Page 8 of Waiting for Acceptance
“You guys know how I work, there’s no pressure,butif you’re ready to make an offer we can get things moving as soon as this afternoon. I have one more showing after you guys today so I can call Amy to get things started before I ever even get back to the office.”
“Yes! We definitely want to make an offer.” Mrs. Johnson rubs her hand over her growing baby bump as she takes in what they hope will be their new home.
Slow season my ass, Marcus.
I’ve never had a slow season. I know what work has to go into keeping my sales up during the holiday months, and it always pays off. I didn’t get a marketing degree for nothing, so I spend most of my time making sure I don’t let opportunities fallthrough the cracks when I have social media at my fingertips and word of mouth doing the Lord’s work.
Having chatty friends all in different lines of work really comes in handy. Those beautiful ladies hand my business card out like Halloween candy and I couldn’t be more grateful for their commitment to keeping me relevant in my line of work.
Once I had someone reach out to me telling me they had some redhead—that would be Taylor—reset their dislocated arm and send them home from the ER with my card. Because, apparently, in the course of their conversation to help keep him distracted, he told her he was looking for a house and she knew just the girl that could help with that.
I hop back in my car, ready to shoot off a text to Amy about getting the paperwork ready for the Johnsons, before grabbing a coffee and heading to my last showing of the day when I realize I don’t have the listing sheet for the house I’m headed to next. It’s basically every single detail we could possibly want or need on a house all on one sheet of paper and I left the damn thing at the office.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself, letting out a frustrated exhale before accepting the fact that I won’t be getting my afternoon espresso, and head straight for the office. When I get back I see Fitz's fancy-ass Range Rover parked right out front and inwardly groan.
It’s been a week since he started working at Coleson and he has been unexpectedly quiet. He just types away on his computer, only shuts his door when he takes phone calls, and as an agent, he spendsverylittle time in the field. Though he hasnoproblem making little remarks about other people not making as many visits as they should be.
Hypocrite.
“You have two showings marked off your schedule today, try to get them replaced.”
“Be sure you’re posting on your media pages more, don’t become irrelevant.”
“Time to go through past clients and send out equity stats and follow-ups.”
Like, honestly, who died and made you king?
Oh my god, I should call and check on Jack.
“Hey Amy, let's get the paperwork started on the townhome off Indiana for the Johnsons. I don’t want her to have that baby before she has the chance to pick paint colors.” I smile and she claps her hands together excitedly.
“Aww, I am so glad they picked the townhouse, that place is gorgeous!”
“I know, I’m about to run again so just text me if you need anything that I may not have put in their file. Oh, and here’s your final color analysis. You, my dear, are a summer.” She smiles and claps her hands together in thanks as I hand the file folder and three little bottles of makeup to her. As soon as I turn to walk to my office I run into a body instead, letting out an involuntary huff.
“Oh, sorry,” I shake my hair out of my face and look up, only to be met with those frustratingly hypnotic blue eyes.
“Where’s the fire?” he deadpans.
“Your office, better get in there,” I quickly reply. I take a step to the left and he actually has the audacity to step in front of me.
“I’m not sure I’m qualified to put out a fire.” He quirks a brow, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his dress pants.
“I didn’t say anything about putting it out.” I press the palm of my hand to his chest and shove him out of the way as I march towards my office. I don’t bother turning around to see his reaction, though I canfeelhis gaze burning into my back. As I look around my office I don’t see the folder I’m looking for anywhere. I check the clock to see I have twenty minutes to get across town so I opt to print out another one instead, hoping Iremember all the personalized notes I made myself on the back of the last one.
“There.” I blow out a breath, closing my eyes to try and calm my anxious mind, but the more time that passes that I don’t hear my printer whirring to life, the less my calming technique works. I turn around and see that my printer isn’t making all those dreadful noises because it’sgone.
“Amy!” I yell from my office, staring at the empty space with dust surrounding where my printerusedto be.
“Yeah?” she calls back from the front of the office.
“Where the hell is my printer?”
Silence.
“Ames? I really don’t have time for pranks today. Do you know where it is?” I begin walking back to the front, lowering my voice as I get closer to her desk so I’m not yelling in her face when I come to a stop in front of her desk. She opens her mouth, then shuts it again when her eyes cut to someone behind me.
“It’s in my office.” I turn around and see Fitz shrug, completely unbothered. Like he’s not making this day considerably worse every time he appears.
