Chapter 10
Tracy
Istand at my kitchen island, rummaging through my purse and making sure I have everything I’ll need for this afternoon’s outing.
My apartment is a newer building with a modern interior.
The kitchen has crisp white cabinets, granite countertops, a neutral, clean backsplash and vinyl wood floors throughout.
The walls are all a light gray with white trim.
Cutesy little pendant lights hang over the small island, and a patio door across the living room opens to a small balcony just big enough for a little coffee nook.
But the place is tiny. Like tiny, tiny. My living room is barely big enough for my couch and TV, and I had to downsize from a king to a queen size bed in the bedroom so that I could fit a dresser. And the only reason I need a dresser is because the closet is more like a glorified cabinet.
I shouldn’t complain, though. The complex has a private gym, designated parking, event rooms that tenants can use at no cost, and even a free espresso bar in the lobby. It’s only costing me all of my savings while I try to start my real estate career, but hey, free coffee.
It’s also the most affordable apartment I could find in Alexandria.
I wanted to be close to the office on the off chance Blake did let me join his team.
I’d been researching which brokerage I wanted to join for months while taking classes, and when I realized The Frenshaw Group was the best of the best, I put all my eggs in one basket and rented this apartment that I can’t afford, hoping against hope that things worked out.
Thank god they did. Kind of.
Three months. Three months to make this permanent.
I have to make it work, because by that point I’ll be out of savings, and there’s no way I’m asking my parents for rent money.
They’d help me, without question. But I don’t want to put that burden on them. They’ve provided for me my entire life, so I need to do this on my own.
Grabbing the stack of business cards Whitney gave me this morning, I add them to my bag and head out the door, ready to find myself some clients.
After my chat with Whitney this morning, I went to find Craig to bribe him for some pointers. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t the silver fox I walked in on.
Once my initial shock wore off, I awkwardly introduced myself and offered him the candy bar in exchange for some of his time.
He just chuckled and indicated for me to take a seat.
We ended up spending a couple hours together and Craig graciously offered to meet with me whenever I needed help.
He also emphasized the importance of building up clientele, which brings me to now.
My Uber pulls up to the Ronald Reagan Building and I step out after thanking my driver. There’s apparently a big fundraiser tonight for some political figure. And my goal? Sneak in and leave my business cards under the dinner plates.
I figure there is no way I’ll just be let into the event, so I donned a pair of black pants and a black shirt, hoping to pass as event staff so I can sneak in.
The who’s who of Washington’s elite will be here, and what better way to get my name out there amongst the wealthiest in the country than a fundraiser dinner?
Okay, it’s a long shot, I know. But I’ve never been one to stand by and wait for things to happen. I make them happen. Just like I convinced Blake to bring me into The Frenshaw Group, I’m about to start planting seeds in the minds of the wealthy elite that I am the realtor for them.
It’s early, so event staff are likely still setting up for the dinner.
Staring up at the large white columns highlighting the rounded dome on this side of the building, I make my way to the doors, keeping an eye out for any security.
No one stops me as I casually make my way inside.
When I reach the security checkpoint, I’m waved through without issue.
Huh, maybe this will be easier than I thought.
I was prepared to go stealth mode. I even had an entire story worked out on being part of the catering, if anyone asked. I’m almost disappointed that no one is even paying me any mind as I make my way toward the atrium where the event is taking place.
As I get closer, I notice a flurry of people running about setting up tables and dinner settings. And just like I had hoped, they’re dressed in all black attire.
I smirk as I follow someone with a cart of champagne glasses into the atrium. I look like just another employee. This couldn’t have worked out more perfectly.
When we step out into the large open space of the atrium, I pause.
The soaring skylights and columns create a stunning backdrop to the elegantly decorated tables throughout the space.
Large floral arrangements sit in front of each of the columns along the length, and white curtains hang between, giving the room a softer feel.
It’s gorgeous. And equally outrageous. I can only imagine how much money was spent on decorations alone. Just how much does each dinner plate cost to make this a profitable event?
Ignoring the ridiculous amounts of money obviously being flashed tonight, I make my way toward the first table, then reconsider as something catches my eye.
There, off to the side, are a few tables covered with sleek, black bags with tissue paper poking out the top.
