Chapter Thirteen
The tentative knockon his office door announced MaryAnn’s presence. “Mr. Monroe? Mr. Jackson is here to see you.”
James glanced at the clock on his computer and frowned. “Did we have an appointment?”
His receptionist predictably flushed bright red. “N-no, sir. But he said you said to come by whenever.”
He hadn’t said anything of the sort, but arguing with the man wouldn’t accomplish anything. “I have a few spare minutes. Bring him back.”
MaryAnn’s head bobbed up and down before she scurried out of the office. James saved the reports he was working on and brought up the Jackson account to refresh his memory on the finer details. A few minutes later, MaryAnn reappeared with a short, thin man suffering from a severe case of male-pattern baldness behind her.
“Thank you, MaryAnn. Mr. Jackson.” James held out a hand and barely resisted the urge to sneer at Jackson’s clammy, limp handshake. “Have a seat. What can I do for you this afternoon?”
“Well, I just assumed you’d want to meet in person to discuss our strategy going forward. What did you do about our previous agent?” The weasel across from him smirked. “I trust that situation’s been handled?”
An image of Olivia, whimpering and whining while she took his cock in her gorgeous, well-paddled ass flashed in James’s mind. “It’s been taken care of.”
“Well, hopefully that means she no longer works here. She didn’t seem all that interested in selling our house in the first place, and that email was just the icing on the cake.”
He swallowed the irritation, bitter as it was. The urge to defend his wife was strong, but he wasn’t about to get into a pissing contest with the little weasel. “I’ve spoken to Olivia at length about your situation. She had some very good suggestions. Did you implement any of her ideas?”
The weasel snorted. “Like leaving a couple dirty dishes in the sink really hurt anything. Please tell me you have some better ideas than that vapid bitch.”
“Excuse me?”
The ice in James’s tone apparently didn’t affect weasels. The man smirked and leaned in like he was sharing a juicy secret. “Look, props to you for scoring such a nice piece of ass. And I’m sure those big doe eyes and bangin’ body probably sell houses, but come on. We both know there’s not much going on upstairs.”
James’s fingers curled into a fist on top of his desk. “Mr. Jackson, I’m afraid this isn’t going to work out.”
“What isn’t?”
“Listing your home with us. You’ll need to find another agency.”
The look of shock on the little weasel’s face was worth every bit of business they might lose. “What kind of games are you playing, Monroe?”
“No games. While Olivia’s response to your email was unprofessional and unacceptable, your behavior in this short meeting has shown me she probably put up with far more from you than she should have. I will not entertain clients who treat my agents poorly. And I most certainly will not do business with anyone who sees my wife as nothing more than a, how did you put it? Oh, yes.” He smiled, savoring the way the man’s eyes widened with fear. “A nice piece of ass. Good day, Mr. Jackson.”
The color drained from the weasel’s face, and then returned with such a vengeance James worried for a moment he might have a stroke. Jackson popped out of the chair like a, well, weasel. “You’ll be hearing from our lawyer and you’ll be closing your doors within a month, I promise you that.”
“I doubt it, but I look forward to explaining your sexist attitude to your lawyers. Have a good afternoon, Mr. Jackson.”