Chapter 12
Tracy
“So, how was your first week?”
I roll my eyes dramatically, and the brown haired girl on my phone screen laughs.
“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Riley says.
It’s Friday evening, and the high from Blake allowing me a three-month trial on Monday has morphed into frustration and annoyance over the last four days at how things have been playing out. This week has felt like an eternity, and I’m not sure that’s a good sign.
Flopping down onto my couch, I hold my phone above my head as I lay back on the cushions.
“We spent the entire week talking about paperwork and contracts when Blake did spare a little time for me, and I spent the rest of the week mostly on my own learning all the systems the brokerage uses. It was less than exciting.”
“But it sounds like you’re learning a lot,” Riley points out. The Wasatch Mountains loom in the background of her video, more dry and barren than the lush mountains we grew up in. “I’m sure things will pick up. You just have to get your first client.”
“True,” I say, not wanting to bring up the absolute embarrassment that was my business card scheme.
“But Blake is driving me insane. He’s the most grouchy, stubborn person I’ve ever met.
And he doesn’t even try to hide that he hates training me.
I still think he’s hoping I quit before my three-month trial is up. ”
Plus, he’s rude and dismissive and kind of an ass.
Understatement of the century.
After our off-roading adventure, the rest of the week had the same routine: I barged into Blake’s office first thing in the morning, he begrudgingly trained me for an hour or so, then he kicked me out and left me on my own.
Thankfully, Craig has graciously answered any questions that I have. Blake usually kicks me out before I even get through everything I want to ask.
So much for hoping he’d be nicer to me.
Neither of us have brought up the incident that first day either, with the foot rubs and the way he shoved his face in my neck, other than him admitting he was out of line. It’s like none of that ever happened.
Not that it meant anything. And not that I wanted to discuss it, either—I was more than happy to try to forget about it.
But I thought maybe he’d be friendlier with me after that. Turns out I was wrong.
“There’s no way he’s more stubborn than you,” Riley says. “I’ve literally never won an argument against you in my entire life.”
“You moved away,” I pout.
She laughs. “Yeah, well, you didn’t fight as hard as you usually do on that one.”
She’s right about that. When Riley told me she was moving to Utah after her mom’s funeral, I told her I’d miss her and wished she would stay, but I didn’t put up a fight.
I knew she needed to get away for her own well-being, and I wasn’t going to stand in the way of what she wanted.
If anything, I’ve always tried to whole-heartedly support her.
“I found an apartment, by the way,” she adds on.
“Oh thank god,” I say, rolling onto my stomach. “Because if winter came, and you were still living in a tent, I would have driven out there myself and brought you back.”
She giggles. “It’s close to work, too. Once I have some furniture, you can come visit.”
“I might just move in if things don’t pick up here,” I huff. Not to mention I won’t be able to afford my own apartment by that point if I don’t make any sales here soon.
Her face softens on the screen. “Give it time, Trace. It’s only been a week. It’ll work out for you.”
“Ugh, I hope so,” I groan as I catch the time on my phone. “Hey, I hate to cut this short, but I have to head out soon. I’ll text you later, okay?”
“Okay.” Riley shifts the phone, bringing it closer to her face. “Love you.”
“Love you, too. Bye!”
When the video call disconnects, I toss my phone onto the couch and head toward the bathroom. I miss my best friend like crazy, but I’m looking forward to getting drinks with Whitney tonight—even if she did try to sabotage me with those business cards.
Whitney texted me last night suggesting a pub in Old Town Alexandria.
I’ve been living here for a few months now, but I haven’t really taken the time to explore yet.
I’ve been to all the major attractions, but I haven’t found the local favorites, the hole-in-the-wall spots, the places everyone keeps hidden from tourists.
Those are the gems I want to explore, and it sounds like this pub Whitney suggested is such a place.
I couldn’t even find a Google business page for it when I looked it up.
I’m also looking forward to getting to know Whitney better. She’s just as head-strong as her brother, with a take-no-shit attitude. She at least has a sense of humor though, even if it was at my expense, so I am dying to learn more about the Frenshaws.
On second thought…
I turn back to the couch and swipe my phone, bringing it to the bathroom with me. Before I can change my mind, I text Blake.