Gift bags.
Bingo.
Abandoning the idea of putting my business cards under the charger plates, I make a beeline toward the gift bags. This will be way easier and less obvious than messing with all the place settings.
Pulling my new business cards from my bag, I quickly slip one into as many of the bags as I can until I run out.
Then, before I can draw attention to myself, I leave, not wanting to push my luck.
My heart pounds as I exit the way I came in. You’d think I just robbed someone with the way my adrenaline is coursing through my body right now.
I walk down the street, pulling out my phone to order an Uber home, when I notice a black Porsche pull into the parking garage in front of me.
As the car slows behind the vehicle in front of it, I get a clear view of the black-haired man behind the wheel wearing a tux and bowtie.
You have got to be kidding me.
Is this how Craig knew about the fundraiser event? Because Blake was attending it? No wonder he had such an odd look on his face when he casually brought it up out of the blue.
Groaning, I pull out my phone and send off a quick text.
Me
Nice car. Are you going to the fundraiser or another event? If it’s the fundraiser, I plead the fifth about the gift bags.
Actually, no. I take that back. Craig is to blame for it.
I look up from my phone just in time to see the Porsche reversing from the parking garage and blocking the sidewalk. As I approach, the passenger window rolls down and an angry-looking Blake stares back at me.
“Get in,” he says, leaving no room for argument.
Sighing, I open the passenger door and sink into the leather seat. I try not to notice, but Blake looks amazing in a tux, even seated in the vehicle. The jacket hugs his wide shoulders perfectly and his dark hair is slicked back out of his face.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, interrupting my ogling and pulling back up to the parking garage ticket booth. He grabs a ticket and revs the engine, pulling the car forward under the arm and making his way up to the second floor.
“Networking,” I tell him. “Craig told me about the event and that it’d be a good place to find potential clients. I knew I’d never be able to get into the actual event, so I snuck in and left some business cards.”
Blake pulls into an end spot on the second level and parks the car. Turning toward me, he asks, “How the hell did you sneak in?”
“Well, I just kind of walked in, actually.” I gesture to my outfit. “Blended right in with the staff.” I flash him a big grin.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “And you didn’t think to mention this to me? What if someone asked about all the business cards for my own goddamn brokerage?”
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest defensively. Shouldn’t he be happy I’m out here hustling? Trying to get business for myself, and consequently, for him?
Something in his face shifts then, amusement flashing in his eyes. “And you put them in the gift bags?”
“Yes. You’re welcome for all the free publicity.”
He chuckles, the sound deep and rumbly, and my stomach gets a little flutter.
Leaning over, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You really don’t let anything stop you, do you?”
“No,” I say, and curse myself for how breathless it comes out. He barely even touched me, and my body is humming. Why, why, why do I respond to him like this? Especially after how rude he was to me this morning.
He gestures to my purse. “You should have packed a gown in there. Maybe next time you can join me.” Then, without another word, he gets out of the car.
I scurry out and follow him across the parking garage. “Wait!” I say, rushing to catch up with his long strides. “What does that mean? You’ll help me network?” Or does he mean he wants to take me as a date? I can’t bring myself to ask that part.
He reaches a door and holds it open for me. I walk through back into the building I just rushed out of.
“It means that maybe if you’re lucky and appropriately dressed, then yes, we can network together sometime.”
Without thinking, I place my hand on his forearm. “Is prickly Blake Frenshaw offering to take me under his wing?” I ask, unable to help myself as I smirk up at him.
“Yes,” he replies, removing my hand from his arm with a smirk of his own. “If it means it’ll keep you from embarrassing my brokerage.”
I rip my hand out of his. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He winks at me, backing away with that smirk still plastered on his annoyingly beautiful face. “Maybe you should actually read what’s on those business cards.”
I watch as Blake makes his way through security, debating on whether to follow him. Deciding against it, I dig through my purse, fishing out one of the extra business cards I held onto.
All my information on the front is correct. The photo is the one I sent Whitney that first day. So, what’s wrong with them?
Flipping it over, my jaw drops.
No.
Oh no, she did not.
There, in small print across the bottom of the back side of the card, is the tagline: “Bending over backward—or in any position you’d like—to make your wildest dreams a reality”.