Chapter 9
Tracy
“Wow, you’re back for day two. Impressive.”
Whitney grins at me over her computer. Her dark hair falls freely around her shoulders today in long, straight sheets, but she looks no less intimidating than she did yesterday.
I think intimidation just runs in this family’s genes with their dark hair and stern looks.
It makes me wonder what the third Frenshaw sibling is like.
I make my way over to her desk, stopping in front of it and popping a hip. “You thought he’d get me to quit that quickly? You obviously don’t know me at all.”
“Well, between the two of us, I’m rooting for you,” she says, laughing. “Give him hell.”
I raise my coffee cup toward her and head down the hallway to Blake’s office. The door is cracked when I get there, so I knock once on the frame, then barge in.
“Good morning!” I say in my most chipper voice when Blake looks up from his laptop.
He’s in a white dress shirt today, and the contrast of it with his golden skin and black hair makes him look so damn good. As if he needed help looking even more attractive.
He mumbles a gruff ‘morning’ to me, then turns his attention back to his laptop.
Okay… so maybe we aren’t on friendly terms.
Ignoring his prickly attitude, I take a seat in the chair across from his desk and pull out my laptop. “Thank you, by the way. For the shoes and new jumpsuit.”
His green eyes look up at me from his screen before dropping down again. “It was nothing. I was out of line yesterday.”
“Yes, well, you still didn’t have to replace my things. So, I appreciate it.”
He grunts in response, like a caveman or something, and it throws me off. Maybe I misinterpreted what his gift meant? I thought for sure I’d walk in here this morning and we’d start fresh—no hard feelings—but apparently, that’s not the case.
“Umm…so do you have time for some training this morning?” I ask tentatively. Why is this so awkward now? Things feel even more tense than they did yesterday when he dropped me off at my car after our excursion.
He lets out a long sigh, running a hand over his freshly shaven jaw. I can smell his aftershave—or maybe it’s cologne—from here, the oak and leather smell reminding me of when his chest was pressed into my back yesterday when he caught me.
“I have an hour,” he says. “Have you familiarized yourself with the contract paperwork yet?”
I shift in my seat and run a hand over the skirt of my green sundress. “I looked over all the documents, but they don’t exactly teach you anything about writing contracts in class.”
“No. They don’t.” He turns his laptop around, then stands, rounding his desk and taking a seat in the chair next to mine. Pulling the laptop toward him, he says, “I’ll walk you through a few contract examples and things to consider when writing one.”
I scoot my chair a little closer to his to get a better look at his screen. When my elbow bumps his, he visibly tenses, and I jerk my arm back.
The tension between us is unsettling. How am I supposed to be his protégé when it feels like he doesn’t even want me here? I’m about to call him out on his sourpuss attitude when he opens a document on his screen and starts explaining the pieces of the contract.
I grab my laptop and furiously start taking notes as Blake walks me through writing a contract, all the forms I’ll need, and various things to look out for.
I’m so busy trying to soak in everything he says that I don’t even notice the time slipping by until he announces, “We’ll finish this tomorrow.”
A small smile finds my face. “Already making plans for tomorrow, huh? Does that mean you’ve finally accepted me as your protégé?”
Blake tosses me an apathetic look, then goes back to his seat on the other side of his desk. “It means one hour isn’t nearly enough time to teach you how to write a decent contract, and I’ll be damned if I let you bring the reputation of this brokerage down.”
Dang, someone seriously woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
“Do you have that little faith in me?” I challenge him.
“It’s hard to have faith in something that’s yet to prove itself,” he responds coolly. “And I doubt you’ll ever get the chance.”
I have to force my mouth not to drop open as he throws my words from yesterday back in my face. Clearly, he’s still upset about the incident in his truck. Which means I struck a chord. But what chord is it?
Is he upset that I challenged him? That I told him he doesn’t have a chance with me? That I insulted his manhood?
Whatever it is, I can’t help the little thrill I get knowing I not only rattled him yesterday, but that he’s still wound up about it.
