di erent than the next finding comparables was more art than skill.
“Hey, you got a second?” Liz asked as she leaned in her doorway.
Carmela fantasized about saying no. She knew what Liz wanted to talk about, and she’d happily avoid the conversation, but she moved her barely touched lunch to the side instead. “Sure.”
“So I met your little spy,” she said, wry grin firmly in place. “What an unusual person. Where do you think she got that name from?”
“I have no idea,” she replied, uninterested in musing about her.
Liz crossed one leg over the other and relaxed into the chair’s backrest. “She’s got a lot of raw energy. You know she’s managed to get five listings and close two deals in her first couple of months. Considering the cesspool she works out of, that’s pretty impressive. Imagine what she could accomplish in a professional environment with ethical mentors?”
Carmela wanted to play it cool and keep some credibility when she voiced her opinions, but she was too annoyed by even having to have the conversation. “Are you seriously thinking about recruiting her, Liz? Really? She’s already proven she has no moral compass. Her little game could have cost my clients thousands in unnecessary work. That doesn’t trouble you?”
“And you never made a rookie mistake that could have cost a client thousands?” Liz countered with a raised eyebrow. “The di erence is that you had someone looking over your work and answering your questions. She doesn’t.”
Carmela bit the inside of her cheek.
As she considered her next objection, Liz carried on with increasing momentum. “Be honest, Carm. You haven’t liked
a single new agent in ten years. There’s always something that doesn’t meet your exacting standards. Yes or no?”
“She was trained in a viper pit! What do you think she’s going to be like when she gets here? Ask her how she got all those leads as a new agent when she didn’t have anything a month ago. I bet she stole them from someone in her o ce.
She’s not a baby chick that fell out of the nest. She’s a snake.” Carmela knew she was ranting and had thrown all credibility out the window.
“Are you sure you’re not just pissed because she got the better of you when you weren’t paying attention? She’s putting you through your paces and you’re feeling a little soft. A little sluggish and exposed,” she said, entirely too amused by Carmela’s distress.
“If you compare me to a racehorse, I’m going to scream,”
she replied flatly.
“I think the challenge will be good for you. Plus, don't you think we've grown a little stagnant here? Don’t you want some new blood? New ideas?”
She shook her head and sighed. There was no sense in fighting after a clear defeat. “You don't need my blessing and you've already made up your mind, but don't come crying to me when she runs up your errors and omissions insurance.”
Liz stood and started for the door. “Does that mean you don’t want to meet her with me tomorrow?”
Carmela shoved a forkful of mixed greens in her mouth.
She didn’t dignify the ridiculous question with a response and was glad that her phone rang just in time to spare her some indignity.
CHAPTER FIVE
SITTING in her dad’s car outside the Spanish style two story building, Rhiannon took long, cleansing breaths as she finished her meditation video. Getting focused was critical before her big meeting with Elizabeth Stein, the well-regarded broker behind the Paragon Agency. One day, people would talk about her with the same esteem they treated Stein. She just needed to get the chance to prove herself.
After sitting in the car for half an hour so she wouldn’t be late, Rhiannon got out and straightened her best light gray suit and favorite, crisp white shirt. After ironing it three times until it was perfect, the thing could probably walk away on its own.
“You got this,” she muttered to herself as she grabbed her messenger bag and prepared to go inside the historic building at the end of Antique Row, where dozens of little shops sold some amazing finds.
As a kid, she’d loved going into all the stores with her parents. They’d been flipping houses since before it was cool, and her mom always found something special to put in each home. Rhiannon’s favorite had been a seventeenth century door her dad had laid into the floor of a foyer and covered in epoxy. It had also been the first project she’d been allowed to help with.
Now, she was standing in front of her future. The first step toward validating everything she’d been working so hard for. Skirting the tiled fountain and heading for the steps leading up to the second floor, Rhiannon tried to keep her sister’s voice out of her head. Despite her best e orts, her nasally voice rang in her ears. It called her all the things she feared were true. Fake. Loser. Imposter. Waste.
Rhiannon fixed her mom’s pearls strung around her neck and straightened her spine. This was going to be hers. With borrowed confidence, she stepped inside.
The calm, quiet elegance of Paragon was nothing like the chaos of her o ce. It was sort of like comparing Olympic figure skating with unregulated roller derby.
“Good morning.” The receptionist behind the curved, transparent desk smiled as she greeted her. Another thing her agency didn’t have. At her place, they stalked the door ready to pounce on anyone that stumbled inside. “Ms. Stein is expecting you,” she said as she stood and showed her to an impeccable conference room.