Top Producer

by Laura Wolfe

  A waiter paused next to us, holding a tray of champagne. Jacqueline lifted a glass and turned to join a group of middle-aged men in suits. My face burned, my pulse racing. Kevin stood near the far window with his back to me, glimpses of his scalp showing beneath his thinning hair. I resisted the urge to approach him and apologize, to tell him I should have listened. Instead, I grasped a flute off the tray and took a long swig, the champagne bubbles exploding in my mouth as I strode through the crowded room toward the exit. Jacqueline had tricked me once again.

  ◆◆◆

  It was Sunday afternoon, two weeks since the grand opening of Arlington on the Park, and Jacqueline was busier than ever. Meanwhile, I’d wasted four hours hosting open houses at two of Jacqueline’s stagnant listings. With my body drooped over my desk, I scanned through recent emails organizing my Monday’s to-do list—nine showings at Jacqueline’s properties, an inspection at 1 p.m., and three new listings to input into the MLS. She’d been dumping increasing loads of work on me now that the new development sucked up more of her time. Between the showings, inspections, marketing duties, buyer tours, and evening networking events she required me to attend, I was working way more hours than I ever did at my consulting job. My days dragged on longer than ever, my hopes and ambitions weighed down by Jacqueline’s betrayal and the news of Emma’s cancer relapse.

  Thankfully, Damon was a welcome distraction. We’d gone out almost every night since our first date. On our third date, he came over to my place, and we watched a cheesy romantic comedy on Netflix. While we pretended to follow the movie, our hands wandered over each other. My fingers followed the contours of his muscles. Soon, we were ripping off clothes as we stumbled into the bedroom, breathless. Nate breaking up with me was the best thing that had ever happened.

  Jacqueline huffed and slammed down her phone. My shoulders tightened as I glanced toward her. She leered toward Kevin’s empty desk.

  “He’s such a waste of space. I’m doing all the work, and somehow he gets fifty percent of the commissions.”

  I bit my tongue, stopping myself from pointing out that I was getting nothing.

  Jacqueline narrowed her eyes. “That person called to view a unit at Arlington yesterday and was told to call back today. Kevin’s pushing buyers onto my days. I know it. He’s setting it up so I’ll have to do all the work.”

  “Wow,” I said, my voice flat.

  She and Kevin had arranged a rotating schedule to handle the showings and Sunday open houses at Arlington on the Park, with Jacqueline complaining loudly and often that she’d gotten another seven units under contract, while Kevin had only sold one.

  Jacqueline’s phone buzzed. “This is Jacqueline.” She leaned forward in her chair. “So, you’re at the sales center now?” The color drained from Jacqueline’s already pale face as she rested her forehead in her hand. “Kevin should be there…The door is locked, and there’s nobody there? Okay, I’ll be right over.” Her fingers squeezed the phone before she dropped it on her desk.

  I planted my feet on the floor, bracing myself for Jacqueline’s outburst. She shoveled her things into her bag.

  “That asshole,” she said under her breath. “He didn’t show up to the open house.”

  An hour-and-a-half later, I was still at the office. I searched comparable properties for a potential new listing one of Damon’s friends had sent to me. Jacqueline stormed through the front door and marched inside.

  Hand on her hip, she hovered over me. “How would you like to get that twenty percent on Arlington on the Park?”

  I looked up, confused. “Yeah. Of course.”

  “Let’s make a phone call.” Jacqueline nodded toward a conference room.

  I stood, and Jacqueline ushered me inside a brightly lit conference room with a large table.

  “Who are we calling?”

  “I think Roger Burton needs to know that Kevin didn’t show up to the open house today. Don’t you? Once he’s kicked off the listing, I’ll bring you in to take his place. You’ll get twenty percent. I’ll get eighty percent. Everyone wins.”

  My jaw clenched. How about fifty-fifty? I wanted to say but held my tongue. Even twenty percent of the massive development would be a windfall. Still, something turned in my gut and warned me not to get involved. I’d already betrayed Kevin once, and I didn’t want to do it again, especially after he’d tried to help me. Whatever issues Jacqueline had with him weren’t my problem. Before I could respond, Jacqueline pushed a button, and a phone rang through the speaker on the table.

