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He grins. “You’re right about that.” He pours himself a glass of clear liquid anyway and walks over to desk gesturing to me. “Have a seat.”
I oblige, and he settles himself in his leather chair before adjusting his tie. “So, let’s just get started with the easy stuff. How did you get into real estate, what was your prior work experience, explain some of your most difficult sales and how you pulled it off?"
“I started working at a gas station after I dropped out of college,” I explain. “Long story short, I didn’t have enough money to cover tuition and I was pregnant at the time, so I needed a job. Anyway, during one of my shifts, there was this couple standing in line arguing over this house they were supposed to move into. They were new to California, were from the Midwest like me.”
“Where?” he asks.
“Kansas,” I say and he nods at me to continue. “Anyway, there was this one house. The husband liked it because they had a pool, wife thought it wasn’t child friendly and they just kept going back and forth. So, I told them that I knew a place where the pool was in the back and squared off by a gate so kids couldn’t get there. They asked me to show it to them the next day, but I couldn’t because I wasn’t an agent or anything. But they told me none of the agents they worked with so fargotthem. And they were very specific but also very vague about what they wanted.”
“Ah, one of those,” Meadows comments. “The bane of my existence. So, what did you do?”
“Well, I got in contact with the agent who owned the house and convinced him to show them around.” I shrug. “He didn’t want to at first because he didn’t think they had enough money. Talk about misjudging someone.” I scoff. “The agent was a typical star obsessed city-slicker, on the lookout for the next latest movie star to take the place, not regular Joe and Anna Sweeney from Kansas.” I shake my head and look at Meadow.
“Ultimately, they didn’t end up getting that house, but the wife insisted I tag along too while they looked at more houses to hear my thoughts, I eventually found a house myself and recommended it to them. That ended up being their dream home.” I smile, remembering the feeling of accomplishment I felt, the joy of helping someone else with a future I didn’t have. “They still send me Christmas cards every year.”
“That’s touching.”
I shrug. “So, after that, I never could quite get rid of the euphoria of helping someone choose their home. And I wanted it again, So I worked my ass off, got my real estate license, and the rest is history.”
“Love it.” He smiles warmly at me as I finish the story. “I have a daughter who just got married and they’re looking for a place. She doesn’t want me involved at all. Doesn’t trust my taste, she says.” He shakes his head. “It’s bittersweet for me because she’s lived at home all this time. Even with college, she commuted. This will be her first time moving out on her own.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” I can’t help but smile back, remembering Mimi. “My own daughter is a little way away from that just yet, but I can only imagine. I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a whole ass breakdown when my baby flies the coop. I just might move into her basement."
He laughs and the interview continues in the same relaxed manner. We talk about our families a bit more. He tells me about his other daughter who is starting college soon, and I can’t help bragging a little bit about Mimi, proud to show off my little genius.
“So,” he says about ten minutes in, leaning forward on his desk. “Now, here’s the question everyone hates. Tell me why you left your previous employer.”
Even though I prepared myself, I'm taken aback by the tone shift. "Oh, um..."Because he attempted to kiss me and I was too stupid to file a sexual assault charge against him, so he got me fired instead.
But that's too much for an interview. I have to give a more job-friendly version which I practiced at length yesterday.
I keep my expression thoughtful and my body relaxed as I give him the ideal answer. “I guess you could say, it was a simple difference in direction. My old workplace was kind of an old boys’ club and I needed somewhere that encouraged advancement in my career. This looks perfect for that, and you champion individualism and female leadership. I love that."
He smiles at me, and for a second, I think I nailed it. But then the smile turns sharkish. “Come on. You can tell me the real answer. It’s okay.”
I frown at him. “I don’t understand.”
He shrugs and takes a sip of his wine. “I mean, I can’t argue with your methods. Some might, but hey, they get results. They’re stupidly effective, looking at your portfolio.”
“Thank you?” I'm not sure if it's a compliment, though, still confused as to what he’s talking about.
“You're welcome.” He leans toward me and his friendly knowing look turns heated, almost into a leer.
Oh no, scratch the almost. It's definitely a leer, because he licks his lips too. His hand shifts from his knee to mine—oh, why did I take the seat so close to him—and he squeezes. “Of course, to hire you, I would have to judge your methods for myself.”
"Huh?" I say stupidly. I'm still frozen in shock, astounded that this is really happening. I mean, what are the freaking odds of me getting assaulted twice in two weeks?
Come on, Universe. The first time was horrible enough. This is just overkill.
While I'm lost in thought, Mr. Meadows, is in motion.
His hand travels up my knee dangerously close to being up my skirt.
The feel of him squeezing my thigh again shocks me out of my senses.
I jump out of my chair and it clatters to the floor behind me. I glare at him. "What thefuckdo you think you’re doing?”
He blinks at me and then looks almost offended. "Come on, you can drop the act now. I said you don’t have to pretend with me."
