Chapter 20
Tracy
My phone vibrates on my bathroom counter as I get ready the next morning. A text from Blake. I finish applying my mascara, then open it to find a random address, followed by another text.
Blake
Fat chance of that. After last night, I never want to see his face again. It took me damn near an hour to get the tape off my arms. I ended up losing my patience with the olive oil, and eventually just ripped it off. It hurt like hell, and then I had to scrub all the residue off.
Not to mention I had to wash my hair twice to get all the cum out of it.
So, screw him.
Me
I’ll be training with Craig at the office this morning
His response is immediate.
Blake
If you ever want a client, you’ll be there
Oh, I am so over this guy. First, he tries to bully me into quitting. Then he tries to intimidate me into staying. Now he’s threatening not to give me clients unless I jump at his command?
What the fuck is wrong with him?
I throw my makeup bag into the bathroom cabinet, then head back to my bedroom. On the way, I pull up the address he sent.
Oh.
Ohhhh.
It’s a twelve-million dollar home that’s on the market. I quickly pull up the listing and start memorizing all the details, then pour over comps for it.
Is he inviting me to tag along with him and a client?
My earlier anger turns to a simmer as I put on a black dress, then grab my red Louboutin pumps. I duck into the bathroom one more time on the way out to apply some red lipstick, then head to my car and navigate to the house.
When I turn off the main road, I follow a long paved driveway to the biggest house I’ve ever seen in person.
The listing said it was over twenty-thousand square feet, but I didn’t realize how large that would actually be.
I wouldn’t even want a house this big. It’s way too much to clean.
Granted, if someone is spending that much on a house, they’re probably hiring someone to clean it.
I guess if I can’t cut it as a realtor, I can clean these people’s houses.
This is what I wanted, though, when I decided to join The Frenshaw Group.
I wanted grand. I wanted luxurious. I wanted elite clientele and to make a name for myself in the upper echelons of society.
And apparently, I wanted marble columns, excessive square footage, and ungodly immaculate lawns, too.
Blake’s parked in the circular drive, and I pull in behind him. The driveway is enormous and could easily accommodate a dozen vehicles. My little Honda stands out like a sore thumb here amongst the manicured lawn, stone fountain in the center of the drive, and elaborate architecture of the house.
First order of business once I’ve made a little money from commissions: buy a more luxurious car.
Blake leans casually against his Porsche when I step out, his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt today—no tie or jacket—with his sleeves rolled up, those strong forearms on full display.
He looks handsome. For a psychopath.
His eyes rove over me, and his lips tip up when he sees that I’m wearing the shoes he got me.
Yeah, asshole. I’m still wearing them, even though I hate you.
I sling my laptop bag over my shoulder as I approach him, and he asks, “Sleep well last night?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “No, I didn’t. Do you know how long it took to get that tape off my arms?” I hold my arm out to show him that my skin is still slightly reddened.
He grabs my wrist and tugs me closer, a frown ghosting his mouth. “Isopropyl would have—”
“Yeah, yeah, it would have taken it right off,” I snap at him. “But I didn’t have any.”
He glances up at me, and for just the tiniest of seconds, something softens his features before he transforms back into the miserable human being that he is. “Everyone has isopropyl. It’s a basic household supply.”
I tug my wrist from his grasp. “I literally don’t know anyone who keeps isopropyl on hand.”
“It’s basically rubbing alcohol. You didn’t have any of that, either?” He has the gall to look at me like I’m the crazy person here, when he’s the one who duct taped my fricken arms together.
“No, I didn’t.” I pivot toward the driveway as another car approaches, thankful for the interruption. “Who are we meeting here? We’re doing a showing, right?”
He nods. “Yeah. He’s a new client to the brokerage. Jason Moore. Works in the oil and gas industry.”
“I didn’t realize there was a lot of that here.” I glance back at the house behind us. “Or that it paid so well. Does he own a company or something?”
Blake gives me a sidelong glance. “He’s a lobbyist. And probably not the one actually paying for this house.”
I roll my eyes.
Nothing like legalized bribery.
Still, this is my first client interaction, so I square my shoulders, plaster on a bright smile, and step forward with my hand outstretched when Jason approaches us.
He oozes confidence as he takes my hand in a firm shake. “You must be Tracy.” He flashes me a panty dropping smile. “Blake mentioned he’d have someone assisting today. Jason Moore. Pleasure to meet you.”
Okay, this guy is probably the best lobbyist in DC. He’s older, maybe in his forties, full of confidence and charm, clean-cut and attractive. I have no doubt he’s a successful schmoozer.