  “Yep.” Roger’s gruff voice grunted on the other end.

  “Hi, Roger. It’s Jacqueline.”

  “Sell any units today?”

  “Yes, I did. That’s actually why I’m calling. It seems I’ve been selling almost all of the units, and Kevin has only sold a couple.” She paused, but Roger did not speak. “Today was Kevin’s day to host the open house, and he didn’t show up.”

  “No one hosted the open house? Goddammit!” A bang echoed through the speaker. “That was your number one responsibility!”

  “I drove to the sales center as soon as I realized Kevin neglected his duties. I sold another unit, too. My point is, Kevin is dead weight. He’s not reliable.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Jesus Christ!”

  The line went dead. Jacqueline’s mouth hung open.

  “Should you call him back?” I asked.

  She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “No. He won’t pick up. He’s probably calling Kevin right now. No doubt Kevin will make up some lie to make me look bad.”

  Jacqueline tapped her nails on the table, staring off into space. Then she ranted about every mistake Kevin had made since they’d begun selling the development. I wanted to leave and get back to my price analysis. The phone rang through the speaker as I stood.

  Jacqueline motioned for me to sit down. I did as she instructed, my forehead resting on my fingertips.

  “This is Jacqueline.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been causing problems.” It was Maeve.

  “Not really. Kevin is the one who hasn’t been fulfilling his duties. I thought the owner should know.”

  “Well, now he knows, and he’s not very happy. You need to come to me with these issues, not bother Roger.”

  “Okay.” Jacqueline rolled her eyes. “What are we going to do about Kevin?”

  “I just spoke to him. He said you were scheduled to host the open house today. You were the one who forgot.”

  I sucked in a breath and looked up.

  Jacqueline’s face tightened. “No. That’s not right. You can check the schedule.” She slid out her laptop, fingers pounding against the keys as she logged into the shared schedule. Her eyes remained glued in one spot, their color darkening. “That son of a bitch.”

  “I’m looking at it,” Maeve said. “Kevin was right. It was your day to host.”

  Jacqueline’s lips puckered, her face eyes constricting. I could almost see the steam coming from her ears.

  “Kevin offered to switch weeks with you if you’d like.”

  “No. The schedule is wrong. Kevin changed it without notifying me.” Jacqueline’s hands rested on the table, her fists clenched so tightly that her fingers had turned white.

  36

  Damon wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into his chest. His skin was rough against my cheek and carried the scent of exotic spices. He peered at me, his eyes sparkling like the ocean. The night blackened the windows behind him. The corners of his mouth curved into a smile. I kissed him. He squeezed my hand before turning back toward my shiny 60” flat-screen TV.

  “Does that look centered?” he asked, sliding it a couple of inches to the right, the curve of his pec muscles visible through his T-shirt.

  I stepped back. “That’s good.” My eyes were drawn from my new TV to my new boyfriend, who’d come straight from his four-hour study session to help set up my entertainment center. Even with his wrinkled shirt and messy
hair, I wouldn’t change a thing.

  Damon plugged a bundle of cords into the back of the TV, then pulled the cable box toward him, eyebrows furrowed as he inspected the back panel. “Do you have a screwdriver?”

  I admired the thin, weightless remote with one hand while waving toward the stack of narrow drawers at the edge of my kitchen with the other. “I think there’s one in the drawer over there.”

  Damon wandered toward the drawers and began rifling through the top one.

  “Did I tell you I talked to Emma yesterday?” I said.

  “No. How did she sound?”

  “Okay. I mean, considering. I don’t know how she does it.” In truth, the deadened tone in my sister’s voice had sent a worrying chill through me. She’d given me some details from her multiple visits to the oncologist. They’d taken her blood, performed biopsies, and conducted another MRI. Yet, I couldn’t help wondering if it was all for nothing, if the disease would grow more resilient than my sister in the end. The more I learned about medicine, the more I realized the doctors had no more control than I did. “I’m hoping Jacqueline will give me a day off soon, so I can spend some time with Emma. Maybe drive her to an appointment or something.”

