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NIGHT HAD FALLEN on Carmela’s extraordinarily long day. With her heels discarded in the floor of her car and her blazer hanging on the back of the passenger seat, she looked as dismantled as she felt.
Slipping on the flip flops she kept in her trunk for pedicures, Carmela walked past Liz’s SUV and up the steps to the o ce. Quietly, she slunk toward the only light in the otherwise dark, silent o ce.
Carmela was grateful for the dark. It not only matched her mood, but it also made it easier to betray her principles.
“I was wondering if you’d ever come back,” Liz said without looking away from her computer screen as she continued typing.
“You should know me better than to wonder,” she replied, dropping into the seat across from her desk. The same place she’d sat this morning, though that already felt like a week ago.
Liz closed the laptop that had been illuminating her face.
“Did you make the right decision then?”
Carmela o ered a dry, lopsided smile. “That’s the hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it?”
r /> After thinking and over thinking, she’d come to a decision, but time would only tell if it was right or not.
“I’m sure Mr. Yeardsley isn’t the only one eager to know your verdict,” she said, pulling o her reading glasses as she watched Carmela intently.
“Then I’m happy to inform all of you that I’ll work the deal with that cunning little shark,” she said as her shoulders tensed. “But only for a sixty-forty split.”
Money wasn’t Carmela’s objective, but if she was going to su er the indignity of having to share what was hers, she needed top billing. It was about respect and seniority. A clear signal that she was in charge.
“Something tells me Ms. Rodriguez will be willing to agree to those terms,” Liz replied as she jotted down the note.
“I have a terrible feeling about this, Liz. Working in partnerships isn’t easy, you know that. Even people who know and trust each other blow up when it comes to deals way smaller than this one.”
Liz nodded knowingly. “I’ve already been thinking about that. It’s probably a good idea to get it all in writing. Not just the split commission terms, but expectations and responsibilities. You’re also going to have to teach her quite a bit, Carm. I don’t think she gets how high stakes this is and how hard it is to sell something so expensive.”
“Call the brat and let’s tell her about all the strings attached to her good news,” Carmela replied as she tried not to regret her decision. “Then I’ll send Yeardsley the agreements and disclosures to sign.”
As her mind raced, all she could think about was every single way this could go wrong. How blowing this opportunity might tarnish her name in the exclusive neighborhood before she even got a chance to prove herself on her own.
CHAPTER TWELVE
NORMALLY, Carmela and Rhiannon would have driven to the listing together. If she didn’t hate everything about her, she would have suggested it. But it was bad enough that she was stuck with her on the deal; she didn’t have to be stuck with her in a car too. So instead, she listened to her favorite late 80s dance playlist while she took the scenic route along the water alone.
Yeardsley had been called away to San Francisco for some kind of tech emergency Carmela barely understood. That meant they would have to acquaint themselves with the house alone, at least until the photographers arrived.
Using the code Yeardsley gave them, Carmela let herself in the gates. Her lip twitched when she saw the familiar sedan and tacky bumper stickers. If she cared about the brat, she’d tell her to remove them and invest in a full detail wash.
Clients usually judged an agent’s success by the car they drove, and she was sending all the wrong signals. She had no intention of saying a word.
Inside, Rhiannon was snapping pictures with her smartphone.
“What the hell are you doing? We have a professional coming to take pictures and capture the virtual tour,”
Carmela snapped, already hot and annoyed despite the early hour.
Rhiannon continued taking her pictures. “I’m not an idiot. It’s for social media so we can build a little buzz.”
Carmela picked up the purse Rhiannon left at the foot of the stairs and tucked it along with hers in the hall closet.
“You really think that someone who can a ord this place follows you on social media?” She laughed.
Rhiannon, standing in the chef’s kitchen, put her phone down and glared. “Obviously not. But it will get a lot of comments and likes, so when I pay to promote it to the people who can a ord it, it will have a better chance of drawing their attention.”
“Good luck with that,” Carmela replied for want of anything better to say. She didn’t use online marketing and didn’t know enough to shut her down.