I mirror his grip on my hand. “Tracy Smith. The pleasure is mine.”
Blake steps up beside me. “Good to see you again, Jason.” He tosses a thumb over his shoulder at the overly extravagant house behind us. “This was the one Abigail picked out, right?”
“Yeah,” Jason says. Then to me adds, “Abigail is my wife. She’ll be moving here once we purchase.”
“Can I ask why she liked this one?” I wince when I realize how that came out, and clarify, “Not that there’s anything wrong with it. Just so I have a better idea of what you’re looking for?”
“The architecture,” Jason says, unphased by my word choice. “She doesn’t want another cookie cutter house. Though, I told her this one is probably over compensating.”
I can’t help but snort, much to my horror. “Sorry,” I quickly say. “But yes, it is a little over the top.”
“Why don’t we take a look inside,” Blake says, and we all head toward the front door.
When we get inside, my jaw drops. There was apparently a reason they limited the number of interior marketing photos. The inside is gaudy as hell.
There’s an absurd amount of marble columns throughout the house, huge crystal chandeliers in almost every room—to the point of overkill—and… oh my god. I take in the domed ceiling of the entry.
There’re naked babies. With wings.
I can’t even suppress my shock at the stupid amount of cherubs in the entryway. And when I make my way further into the foyer, there’s even more.
I peek at Blake, who’s also staring up at the ceiling. The corner of his mouth twitches, and I know he’s trying his best not to lose it right now at the absurdity of this.
Jason doesn’t even try to hide his reaction. He full on laughs. “Is this how the one percent decorate?”
For someone who makes a living out of political bribery, Jason seems like an alright fellow.
I tell him, “I’m guessing with your line of work, you’ll be doing a good amount of entertaining?” He nods. “If I may be blunt, this house screams that you’re trying too hard. I think you should consider something more refined.”
Jason grunts his agreement. “Know of anything else we could take a look at today?”
“We can head back to the office and—” Blake starts, but I cut him off.
“Yes, I was just looking at another home this morning you might like.” Pulling out my laptop, I make my way into the kitchen and set up on the counter.
“It has gorgeous architecture that I think Abigail will like, but the interior is modern and tasteful. The entire property has an understated elegance to it.”
Blake and Jason come to stand on either side of me as I pull up the property.
“It’s listed at thirteen million, which I know is more than this, but it’s also on more acreage, and has stables and an arena.
Even if you don’t have horses, it could be a great opportunity for networking.
Or you could use the facilities as an event space. ”
I angle my laptop toward Jason so he can scroll through the photos and details. After a few minutes, he asks, “When can we see it?”
A huge smile pulls at my lips. “If you give me five minutes, I’ll give the listing agent a call.”
Jason and Blake make small talk as I dip out of the kitchen and down a hallway into another room. Thankfully, the list agent on that property answers her phone right away, and ten minutes later, I’m back in the kitchen.
“We can go look in an hour, if that works for you,” I tell Jason.
“Perfect. Text me the address and I’ll meet you there.” He turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh, and can you send me a link to the property? So I can send it to Abigail?”
He rattles off his number, and I send him the info. We make our way to the driveway as Blake locks up the house, and I can’t help the feeling of excitement that creeps into me as I watch Jason’s car disappear down the driveway.
When I feel a slight pressure at the small of my back, I startle.
Blake’s hand rests on my back and trails around to my hip as he moves in front of me. “If he decides to put an offer in on that place, let me know.” He gives my hip a squeeze, then breaks contact and heads toward his car.
“Wait.” I follow after him. “Aren’t you coming to the showing with us?”
“I think you’ve got things under control.” The corner of his mouth pulls into a gorgeous half-smile as he gets in his car and pulls away.
My heart hammers as I make my way to my car and toss my laptop bag in the passenger seat. When I close the door, I let out a squeal and do an embarrassing little happy dance, my heels clacking against the stone driveway.
My first client.
Blake just handed me my first client.
I get in my car and grab my phone to text Riley.
Me
I just got my first client!
Riley
OMG Congratulations! I’m so happy for you!
Riley
I told you things would pick up *smirking emoji*
Me
Pray I don’t fuck it up lol
Riley
You won’t. You’ll be a pro in no time
Me
I miss you
Riley
I miss you too. I’m still expecting you to come visit soon *red heart emoji*
Me
I will *red heart emoji* *red heart emoji*
I wish Riley was here to celebrate with me. I’ll have to call her later and fill her in on everything. But first, I have a house to sell.