  Damon stopped rummaging and stared at me. “She’s lucky she has you.”

  I lowered my hand, looking away. “I guess.”

  While I hadn’t always been there for Emma, not in all the ways that a big sister should have been, I hoped it wasn’t too late to make it up to her. Paying for her medical treatment was a good start. Dad had been forwarding me copies of Emma’s bills, per my request. The bill for the most recent diagnostic tests arrived yesterday. $23,000. The amount didn’t include the chemo or the medications to counteract the effects of the chemo, which would make the first bill seem like a drop in the bucket. Suddenly, buying that BMW didn’t seem like the smartest decision. Maybe Dad was right. I should have gone with something more sensible, like a used Honda or a Ford.

  “Are these real?” Damon crouched over the lowest drawer, which was pulled open with a heap of dishtowels spilling over the side. A sparkling strand of blood-red rubies dangled from his fingers. His other hand scraped against the bottom of the drawer before his fist opened to reveal a matching set of earrings.

  I stepped closer, never having seen the jewelry before. I lifted the necklace from his hand, feeling its solid weight. The angled cuts in the earrings glinted in the lights of the passing traffic from the street below. “They’re beautiful.”

  “Aren’t they yours?”

  “No.”

  “They were under the dishtowels in here.” Damon pointed toward the open drawer, the one I was pretty sure I hadn’t opened in weeks.

  Fear surged through me at the sight of the unfamiliar items, but the memory of my former roommate extinguished the panic. Grace had always sprinkled her truckload of belongings throughout my condo like glitter. Her clothes, shoes, books, makeup, and electronic devices had infiltrated every cupboard and countertop. Yesterday I’d discovered her forgotten Fitbit under the cushion of my living room chair.

  “They’re probably Grace’s. She loved her jewelry, and she was always putting her stuff where it didn’t belong.”

  “I bet she’ll be happy to get these back.” Damon placed the earrings into my palm. “They look like the real deal.”

  “Yeah. I’ll tell her that you found them.” I placed the jewelry on the counter next to last month’s copy of CBR Magazine.

  Damon lifted the magazine and flipped to the earmarked page where my airbrushed face smiled back from a glossy half-page spread. I was happy with the way the photo turned out, a flattering image of me wearing a blue cashmere sweater and black pants with the heels. The two-paragraph bio underneath my photo portrayed me as a wholesome, go-getter who’d busted onto the Chicago real estate scene without any warning.

  “I can’t believe I’m dating a famous realtor.” He looped his arms around me as I chuckled.

  I smiled. Although I was far from famous, new business had been finding me. Since the article, a surge in clients helped make up for Jacqueline screwing me out of my cut of Arlington on the Park. I’d gotten two new listings and four new buyers, all telling me they heard I was one of the “Thirty Under Thirty.” Success breeds more success.

  No one had to know I only made the list because Jacqueline had called in a favor. It wasn’t like I hadn’t put in the time. I’d been working twenty-four/seven for months. I hadn’t reached Top Producer status, but I’d make well into the six figures this year. Not bad for someone who, just a few months ago, was barely making ends meet at her dead-end consulting job. With all of Jacqueline’s showings and appointments and closings, plus my personal clients, I could barely keep my head above water. Someday, I’d have to hire my own assistant. I almost chuckled at the thought, but the image of Natalia, her two kids, and three nannies flickered in my mind. My blood turned cold at the memory of her eyes boring into mine at the broker’s open house.

  Damon’s hands found the buttons on my shirt. He’d given up on finding the screwdriver. I tried to focus on his touch and push away thoughts of Natalia’s threats. I’d been steering clear of the Russian realtor since the afternoon she’d confronted me. She hadn’t sent any hitmen after me. At least, not yet. Her problem seemed to be more with Jacqueline.

  Damon kissed my neck, but my mind refused to switch gears, traveling back to the listing that Jacqueline had stolen from Natalia. Bill’s property lingered on the market, overpriced by a half-million dollars, and not a buyer in sight. Maybe Natalia would get the last laugh.

