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Quirking an eyebrow, Carmela stared at her. “Is that how your generation asks for help?”
“Pretty sure you’re a millennial too,” she retorted.
“You’re just an elder millennial.”
Carmela nearly collapsed at the blow. She didn’t know what was more insulting, the millennial designation or being called an elder. “I am not a millennial,” she managed without fainting.
Rhiannon laughed and pulled out her cellphone. After a few quick taps, she looked up at her with a triumphant smile.
“According to your public social media page you were born in 1980. That makes you a millennial.”
Carmela’s nose flared. “I’m not a technology obsessed narcissist. I played outside with other human children, not zoned out in front of the computer. When I was growing up, there was no twenty-four-hour TV. At the end of the day, they’d broadcast the flag while playing The Star-Spangled Banner and actually sign o .” She knew she was getting wound up but couldn’t stop. “Do you even know what it’s like to be bored? To sit at the pharmacy or somewhere with your parents without a smart phone to entertain you? For the love of . . . I still have a landline!”
With wide eyes, Rhiannon looked at her like she was completely nuts. “Wow. I didn’t know I was going to hit such a nerve. You should really talk to someone about this self-hatred you’ve got going on. It’s not my fault the Internet says 1980 to 1997. That makes us part of a team. So, can you help me or what?”
“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to help you with common sense,” she snapped, fully agitated. “You have to
plug appliances in before they’ll work, or did your cell phone not teach you that,” she added for good measure.
Before Rhiannon could find the cable hanging in the back, Carmela leaned into her personal space and into the cloud of intoxicating perfume that had mesmerized her at the open house. With a few quick motions, she plugged in the machine and got it running.
To her credit, Rhiannon held her own, keeping her body pressed against Carmela’s arm instead of taking a step back and giving up her ground.
“Since I apparently have to do this for you, you might as well tell me what you want. It can make lattes, cappuccinos, regular co ee. Like ten di erent things. So what do you want?” Carmela snapped, having made such a big deal about it, she was forced to see it all the way through.
“Oh, surprise me,” Rhiannon replied as if not at all bothered by their arguing.
Carmela rolled her eyes and made her the same sweet latte she was making for herself. Instead of leaving when she finally had her drink in hand, Rhiannon rested against the sink and sipped it while Carmela made a latte for herself.
“So are you going to hate me forever? Because if you are, that’s going to make working together really awkward,” she said as if talking casually about the weather.
“Oh, you mean am I going to get over your unethical behavior when you don’t even seem the least bit remorseful?” Carmela replied.
“What did I do that was unethical? I didn’t lie,” she countered.
Carmela’s laugh was too loud. It sounded more demented than wry. “You were lying from the moment you weaseled your way in! Acting like those people’s daughter. Then coaxing information out of me just to twist it all around to try and screw me over. Not to mention the bogus concern
over mold to coerce my clients into practically giving that house away. No, you’re right. None of that is unethical,” she added sarcastically.
“Hold up.” Rhiannon set down her co ee. “So you’re mad at me because you made a series of faulty assumptions and acted accordingly?”
“Assumptions?” Carmela laughed again, sounding more unhinged by the second. This girl had crawled under her skin and set her on fire. The angrier she got the more amused the shark became.
“Ummmm . . . yeah. Assumptions. You assumed those people were my parents. I never said they were, and it wasn’t my job to correct you.” She held out two fingers. “You assumed I was asking questions for I don’t know . . . my personal curiosity? As if a person asking questions at an open house isn’t trying to educate themselves about a major purchase.” She added a third finger to her annoying little display. “Finally, you assumed I was right about the black stain by the pump being mold rather than inspecting it yourself. . . How the hell is any of that my fault?”
Rhiannon had launched a flaming bag of shit at her and she didn’t know what to do with it. When she twisted the facts, it didn’t sound the way Carmela was sure it happened.
Before she could formulate a response, Liz strolled in with her empty mug in her hand. “Oh good. I’m glad you’re both here. It’s Marie’s birthday. She’s coming in later. I’m taking us all to lunch and want you both to come. Rhi, you’ll get a chance to meet most of the other agents. It’ll be fun.”
Rhi? What the hell?
“Great, thanks. I can’t wait,” Rhiannon replied with a megawatt smile.
I bet she was the kind of kid that pulled someone’s hair and then started crying like she’d been attacked. Such a fake little brown noser.
“How about you, Carm? Can you make it to lunch?” Liz asked as the machine whirled and filled her mug with black co ee.
“Of course,” she smiled, her dark eyes intent on Rhiannon. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
