Page 7 of Chosen Road

She shared about the recent scientific discoveries with respect to the innate intelligence of the gut, describing it as a second brain, and the bitter effects of ignoring it.

She labeled that feeling of dissatisfaction that brews wherever lack of boundaries abides as resentment and explained the silver lining of how that resentment is a sign that we know we’re intrinsically worthy even when we behave otherwise.

I wrote, and I wrote, and I wrote as she described my normal, struggling to see my thoughts in another light. failing to assimilate any of it.

Chapter 3: One Squeeze for No

Gus

It took me ten years to make my way up to the luxury homes division at the real estate office where I worked. I coveted that position, almost since day one. It turned out to be both more and less what I expected.

The homes were outrageous, as were the commissions, but the people left a lot to be desired. Truthfully, there were asshole clients at every level of mortgage, but there was something about finding that perfect house for a first-time buyer, or a young family, that thrilled me in a way these high-end clients could not.

Occasionally, I still got that feeling, but in their pay grade, they expected perfection. They expected perfection because they could afford to pay for it. My job was to find it for them.

I unlocked the front door and stepped inside. I loved being the first one there. I secured the lock and headed for my office. Here was even better. My space within my space.

Having a separate office rather than a cubicle was another bonus of the luxury homes division. I missed the camaraderie, though. Here, it was just Jacqueline and me.

I sighed. Since Amber had complained about Jacqueline a few months ago, I’d kept a sharper eye and I was not thrilled with what I learned.

Unbeknownst to me, she had separated from her husband and moved into an apartment with her young daughter.

When I expressed surprise, she answered sadly, “Not everybody is lucky enough to have a Gus.”

It was then that I made my first mistake. Thinking to deflect, I joked, “Not sure my wife would agree with you, but thanks for the compliment.”

Her eyes lit with interest, and I wished I’d bit my damn tongue.

“She should appreciate you. She doesn’t know how lucky she is,” she responded.

And… my second mistake leaped up like I hadn’t a moment to spare. Her compliment filled out my chest like the wind in a sail. It felt great, and it showed on my face.

She tilted her head to the side and studied me.

I looked at her like a woman and not an assistant. She was young, thirty-four at the oldest. Petite and curvy, her long blond hair hung in curls down her back. Her big blue eyes looked back at me steadily as she watched me take her in for the first time.

Queue mistake number three. I flushed.

I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, Jacqueline. I hope you find someone who deserves you.”

“Yes,” she murmured, her face serious as she held my gaze. “Me too.”

That conversation happened over a month ago. Since then, I actively avoided having any kind of private conversation with her. Although I wasn’t attracted to her, I could not deny she was beautiful. More than that, her interest in me buoyed my flagging confidence and that could not be a good thing. I figured if I ignored it, it would pass.

As my assistant, she set up open houses and checked the staging before I got there. I got into the habit of showing up with only seconds to spare so as not to overlap our time. Other than a few well-aimed compliments, I could not fault her behavior, but I felt the difference, and it made me uncomfortable.

I set my take-out coffee from my favorite coffee shop on the desk and unpacked my laptop.

Real Estate was the perfect job for me. I’d always been a people person. Even when a situation had nothing to do with me, I stuck my nose in it. My mother claimed I would have made an excellent doctor. I might have if I was any good in math and science, which I decidedly was not.

The first time I saw Amber was late afternoon at that same coffee shop. She sat with her long legs crossed, foot bouncing with agitation as she sipped her coffee and drummed her fingers on the small round table.

Something about her called to me. I assessed her quickly. Half of my brain, the logical half, warned me not to intrude. Obviously furious, I doubted she would welcome my interference. She’d probably see it as me hitting on her, which I wasn’t.

My lips twisted wryly. Although, I wouldn’t rule it out.

I carefully slid into the chair across from her. She raised narrowed, glittering, amber eyes to my face and pierced me with them.

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