  Damon pulled away, breath heavy. “What’s wrong?”

  My eyes focused on his. I exhaled, banishing all thoughts of Natalia. My face pressed against him, the stubble of his unshaven face prickling my skin as I led him into the bedroom. “Nothing.”

  ◆◆◆

  “This is Mara.” I held my cell phone to my ear as I hurried down State Street toward the garage where I’d parked my car. I’d left one of Jacqueline’s closings and was heading back to the office to put together some comps for a listing presentation. The past week had been a blur of meetings, showings, phone calls, closings, and inspections.

  “Hi. I’m calling about the studio for sale at 35 East Delaware.”

  The address was one of Jacqueline’s listings, the studio belonging to her suspiciously pregnant friend, Haley. Jacqueline had sloughed off the scheduling of appointments and the handling of showings on me like she did with all her low-end listings. Meanwhile, she kept the big deals, like Arlington on the Park, for herself.

  “I left you a message on your office number, but no one returned my call.”

  “Sorry, I’m a little behind.” My chest tightened as I thought about all the calls I needed to catch up on today. “Are you working with a realtor?” I asked.

  “No, I don’t have an agent yet. I’m in town for the day, and I need to buy something soon before I start my new job. Can I see it today?”

  I inhaled. A few months ago, I would have been ecstatic to get this phone call. Now it was one more thing on my to-do list. But Haley’s listing was my responsibility, and this woman didn’t have an agent. If she ended up buying the condo, I’d get the buyer’s side of the commission, too, even if it was only a studio.

  “Yeah. I can meet you over there.” I pushed my way past a crowd of office workers blocking the sidewalk on their lunch break, recognizing the deadened look in their eyes from my time at Averly Consulting. “How about two o’clock?”

  “Perfect.”

  I wrote down the woman’s name and phone number and called Haley to let her know about the showing, apologizing for the short notice.

  Two hours later, I paced across the lobby of 35 E. Delaware, waiting to meet the potential buyer. Out-of-town buyers were almost always late, not realizing how impossible it was to find an affordable parking space downtown. I swung the keyring around my finger and gazed through the massive lobby windows. Pedestrians of all shapes and s
izes, races and ethnicities, rushed past on the sidewalk outside, everyone hurrying to someplace important, some urgent meeting to attend. The frantic vibe of downtown energized me. It was contagious.

  A woman entered, and I smiled at her. She strode past me and scanned her entry card, unlocking the glass lobby door to the elevator bank. Not my buyer. I nodded at the doorman who scowled down his nose at me. Another big shot Realtor, he was probably thinking. I shifted my weight from foot to foot and checked my phone. It was ten after two. This lady had five more minutes. Then I was bailing.

  The glass door into the elevator bank swung open behind me, and I turned. My foot stepped backward. The impeccably dressed tall blonde was Jacqueline.

  “Hey,” I said.

  Jacqueline jerked sideways, doing a doubletake. “Oh. Hi, Mara.” She smoothed her pants down with her hands.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “I thought I was handling Haley’s showings.”

  “Oh.” She paused and looked back toward the elevators as if I’d asked her a difficult question. “Just checking on a carpet stain in the studio. Haley wanted to know if she should install hardwood floors.” Jacqueline shook her head, her face shiny with perspiration. “There’s no need. No. I mean…I’ll call her.” Her words were jumbled.

  I motioned toward the elevators. “I got a last-minute showing request. No agent.”

  Jacqueline looked at me, not saying anything. Her face was paler than usual.

  “She might be a no-show,” I continued. “I’ll give her five more minutes.”

  Jacqueline nodded. “I’m late for a meeting.” She brushed past me and barged through the tall glass doors, disappearing into a stream of people on the sidewalk.

  I’d never seen her flustered before, not that she’d been flustered by normal people’s standards, but she wasn’t her usual self. Maybe Kevin’s efforts to get under her skin were working. Or maybe she was coming down with something—the flu or a fever? Leave it to Jacqueline to try to work through it.