Me
Good luck at your dinner tonight.
Try to be nice. They’ll probably be more inclined to help with the rezoning if you aren’t an ass
My hands shake a little when the texts immediately change to read.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but he’s been a complete dick to me all week, and even my two new pairs of Louboutin pumps aren’t enough to get me to overlook that fact.
Really, I’m looking out for his best interests here. If he wants the zoning changed, he’s better off being nice and sucking up to these people than being, well, himself.
I set the phone on the bathroom counter, strip, and step into the shower. By the time I step out, wrap my hair up in a towel, and peer at my phone, I have two new messages waiting for me.
Blake
I can be very nice when I want to be, sunshine
Don’t drink and drive tonight
So, Whitney did tell him we were going out for drinks. And is this him trying to be nice to me? Or is he patronizing me with that last text? And why the hell did he call me sunshine again? I send a quick reply.
Me
I know I’m only 22, old man, but that’s plenty old to know not to drink and drive
I start getting ready for my night out, but Blake never replies. And for some weird reason, it bothers me.
In my research on Blake—okay, snooping—I learned he’s twenty-nine, born and raised in the DC area, and was one of the fastest growing real estate brokerages in the entire country his first year in business.
His brother’s construction company has also seen equally rapid growth, and it’s clear he, Skye and Whitney are building themselves quite the little empire.
Which is why I want in. All in. I only want to be with the best of the best.
I also want Blake to actually want me on board—to value me as a colleague and to help me reach my full potential—because my success will only further his success.
And I want him to be nice to me. To respect me and not treat me like an unwanted intruder. Why, I don’t know, but I do.
It probably doesn’t help that I can still feel his lips hovering over my neck, or his hands on my feet, or his arm around my waist. Those memories are clearly fogging my brain.
Unwrapping the towel from my hair, I blow dry and style it, throw on some makeup, get dressed, and order an Uber.
I’m just stepping into my black pumps that Blake got me when my phone notifies me my ride is here. I lock up my overpriced apartment and make my way to the elevator, looking forward to a girls’ night with lots and lots of alcohol to drown out the thoughts of Blake’s hands and lips.
“Is this the right place?” I ask the Uber driver as he pulls over right in front of an alley entrance.
“Yes ma’am. Just head down that alley and look for the green door on the left,” he replies, smiling into the rearview mirror at me.
“You’re sure?” There are no lights in this alley.
Situated between two brick buildings, it’s dark and hidden back from the street.
It also looks like there’s some kind of tall gate blocking the other end of it.
It’s the perfect place to corner and kidnap someone.
Or murder them. Not that I’ve thought about where one would carry out such things.
“I can walk you if you’d like,” he says. “But it’s just halfway down. Look for ‘Connor’s Corner Pub’ on the door.”
“But it’s not even on a corner?” Where the hell is Whitney taking me?
The driver laughs. “This is precisely how they keep the tourists away.”
Well, it makes sense. Confuse the hell out of them about the location, and then force them to walk down a dark, creepy alley. I’d avoid it too if I was visiting someplace new.
I hand him some cash for a tip. “Will you at least wait here until I get inside? That way if someone tries to stab me, I have you as a witness. I also need you to promise that you will seek justice for me.”
The older man chuckles as he grabs the cash from me. “I’ll be your best advocate.”
The smile and crinkle at the corner of his eye makes me feel better about my demise, so I get out and leave the bustling, charming street to head into the dark alley.
My heels clomp against the cobblestone, and I pay careful attention to my foot placement so I don’t twist an ankle.
The old streets and buildings in this area, all the cobblestone and brick, the architecture and shuttered windows, always make me feel like I’m stepping back in time.
Though I’d probably want better suited shoes if that were actually the case.
I doubt the colonial Americans were trotting around in three-inch pumps.
Humidity kisses my skin, my neck damp under my hair and my hands clammy. Although, that could also be from the prospect of heading to my own murder.
There’s still occasional puddles in spots from this morning’s rain shower, and I avoid them at all costs, not willing to lose yet another set of heels. The lights from the street fade the further down the alley I get, but thankfully still provide just enough illumination to see where I’m stepping.