Live a life of fuckery.”
“That’s not possible—I checked it three times. I did a spellcheck, for fuck’s sake.”
Viv’s mouth jerked, as if she was having a seizure. I knew she would sprawl out on the floor laughing the second I went to the bathroom but for the moment she was too terrified I’d put a chair over someone’s head. “The printer must have messed it up.”
“They must have. I sent it to Jack for a final look before I…” And the big, fat penny dropped.
“What?” Viv nudged my arm with her elbow.
My French-manicured fingernails bit into my palms, almost piercing the skin. “Jack did it. He offered to send it for me after he proofread it.”
“You don’t know that,” she said, trying to appease me. “And it doesn’t make sense. His ass would be on the line the same as yours.”
“Not if he tells David I’d taken charge of them.” I grabbed the car keys from her purse and shoved them into her hand. “I’m going to kill him.”
She lifted her bag and followed me to the elevator. “I was worried you were going to say that.”
* * *
“I fail to see how this is funny,” I yelled at Jack. He’d been doubled over for the last ten minutes in hysterics.
He held up the brochure I’d thrown at his head, which increased the volume of his delight.
“You did this,” I accused with flailing arms, and he jerked himself upright. “You sabotaged me. The copy I sent you said LUXURY!”
“Why would I do this?” he gurgled. “This is as bad for me as it is for you.”
I stood with my hands on my hips. “Because we agreed I’d be in charge of the marketing materials and you’re trying to make me look like an idiot.”
“Do you need help doing that?” he asked.
Blazing heat coursed through my body. “At least be man enough to admit it.”
Questioning his manhood stopped the giggles. “When I looked it over, it said luxury, so I’m not going to admit to something I didn’t do.”
My chest heaved with the effort of breathing. “You don’t have the balls, you mean.”
“You talk a lot about balls with the opposite sex,” he mused.
“Because mine are always bigger,” I quipped. “Now what the hell are we gonna do? We can’t use these.”
He rocked back in his chair. “You’ve sold more than me, right? You’ll be able to figure it out.”
“I will, but you won’t get away with this.” I held my chin high.
“I didn’t get away with anything.” His eyes moved to the tagline again. “But someone did.”
I moved to snatch the brochure back, and his hand covered mine. “Do you mind if I keep this? I wanna frame it for my bathroom.”
His laughter followed me all down the hallway.
Shit. Balls. Fuck.
* * *
“So what do we do?” Viv asked when we arrived back at the office and were faced with boxes of unusable brochures.
“About these or my expiring contract at Westpark?” The balls of my feet were burning from stomping into Jack’s office, and I sagged into my chair. “No idea—give me a clue.”
Viv sank into her chair, removing her yellow heels to massage her feet. “I’m too tired to give clues.”
Mr. O’Neill, the seller at Westpark, had screamed for five blocks when he’d heard our offer had fallen through, but he’d seen reason and agreed to a price drop of two hundred grand. He wouldn’t renew my exclusive, however, meaning I had less than forty-eight hours to find a buyer or lose out on the commission and the chance to add to my savings.
I couldn’t let Jack—or Clarissa—get the better of me. I clicked through my phone, fired off a quick text to Monica Landry, and hoped she would respond. Quickly.
I looked around at the piles of boxes. “Well we can’t use these, and it’s too late to have them reprinted.”
“But the open house is in two days. You need to have stuff to hand out.” Viv continued inspecting her pedicure.
I ran a hand through my frazzled hair, feeling the familiar wave of IBS cramps beginning. “Yes, I know.”
She wiggled her toes. “The printer put this through as a rush order because of what we paid them. They specifically said if we needed any more, they couldn’t adjust their printing schedule.”
“Yes, I remember the conversation,” I grumbled.
Viv put them on speakerphone while she typed an email and ate a chili hotdog at her desk.
“Couldn’t Jack do something to help?” She squeezed her shoes back on.
I massaged my temples with one hand. “No, he’s made it clear this is all on me. Which was his plan from the beginning.”
Viv looked at the boxes. “You really think he’d do this to screw with you?”
With my free hand, I searched through my desk drawer and found the desired packet. The sour taste of the Imodium hit my tongue before I swallowed. “He wants to prove himself to David. The best way to do that is to undermine me.”
A text message with a simple Yes from Monica spurred me on. One issue down, one to go.
“Unless…” My mind wandered as it combed through possible solutions. There had to be a way to use them.
I grabbed her arm. “Viv, I think I’m a genius.”
“Modest too.” She shook me off.
I stuck a brochure in her face. “We use this.”
She squinted. “You mean on the barbeque?”
“No. We’ll spin it.”
