After a twenty-minute conversation with a lovely software developer named Ylermi Yeardsley who’d gotten sick of the Florida humidity and stress of hurricane season, Carmela had an appointment for that evening.
In a flurry of activity, she dove into her computer files and started putting together an absolutely killer presentation. By tonight, she was going to know more about the house and its comparables than any other agent presenting pitches. Carmela was going to show Yeardsley what a real professional looked like. He’d have no choice but to pick her.
FROM ACROSS THE OFFICE, Rhiannon watched Liz go into Carmela’s o ce with a thin folder in her hand. She hadn’t
intended to snoop exactly, but after failing to print some flyers she wanted to drop o around the city, they’d drawn her attention.
Something about the way Carmela’s usually impassive face lit up made her curious. She’d been so nice at the open house when they first met, albeit under false pretenses, but ever since then she’d been hostile. Rhiannon obviously hadn’t meant to torpedo the deal, and she wished Carmela would just get over it.
Doesn’t she know all’s fair in love and real estate? Apparently not. Rhiannon was still watching when Liz emerged a few minutes later and Carmela locked down her o ce like she expected a herd of walking dead. Something was definitely up.Giving up on the old technology that hated her as much as Carmela did, Rhiannon went to her small, simple o ce. It wasn’t fancy, but it was hers and it had a door, which was more than she’d ever had. At her old agency they just had long tables and docking stations all crammed together.
Privacy and silence were both nonexistent.
On her laptop, something she actually knew how to use, Rhiannon quickly went into the agency’s shared drive. Two clicks later, she learned what all the fuss was about.
“Holy shit,” she muttered to herself.
With her palm pressed against her chest, Rhiannon forced herself to calm down and focus. Scrolling through Carmela’s lame powerpoint presentation, Rhiannon’s eyes widened. If her comps were right, she was looking to list a five-million-dollar house.
Fumbling for her phone, Rhiannon opened the calculator app. The listing agent’s cut would be one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Just the idea of it made her head spin. It was a life changing deal, no question about that. It would get
her out of her parents’ garage apartment for one, but it could also make her career. One deal always led to the next. That’s what her parents always said. Her mind raced at the limitless possibilities.
Rhiannon rubbed her jaw as she jumped to her feet and started pacing. Her gut warned that making the wrong move could cost her dearly, but the ambitious voice in her head was so damn loud.
Closing her door, she grabbed her cellphone again and dialed the realtors’ legal hotline. It was her first time getting pre-clearance, but she knew it was a must. She’d have to do more than play dumb with Liz if her plan went sideways. She needed to seriously cover her ass.
As soon as she got a lawyer on the phone that sounded as old as she did, she explained her situation. The nice lady ensured her that it wasn’t a violation to pitch to a person who hadn’t yet signed with a listing agent. After confirming her name and the log number for her call just in case someone asked later, Rhiannon did a little dance to work out the jitters.
When she was calm, she went into professional mode and picked up her phone again. “Mr. Yeardsley, hello. My name is Rhiannon Rodriguez. I’m a real estate agent and I’d like to speak with you about your beautiful home.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
IN THE LUCKY gray suit Rhiannon picked up from the dry cleaner with just enough time to shower, dress, and throw on some makeup, she was driving over the short bridge connecting West Palm Beach to Palm Beach island.
As soon as she crossed onto the island, she was transported into another world. On the only main road barreling toward her life-changing opportunity, nothing but manicured lawns and stately homes overlooking the ocean greeted her. Even the sunset looked di erent on the island, as if the golds and oranges were more brilliant.
Rhiannon took a deep breath and tried to ignore the imposter syndrome. The little voice in her head yelled at her to turn the car around.
You’re going to make a fool of yourself. That man is an extremely successful person; he’s going to see right through you.
Her chest tightened and she clenched her jaw. Instead of turning back, she cranked up her favorite Lady Gaga jam and belted along with the song. The doubt couldn’t overcome her if she literally drowned it out and blocked any footholds.
When her GPS told her to stop at a massive iron gate and tall hedge blocking the estate from view, she turned o the music. After a series of long, cleansing breaths, Rhiannon
gave herself a pep talk, lowered her window, and hit the button on the box outside the gate.
A moment later, she was driving up a winding drive and toward a stunning exercise in modern architecture. The entire wall of plate glass windows made the reason for the high privacy fences obvious.
Once outside her car, Rhiannon felt small. Against the darkening sky, the lit-up house looked like something out of a movie. The walk up to the house featured a poured cement passage flanked by long rectangular ponds full of colorful koi fish.
Taking a final, deep breath, Rhiannon waited until the pleasant looking man with white hair and a big square build opened the glass front door.
“Mr. Yeardsley, a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for making time for me,” she said, her hand extended.
“Please, call me Larry,” he said in a mild Finnish accent before stepping back and letting her inside.
Graciously, he o ered Rhiannon a tour of the house before allowing her to set up her laptop in his home theater.