Chapter 11
Blake
“Ithought I told you to stop fucking around with people’s business cards?”
Whitney laughs through the phone. “It’s basically a rite of passage at this point, Blake. Why would I stop now?”
I rub my temples with my free hand, biting back my rising irritation. “Because Tracy just slipped her business cards into all the gift bags at the Thompson fundraiser.”
“No,” she rushes out. “You mean his big campaign dinner? That fundraiser?”
My irritation breaks free. “Yes, Whit! That one. Do you know how many power players are going to be at this dinner tonight and will see that fucking tagline?”
“Wait, how do you know what the tagline is?” she asks. “I didn’t even show them to you this time.”
I shuffle through the bag in front of me. “Because I’m fucking digging them out of the gift bags right now! Do you know how many people I had to talk to before convincing them to let me go through all of these? I had to slip the staff member responsible for them three-thousand dollars.”
“Oh my god,” she breathes. “I can’t believe she didn’t notice before giving them all out. Wait… Oh shit. Tracy’s calling me. What do I tell her?!”
My jaw clenches as I toss a piece of tissue paper aside. “I swear to god, Whitney. You’re the one who made the cards. Figure it the fuck out.”
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Okay. I gotta go.” She hangs up.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter, shoving my phone into my pocket. I retrieve another business card and move on to the next bag.
Thank god I came early. My intention was to spend the time scoping out the guest list with Lucas and pinpointing who I wanted to spend my time networking with tonight, as well as taking care of a few other business matters.
Instead, I’m spending that valuable time fishing out these damn business cards.
Whitney has been doing this for years. Whenever I bring on a new agent, she prints a batch of business cards for them with some ridiculous tagline on the back. Then she sits back and waits for them to notice.
It hasn’t been an issue before. Usually, the agents notice right away, or the tagline is innocent enough that if they do hand the cards out, it’s not something that would embarrass them. Still, I’ve told her to stop doing it.
And this time… What the fuck was she thinking?
Not only are these inappropriate, but they reflect poorly on both Tracy and the brokerage itself.
Grabbing another business card, I shove the tissue paper back into the bag, only to get a dirty look from the staff member eyeing me like a hawk.
She looks pointedly at the bag I just rummaged through, then back up to me.
Sighing, I pull the wadded up tissue paper back out, fluff it up a little, then gently stuff it back in.
I’m going to fucking kill her.
No, actually, I’m going to kill them both. Whitney’s been on my last nerve lately, and Tracy…
Fuck, I can’t stand that woman, but I can’t stay away. Which is precisely why she needs to go. I don’t have time for this shit.
Fishing out the last business card, I carefully put back the tissue paper, flash the grouchy gift table attendant a tight smile, then grab the stack of cards to toss them in the trash.
Heading over to the seating chart to see who will all be in attendance tonight, my phone buzzes in my pocket with an incoming call.
“What now?” I ask when I answer.
“If I buy a dress, do you think you can sneak me into the event? I have to get those business cards back. They’re embarrassing and totally inappropriate, and this is not how I wanted to start my career, Blake!
What kind of reputation am I building when I’m basically advertising myself as a flexible slut?
! I mean, I am pretty flexible, so at least the tagline isn’t all wrong, but still. I’d rather—”
“For fuck’s sake, Tracy, would you stop?” I say to her rambling. “I already grabbed all the cards.”
And just how flexible are we talking? My dick twitches at the thought of bending her like a pretzel and driving deep into her cunt until she screams my name.
Fuck, Blake. Focus.
“You did?” she asks.
“I did. Next time, proofread the business cards.” I hang up.
My phone immediately vibrates with another incoming call from her.
I groan and answer. “What?”
“We got disconnected,” she says.
“We didn’t,” I correct.
“Wait… Did you hang up on me?” Her voice pitches higher than usual. I don’t know why she sounds so incredulous.
“Yes. I don’t have time for this, Tracy. I’ve already spent valuable time cleaning up your mess, and I have a laundry list of asses to kiss tonight, so if—”
“Now that’s a sight I’d like to see,” she interrupts. “Blake Frenshaw, kissing ass. How do I get you to kiss mine?” Her words hover over the line before she realizes what she just said. “Oh my god. That did not come out the way I meant it to. Shit, okay, I’ll let you go. Bye.” She hangs up.
I slip my phone into my pocket, laughing to myself.
Christ, this woman. I bet her ass is utterly kissable.
Forcing myself not to think about Tracy’s ass, I head to the seating chart, scoping out who I want to target tonight, then make my way to the bar.
The bartender has just handed me my drink—scotch, neat—as Lucas leans against the bar top beside me. When I turn to face him, he holds a business card in front of my face between his fingers, Tracy’s picture smiling back at me.
“Some traditions never die.” He smirks.
I grab the card from between his fingers, shoving it into my pocket.
“Thought you weren’t bringing her on board?” he goes on, unbuttoning his designer suit jacket. “Change your mind already?”
“No.” Yes. I don’t fucking know.
He grabs a beer from the bartender. “Those business cards in the trash all indicate otherwise.”
Sighing, I switch topics, not wanting to go into all the chaos that is Tracy.
Normally I wouldn’t hesitate to bring Lucas into decisions around onboarding agents—he helps vet them all the time—but I already know how he’ll react to this one.
He’s almost as protective of this brokerage as I am, and he’d never agree to bring on an inexperienced agent.
Not that the decision is up to him. I’d never give him that much control.
Still, I typically trust his judgment. It’s why he’s been around since the beginning.
“The Hardin’s will be here tonight,” I tell him instead. “I want you to focus on them. They’re relocating their company to DC next year, and I want that business going to the brokerage.”
“They’re relocating all their staff?” he asks.
“Yes. So, get them on board with us to handle all the relocations.” I bring my drink to my lips, trying to ignore the business card burning a hole in my pocket. “If we can get them to commit to using us for all the moves, that’s a huge payout.”
He gives me a nod, pushing off the bar with his beer in hand. “You got it.” He disappears into the slowly gathering crowd, and I focus on my next order of business.
Glancing toward the entrance again, in waltzes my first target for the night: Michael Clark, owner of the only other brokerage in the area that can compete with me. He’s been trying to siphon off my agents and clients for months, and it needs to end.
No one fucks with my business, and no one takes what’s mine. Apparently, Michael needs a reminder of that.
I toss back the rest of my drink. It’s game time.