I also can’t help the rage that shoots through me at the same time, knowing he has so little faith in me. I know I said I’d be okay with him not helping me because it would make it feel that much sweeter when I succeed without him, but it still hurts. And ultimately, I do want his help.
“You gave me three months to prove myself,” I remind him, trying to rein my frustration in.
I grab my hair and pull it over one shoulder, straightening my spine in the process.
“Look. If you don’t want to help me, then introduce me to one of your other agents to train me instead.
But don’t sit here and waste my time if you aren’t going to take me seriously. ”
“I already said I’d train you,” he says through clenched teeth.
“Then at least pretend to care. Because ultimately, my success or failure is a reflection of you, Blake.” I grab my laptop and stand up. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He glares at me as I put my computer in my bag, then turn and leave his office. I’m pretty sure he continues to glare at me as I walk down the hall too, judging by the prickles on the back of my neck.
“Done already?” Whitney asks when I emerge from the hallway.
I head to her desk and plop down on the couch in front of it, setting my bag on the floor. “Your brother is seriously such an ass. No offense.”
She laughs and throws something at me. I catch the little brown box before it hits me. “What’s this?”
“Business cards. I went and had some printed yesterday, since I figured you wouldn’t let Blake get rid of you that easily.
I’ll have a full batch printed for you, but those won’t be ready for a few weeks.
This should hold you over until then.” She props her chin in a palm. “So, why is Blake an ass today?”
I let out a huff, frustration oozing from me in heaps. “He clearly doesn’t want me here. I don’t know why he agreed to bring me on if he’s just hoping I’ll quit.”
She tries, and fails, to reassure me. “He doesn’t want you to quit.”
“He acts like I’m the bane of his existence,” I deadpan.
“Blake acts like everyone is the bane of his existence,” she says with a smirk.
I give her a pouty face. “You’re saying I’m not special?”
“I’m saying, you could be the fricken sun and he’d still be about as warm as an ice cube.”
Huh. Maybe that’s why he calls me sunshine. Maybe it’s a cry for help. A cry to melt his cold, dead heart.
I snort.
“What?” Whitney asks.
“Nothing.” I brush off her question with my own. “So, since Blake barely has time for me, want to hand over the contact info for all the other agents so I can stalk them until one of them agrees to help teach me the ropes?”
She turns back to her computer. “I can do one better. Craig spends his mornings in the office across from the break room on the first floor. He’s been in real estate for centuries.
I’m sure he’d have a lot of pointers for you.
Start there.” She pulls something out of her desk and tosses it at me.
“Take this. He’ll never say no if you bribe him with sweets. ”
I catch the mini candy bar she tosses at me and give her a questioning look.
“He’s diabetic,” she explains. “His wife goes a little overboard and won’t let him keep any sweets in the house, so he indulges at the office.”
“You’re a terrible influence.” I slip the candy bar into my bag.
“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s not going to die from the occasional mini candy bar. Besides, that thing is bite size. It’s not like I’m sending him home with buckets of candy.”
“His wife would probably disagree.” I get up from the couch and sling my bag over my shoulder. I’m about to head downstairs but pause at the first step. “Hey,” I say, turning back toward Whitney. “Do you want to grab drinks sometime?”
She peers at me around her computer. “Tracy Smith, are you asking me out?” She brings her hands to her chest dramatically, like I just proposed.
“If you’re going to make it weird, I take my invite back,” I tell her with mock seriousness. It’s not true, though. Blake may be an ass, but his sister is hilarious, and I could really use a friend with Riley gone.
She bats her eyes at me. “I accept. Friday work?”
“Yeah,” I tell her, waving her off as I start down the stairs.
“I’ll text you the place!” she calls after me.
I grin to myself. My morning went from terrible—thanks to Blake’s prickly pear attitude—to great. I’m really looking forward to hanging out with Whitney outside of work.
But first, I have a realtor to bribe.