“You’ve lost me.”
I circled my desk to work off the nervous energy. “Okay, we’re already doing something that hasn’t been done before with the cocktail cookout, right? So we do the same with the marketing. Agents don’t use profanity in their marketing.”
Viv’s throaty laugh confirmed she was on board. “So you wanna say it’s intentional?”
My insides vibrated. “Yep. This is the biggest development Manhattan has ever seen. It needs to be iconic. Memorable. The place where you can?—”
“Live a life of fuckery?” Viv finished. “I like it.”
I clapped my hands. “Yes! Jack will piss his pants when he realizes he can’t take me down.”
Viv smiled. “I dunno. The way he looks at you, I don’t think he’d mind taking you down. On the carpet. The tiles. The hardwood.” Her eyebrows wiggled.
Zingwent my clitoris. “Do me a favor and double-check on the gift bags and the caterers and confirm the guest list with Jack. Then triple-check it to make sure he’s not pulling another stunt.”
Jack sent over the list of the most high-end exclusive brokers and buyers, as promised. Invite only. Kalani had been busy all morning, fielding calls from people trying to get in after trying Jack’s office. Our joint plan was going off without a hitch. Make everyone want more by denying them access.
Viv’s extension lit up, and she took her seat. “Where are you going?”
“Meeting a broker who put in a lowball offer on Westpark two weeks ago to see if I can get the buyer back to the table. You stay here and keep working on that.”
* * *
The last time I’d looked at the pale peach primary bathroom in the Westpark condo, I’d hoped it would be the last. The whole suite resembled the color of dry vomit.
“So your buyer pulled out, huh?” Monica Landry asked, opening and shutting the same cabinet doors she had during the first viewing. More to make a point than to inspect anything.
I followed behind as she meandered through to the walk-in closet. “Something like that.”
Her finger ran over the dust on an open wardrobe shelf. “It’s sat for a long time.”
“Five months isn’t a long time,” I lied, knowing which tactic she planned on using and hating that I’d do the same if our roles were reversed. Five months felt like an eternity in this business.
She carried out a thorough inspection in every room. “Going to cost a lot to renovate.”
“Good for an investment property.” I cupped the back of my neck.
In the living room, Monica made an offer.
“Four hundred grand off asking?” I repeated.
She looked up at the stained ceiling, “My buyer moved on to other properties once you rejected his offer, and some of those don’t need further investment.”
“We’ve already dropped the price by two hundred.” I tilted my head. “You want a two hundred grand discount two weeks later?”
She licked her lips as if smelling blood. “Think of it as a hundred grand discount per week.”
“My buyer is never going to accept that.” I forced a laugh. “You need to come up.”
I needed to sit down. However the place was empty.
Monica walked in a circle like a vulture about to descend on its prey.
“Or we could come to an arrangement,” she suggested, pausing to admire the view.
“What kind of arrangement?” Her faux-innocent smile washed right over me.
“You’re the broker on The Crystal, right?”
“Right.”
“I didn’t get an invite to the open house,” she told me.
“It’s an exclusive preview,” I said. “Fifty people in total.”
“If you make it fifty-one, I’ll up the offer,” she countered.
“You’re manipulating offers for an invite?” She didn’t even look ashamed. I wouldn’t either. Somewhere deep down I felt a burst of pride at her moxie. “Can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can. You’re in charge.” Her nails drummed on the peeling window ledge.
“My co-agent did the guest list, so I’m not.” Spots appeared in front of my eyes again. I needed bread. Or a doughnut ASAP.
“Look, my buyer will go with whatever I tell him to, so if you want to offload this place, get me on the list.”
“Why do you want on this list so bad?” I asked.
Her Chloe bag rang. “I have a Chinese buyer who wants a four-bedroom but on the condition I get to check it out first. He doesn’t want to wait with the masses. It’s all about the exclusivity.”
Jack and I agreed we wouldn’t interfere with what the other was handling. If he discovered I’d snuck a name onto the list, he’d be pissed. But on the other hand, I needed this sale. “What if I can’t get you on the list?”
She stopped twisting the tube of her lipstick. “Then I guess you’re not as good as they say you are.”
But I also had leverage. She needed me as much as I needed her. “We’re not taking two hundred grand off the offer. Original price or nothing.”
She knew I had her. “Ugh, fine. Send the contract over today. And if I’m not on that list tomorrow, we’ll be pulling it.”
“Got it.”
We shook hands, and she walked out.
Now I could lie down on the hardwood floor and run through my to-do list.
· Piss off Jack. Check.
· Make a sale. Check.
· Eat a doughnut. What am I waiting for?