11. Michelle
MICHELLE
I’m at my desk, finishing the last of my coffee. I just won another listing. A Mediterranean-style place near the highway. Nothing flashy, but it’s a win.
It should feel like one. It doesn’t. Something’s off, and I know exactly what it is, even if I won’t say it out loud.
I pick up my phone and tell myself not to. Then I do it anyway. I open my messages. Dean’s text from a few days ago is still there.
Dean: There’s something between us. Might not be the right time, but when it is, you know where I am.
There’s been nothing since.
I should be relieved. This is what I wanted, right? But for some reason, I keep checking my phone like a lunatic. And every time there’s nothing, I feel stupid. And a little sad.
I pushed him away, and he actually listened.
That should feel like a win. But in the quiet moments, when everything else settles, I think about him.
Not the parts of him that drive me insane but his steadiness.
His quiet, grounded energy, like nothing touches him.
It makes me feel like I can relax too. And I hate how much I want that right now.
A soft knock breaks through my thoughts. I glance up as Amanda edges the door open, her hand still on the frame like she’s ready to bolt. Her expression hovers somewhere between apology and full-blown dread, and that alone tells me this isn’t good.
“You know Jennifer Cole?” she asks, too brightly.
“I do.” Of course I do. I’ve spent the last six weeks deep in Jennifer’s aggressively hideous mid-century house, designing a strategy to make buyers see potential instead of that awful turquoise tile and those sunken living room floors.
Amanda shifts her weight, glancing toward the hallway like she’s hoping someone else will show up and finish the sentence for her. “She signed,” she says finally. “Just...not with us. She went with Vinnie.”
I inhale through my nose. On the outside, I’m still. On the inside, something lurches sideways and lands hard. Jennifer was supposed to be in my chair at two o’clock this afternoon. We had a plan. We had comps. All she had to do was show up and sign the paperwork.
“When?” I ask, still holding my expression.
Amanda hesitates, then glances down at the ground like the answer might be written there. “Last night,” she says. “She mentioned Vinnie on the phone. I didn’t think it meant anything—”
“Right. So you didn’t flag it. You just assumed.”
Amanda swallows. “I—I didn’t think—”
“No,” I cut in. “You didn’t.”
She doesn’t say anything after that. Just stands there, small and miserable in the doorway, waiting to see how bad this is going to get. I could go further. I want to. But it won’t undo the loss.
“Close the door behind you,” I say.
I stare at it after she leaves, still trying to make sense of this.
I spent hours on the phone, listening to every detail of Jennifer’s messy divorce.
I came up with the only viable strategy to unload that eyesore.
I built the entire deal from the ground up.
And at the last second, she decided my brother would be a better fit.
It’s not losing the commission that stings. It’s that you think they see you—the hours you put in, the effort, the honesty. You think that matters. But in the end, it doesn’t.
If one of Vinnie’s clients came to me after he did the work, I’d need a good reason to take them on. I’d at least have the decency to talk to him first.
I tell myself to let it go but before I’ve even fully decided to move, I’m already on my feet.
Vinnie’s at his desk, finishing up a call when I step in his office. He doesn’t look up right away, just raises a finger for me to wait. His laptop’s open and a half-empty protein shake sits next to it.
He finally ends the call with a smooth goodbye, then leans back in his chair, folds his hands over his stomach and looks at me.
“Jennifer Cole was scheduled to sign with me this afternoon,” I say.
He gives me that look, half pity, half bullshit empathy, and something tightens in my chest.
“You didn’t think to mention it?” I add.
“I was going to.”
“When?” My voice sharpens. “And what makes you think it’s okay to sign one of my clients?”
He sighs, like I’m being unreasonable. “What was I supposed to do, Michelle? Tell her no? She came to me. She said she was ready to move forward, and I figured you’d want her to stay with Pierce.”
My shoulders drop, just a little. He’s not wrong. Obviously, I’d prefer her to go with Vinnie than elsewhere.
I force myself to take a breath. “Did she say anything? Give you a reason why she wanted to switch?”
He leans back, more relaxed now. “She just said she felt like I got her. Said I was a better vibe.” He shrugs, clearly pleased with himself. “You know how people are.”
Better vibe.
So she’s not worried about strategy or the plan I spent hours working on. Just…vibe. It’s the kind of answer that offers nothing to improve on. And it kills me, because I don’t know what to do with it, except take the loss and pretend it doesn’t feel personal.
“I don’t think it’s fair you get the sale when I did half the work,” I say. “This should count for both of us.”
Vinnie raises an eyebrow. “You want half the commission?”
“Keep the commission. I just want the board to reflect the actual work. That’s what this was supposed to be about, right? I got her in the door, even if she went with you.”
“I’m the one selling her house, Michelle,” he says. “She signed with me. That’s what counts.”
I shake my head. The frustration I thought I’d managed to bury starts creeping up again.
“This isn’t what Dad wanted.” The words slip out before I can stop them. Saying them out loud feels like crossing a line I didn’t mean to, but I keep going anyway. “We’re supposed to support each other. Build something together. Not—”
“We will. Eventually,” he cuts in, voice maddeningly calm. “But someone has to be in charge. That’s how this works.”
I stare at him, trying to read something in his face. But all I get is a practiced neutrality. A politician’s shrug.
“This was always going to fall to me,” he says. “Even if Dad didn’t want to say it out loud.”
“That’s not true,” I snap. “I’m the oldest. I’ve been here the longest—”
He cuts me off. “This whole setup was just to keep the peace. A formality. Dad didn’t want to spend his last few months dealing with you bitching about fairness.”
He lets that hang, like he’s doing me a favor by being honest.
“You need to start accepting it. Okay? For your own good.”
I don’t answer. Just turn for the door. My hand’s already on it when he adds, “You’re an asset here, Michelle. But you’re not a leader.”
The door rattles in its frame behind me as I walk out.
Back in my office, I lean against the door. I close my eyes and take a slow breath, trying to steady myself through the rush of doubt.
Dad could’ve named me successor at any point in those last months. But he didn’t. He left us with this contest. I thought it was about fairness, about giving us both a real shot. But what if Vinnie’s right?
What if this whole thing was just a soft letdown dressed as opportunity?
I glance at my desk. At the blinking voicemail light, the neatly stacked files, the endless work waiting to be done.
Maybe Dad never thought I could win. But this place, it was never really his. It was Mom’s. And I want it.
I’m not going to smile, step aside, and pretend I was never in the running. I don’t work that way.
I sit down, pick up the phone, and dial the first number on my lead sheet. The line connects after two rings.
“Hi, Mrs. Davison? It’s Michelle Pierce from Pierce Real Estate,” I say.
She hangs up.