Page 4 of Famous Last Words
History? I almost laugh out loud. Tadd Jennings straight up took advantage of me. He used his power and status as the bestsales agent in the company to manipulate me. Sure, I was the idiot who fell for his bullshit, and yeah, I put up with it for far too long, but I was a naive twenty-two-year-old, fresh out of college and new to the city, seduced by an almost thirty-year-old man. I didn’t know any better.
“Tony, please don’t take my listing. I worked so hard for it.” Great. Now I’ve resorted to begging. I’ve officially lost every last ounce of self-respect, and in front of Tadd no less. I’m never going to live this one down. But, dammit, I can’t lose this. “Please, just give me one last chance. I have such a great relationship with the seller. Marietrustsme.” I don’t add that I’m almost certain Marie would take one look at Tadd and slam the door in his face. “I know I can do this. I’ll make some calls as soon as I get back to my desk. I’ll set up private showings. I- I- I’ll door knock if I have to. I can do this, Tony. I’m so close.Please.”
With a heavy exhale, Tony relaxes back in his leather chair, staring at me for a slightly too long moment, chin resting on steepled fingers. His expression is void of any and all emotion, and it’s intimidating to say the least. I’m sure he can hear my heart hammering in my chest, see the sweat beading my forehead. But I’m desperate, and frankly, I don’t care if he can smell my fear. I need this.
“Fine,” Tony practically grunts. “One more chance.”
I hear Tadd scoff beside me, but I don’t chance even a sideways glance in his direction, instead watching Tony with bated breath, awaiting his terms.
“If I don’t have a deal sheet on my desk by the end of the week, then Tadd gets the listing,” he says, ultimately dismissing me as he turns his attention to my ex, offering Tadd the sort of smile I’ve never been on the receiving end of because I don’t have a penis in my panties.
Choosing not to risk waiting around a second longer in case he changes his mind, I jump up like my ass is on fire and make a beeline out of the office to the tune of Tony’s low rumbling voicesaying something indecipherable, accompanied by Tadd’s grating laugh.
It takes everything I have not to break into a full-blown sprint as I make my way down the stairs that connect the executive level to the bustling sales floor. I weave my way through the maze of cubicles, past the glass offices occupied by the high-profile agents, the ones with their own teams, like stupid Tadd, finally making it to my desk.
Hunching over my laptop, I massage my temples, racking my brain with what the hell I’m going to do now despite knowing there really isn’t a lot Icando. I have one lead. One. And, let’s face it, anis-this-still-availableemail from an unknown contact isn’t exactly alead.
Carlton Myers is one of the top five real estate agencies in all of Manhattan. If I lose Allora, I can kiss this jobandreal estate goodbye; no other agency will risk touching me.
I’ve always been ambitious—sometimes to a fault—but despite my drive and determination, growing up I never knew what I wanted to do with my life. All I wanted was to get the hell out of Dodge and find my passion.
It was never my dream to be a real estate agent, but it was never my dream to go home after college and work in my parents’ drugstore, either. Despite graduating magna cum laude, I had no prospects, no idea what I was going to do. Then I found out how much money real estate agents can make, especially in New York City, and I figured why the hell not?
In the three years since I started, I studied for my real estate license and worked my way up the ranks from leasing desk to Tadd’s assistant to junior sales agent. But it seems I’ve reached some sort of an impasse because the problem is, I can’t sell, which is kind of a prerequisite in this industry. I’ve come close a few times. But I just can’t seem to close. I don’t have thatkill-or-be-killedinstinct agents like Tadd have.
But now, it’s literally make or break.
Clicking open my inbox, I scroll to the email I received lastnight from a Mr. Andy Hoffman asking if the Allora apartment is still available. Instead of replying to the email, I grab my phone and dial the cell number that’s listed in the signature at the bottom.
I pick at my fingernails, my heart climbing higher into my throat with every ring as I wait for him to answer. Just as I’m anticipating having to leave a message and overthinking what I’m going to say without sounding like an idiot, a male voice comes through, barking an abrupt, “This is Hoff.”
I sit up a little straighter, my gaze furtively looking about my cubicle for what, I have no idea.
“Oh, um. Hi. Is this Mr. Andy Hoffman?”
“Yeah.” He sounds pissed. Great. Love that for me.
I clear my throat, putting on my most professional voice. “Hi, Mr. Hoffman. This is Fran Keller?—”
“Frankwho?” His voice is drowned out by the sound of a siren wailing in the background of wherever he is.
I quickly jump up from my chair, ducking out through the emergency exit and into the concrete stairwell so I can at least raise my voice without the risk of nosey colleagues listening in.
“FranKeller.” I emphasize my name. “I’m a sales agent with Carlton Myers. You sent an email regarding a property I have listed in Chelsea.”
“Oh, yeah. West Twenty-Ninth?”
“Yes.” I smile, relieved when he doesn’t immediately hang up on me.
“Not really Chelsea, is it?” Andy says, his tone flat.
I swallow hard. A local. Fabulous.
“I mean, it’s on the border, yes. But the price reflects that,” I continue before he can tell me he’s no longer interested. “What the pricedoesn’treflect is that it’s a brand-new state-of-the-art building, right on the High Line. Around-the-clock security. Twenty-fifth floor, one-hundred-and-eighty-degree views of the cityandthe Hudson. Not to mention a designated parking spot in the underground garage which, in Manhattan, can go for amillion on its own.” My heart is racing, and I know I need to lock this down before I talk too much and effectively lose him. “I’ve had a last-minute cancellation this afternoon, and I can meet you at the property for a private showing at a time that suits you.”Be assertive, direct, and don’t take no for an answer.Yeah, right. Easier said than done.
Mr. Hoffman hesitates before saying, “I need to check…”
I fully expect him to tell me he’ll call me back only to never call me back because people suck.
