Page 6 of Out of the Shadow

“Thanks so much for coming all the way out here,” I say. “I’ll call you later and let you know how everything goes.”

She pulls me into a hug. “You better. I can’t wait to hear all about your agency being selected!”

I hold her for a moment longer than I normally would, then she pulls away and grabs my left hand. We both look at my rings—the tiny diamond Dante gave me more than a dozen years ago, layered over my plain gold wedding ring.

She inhales. “Can you do something for me?”

“What?” I brace myself. Juliana has made it very clear that she thinks I’m too young not to move on from Dante. I know she’s not the only one who feels that way, but I disagree.

Her eyes meet mine. “I have a feeling this is going to be great for you. Just keep an open mind. About everything.”

I know what she means about ‘everything,’ and pull my hand away. “A reality TV show isn’t enough for you?” We both let out a hesitant laugh as we leave the bathroom.

“Knock ’em dead.” She grabs her purse and I trail her to the door. After one last quick hug, she leaves the apartment.

I lean against the closed door and strum my fingers against the wood. It’s hard to ignore Juliana when she’s on a tear about something, but I can’t think about that right now. The only thing I can focus on is honoring my promise to Dante. This television show will make the agency, I just know it. I touch my sleek hair and straighten my shoulders. Now, I only have to convince the producers I’m the right pick.

Leaving all my doubts pinned to the door, I take my coffee and cell off the counter and head downstairs to the office. Flipping on all of the lights, I put my things on top of my desk. Giving the office a critical eye, I fluff up the throw pillows on the brown faux leather couch and matching armchairs, and make sure all of the magazines on the coffee tables are neatly stacked.

A copy ofActive Aroostook, with its cover photo of Poppy as Realtor of the Year, stares at me from the top of the pile. I so want to be on that cover next year. I bury the magazine in the middle of the stack, placingLiving Largeon top. The headline announces a group of beautiful people out on a yacht in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Nice life.

It strikes me, not for the first time, that this could all backfire on me. Many of the rich elite don’t take kindly to being the center of attention and this television show will certainly put a spotlight on Aroostook. Maybe more of the old guard will turn up their nose at me, a mere Brooklynite with aspirations to conquer their town.

I scrunch my nose. Magazines likeLiving Largeexist for a reason. People want to see how the top, top, top people live, and experience life through them. That’s what I would be doing with this show. Helping people live out their fantasies.

And helping save our agency in the process.

If I don’t get this gig, I may have to resort to offering real estate test-prep services. A shudder runs through my body as I remember the one and only time I tried my hand at teaching in Sunday School. None of the kids listened.

As I grab my coffee, the blouse I’m wearing rides up my left arm, exposing the tip of my tattoo. I bring my wrist to my mouth and kiss Dante’s name. “We’ve got this.”

The front door opens and I twirl around. A tall guy with thinning blond hair walks into the office, removing his sunglasses and depositing them into his shirt pocket. “Angela?”

“Angie.” And because I recognize his voice from our phone calls, I shake his hand and say, “Nice to finally meet you in person, Blaine.”

He smiles and looks around, and I note his even, white teeth. Shoot. I probably should’ve picked up some whitening strips at the drugstore. “Kaitlyn wasn’t kidding when she said your office is to-die for. This will play perfectly on camera.”

I stand taller. Or, as tall as I can, given I’m only five-foot-three. Thank God for the three-inch heels I borrowed from my sister. “Thanks. We’re proud of it.”

He nods and Kaitlyn, of the purple-streaked red hair fame, joins us. While she introduces me to the camera and lighting people, Blaine wanders around the office.Wow. There’s a lot of people in here. Glad I stocked up on drinks and nibbles.

Blaine instructs the crew to set up in the conference room. Returning to me, he explains, “Today, we’re going to see how you test with the two possible leading men for the series, and take shots of your office. We’ve tweaked our plan for the program since we last talked, so let’s sit down and discuss everything.”

Too nervous to actually drink my coffee, I drop onto the sofa next to Blaine and listen to the revised plan for the show, which is now calledBattle of the Real Estate Matchmakers.

“So,” I say, “I’m going to be the woman real estate agent, and one of the two guys I’m testing with today will be my opponent?”

He chuckles. “Don’t think of him as an ‘opponent.’ More like a co-conspirator of sorts. We’ll want to present him as another agent at your real estate firm. The two of you will be competing on various challenges, but the end goal will always be to match clients with houses, and your agency will get part of the commission no matter which of you makes the sale. It’s a win-win for you. Well, that is if we decide to go with your agency, of course.”

I cross my legs, concentrating to prevent my foot from bouncing all over the place. “And my salary for the show will be the same no matter who comes out ahead?”

He knocks on the coffee table. “Mostly. A bonus will go to the person who wins the most challenges during the series.”

I’m digesting his words when the office door opens and he stands. “Excuse me, that’ll be either King or Trevor. They’re the two men who’ll be auditioning with you today. Sit tight and I’ll introduce you in a sec.”

I turn toward the door and blink in recognition. King is apparentlyKing Hunte. Notorious playboy. Son of rock legend Braxton Hunte, my first celebrity crush. Too bad that apple fell far from the tree. The son lives on social media and, by the look of him, ’roids. Or at least he exercises a whole hell of a lot.He’sup for the role? I stifle a snort. This guy has never worked a day in his beautiful life. I’m shocked he bothered to get his real estate license.

Heisgood-looking, I’ll give him that. Shorter than Blaine by about an inch with cropped blond hair that is styled “just so.” I skim down his body, clad in a white button-down shirt and jeans. The shirt does nothing to hide his extra-broad shoulders and a trim torso that makes every inverted-V jealous. Geez.Get a grip, Angie.

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