“It’s not encouraged. But it is possible.”
I shrug. “Not that that would have ever been of interest to me. I don’t plan on falling in love. Ever.”
Her eyes widen. She gapes at me. “Ever?”
“Nope. I’ve seen what love can do. It ruins lives. It hurts people. There’s nothing but heartache at the end of that road.”
She exhales slowly. “I’m sorry you’re so jaded.”
“It’s not jaded. Just realistic.”
“So what about sex? Where does that fit in for you?”
“Sex without love suits me just fine. The guy gets what he needs; I get what I need. It’s a win-win for everyone. I’ve never met a guy who has wanted it any other way, in fact. I think most of them find it refreshing to find a girl who approaches sex the same way they do. Most men want sex with no strings attached. That’s been my experience, anyway.”
“Wow.” Isabella pauses and bites her lip. She looks as though she wants to say something but is restraining herself.
“What?” I urge her.
“It’s just that…” She hesitates again. “Well, don’t be offended, but that side of you reminds me of your cousin. She always seemed to have such a wall up. She seemed to distance herself through sex, through promiscuity. I don’t know if that makes sense or not. She never seemed to be able to get close to any of the guys she slept with, not even her so-called boyfriend. God, what a loser he was. Anyway, it seemed like Emma used sex as a way of keeping guys away instead of bringing them close. I see that now.”
“Well, I guess we were more alike than I realized,” I say.
She stares at me for a long moment, and then shakes her head. “No, you’re really not that much alike.”
“Why not?”
“For one, you seem to have a heart buried underneath that hard shell of yours.”
I give her a faint smile. “Hard shell. I like that. Fits me. I’m like a tortoise.” Just then, a framed photo on the nightstand catches my eye. It’s of a striking, extraordinarily handsome man. “Who’s that?”
She glances at the photo, and a soft smile creeps over her face. Then a blush rises up to her chest, spreads over her neck, and up to her face. “That’s my fiancé. Anthony.”
“He’s very handsome.”
She nods, but then another look flits across her face, this time brooding. “I should say he’s my on-again, off-again fiancé. We can’t ever seem to get it together and stay on track. Things keep happening to break us apart. It hasn’t been the easiest road.” She meets my eyes. “Have you ever been in a relationship like that? You know, where it feels like you can’t live without someone and yet all the forces of life seem to be conspiring to keep you apart?”
I shake my head. “No. I’ve never been in a relationship before. Nothing serious, anyway.” I bite my lip. “Not that I didn’t want one at one point. But it just didn’t work out.” A brown-eyed, chisel-jawed memory flits across my brain—the memory of a man I thought I’d loved once. But he turned out to be just like all the rest. A user. A guy only in it for a good time. After that short-lived illusion, that was when I made up my mind for good that I was never letting myself crack like that again. I would never open up my heart or let myself be vulnerable to a man.
But Isabella? It’s pretty obvious this girl is the opposite of me. She’s a quivering ball of vulnerability, even if she tries to hide it. But I can see it in her. I can see her devotion to this Anthony guy, the way she’s completely his, and the obvious love she feels for him. That love has got itself wrapped all around her like a ball of seaweed…or the tentacles of an octopus. I can see that she’s completely at its mercy, this love thing. Whether she admits it to herself or not, Isabella will do anything for Anthony. She’s completely his. He can do with her what he wants…including breaking her heart.
Nope, not for me.
My heart was broken a long time ago, way before I ever started to think about boys or dating or love. Way before I ever met that brown-eyed guy who pretended he felt something for me but didn’t. It was broken by the circumstances of life over which I had no control. It was broken before I even knew who I was.
I’ll probably be dealing with it the rest of my life. It is what it is, though. No use dwelling over it.
But sometimes, when I see someone like Isabella with stars in her eyes and flushed cheeks, immersed in the sweet anguish of loving another person, I wonder what if? I wonder what that would be like…feel like. But then I push the thought away with all my might and go on. That will never be me. So why even go there?
I stand and hand the box of Kleenex to Isabella. “I should be on my way. Thanks for letting me cry on your shoulder. Sorry I was such a mess.”
Isabella stands and gives me a kind, sympathetic smile. I can’t help but feel affection for her, which is a rare thing in this crusty old heart of mine. She’s just so…sweet. And open. Trusting. I wish I was like that.
“What are you going to do?” she asks. “Where will you go?”
I shrug. “I’ve got a bus ticket back to Podunkville, so that’s where I’m going. Where else?”
She raises an eyebrow.
I laugh at her expression. “That’s what I call my hometown. That’s not its real name, but Podunkville suits it better than Regal Township Estates. Trust me, there’s nothing regal about that town. Or estate-like, for that matter. It’s about as run-down as you get. Ever since the mining dried up there, people have been leaving in droves. It’s nothing but a ghost town.”
She gives me a wry smile. “Probably a lot of real estate agents out of work, huh?”
“I’ve never even seen one. Too many run-down foreclosed shacks for sale with no buyers.” I look around for my purse, and then grab it off the floor. “Okay, it’s time to head out. Thanks for everything. I’ll send you a picturesque postcard of the unemployment lines when I arrive back home.”
Suddenly she snaps her fingers. “That’s it!” She does a little jig.
I stare at her. She seems way too excited over a postcard from Podunkville, especially one depicting unemployment lines.
“Real estate!” she exclaims. “That’s a job you could do instead of escorting. You could start earning money right away. Especially here in New York, where commissions are truly outstanding. Trust me, top real estate agents in this city are rolling in dough. You could get yourself a nice place, even pay for your college…”
I exhale. “Thanks for the thought, and I really would love to try to find a way to stay in the city, but there’s one minor point you’re missing. I need to have a real estate license. I don’t know the first thing about real estate…or selling.” I head toward the door. “Thanks anyway, but I think I just need to accept my reality. I’ve got a waitressing job back home, and it’s better than nothing, right? Maybe if I save my money, I can find my way back to New York one day. Like in twenty years or so.” I give her a wry smile. “I do appreciate you thinking about me, though.”
“No, you don’t understand,” she says with an excited edge to her voice. “This is it! You see, Anthony, my fiancé…well, he knows one of the top real estate brokers in the city. John Rehnquist. He’s the father of one of Anthony’s closest childhood friends. They’ve known each other all their lives. All Anthony has to do is make a call and you’ll be hired. I’ll explain your situation and he’ll do it. I bet John could even set you up with a paid internship where he’ll train you while you’re getting your license. You could probably take one of those accelerated crash courses to get your license and be working in a few months.” She grabs my arm enthusiastically. “Don’t you see? That’s the answer!”
I blink, unable to fully process what I’m hearing. I’m afraid to get too excited about this news. “It sounds almost too good to be true.”
“It’s not. Just say the word, and I’ll put in the call to Anthony.”
I swallow and meet her eyes. “Why are you doing this for me?”
She bites her lip and looks away. A long
beat of silence passes between us. Finally, she says, “For Emma.”
“My cousin?”
“Who else? I owe her this, at least.” Her voice is soft, barely audible. “After her death, I’ve been racked with guilt over how I treated her. Okay, maybe she wasn’t the nicest of people, but still… Maybe if I’d taken the time to actually get to know her. Maybe if…” Tears fill her eyes. “I can’t help but feel that it’s my fault she’s dead. After all, the stalker who was out to get me was the one who killed her. If she’d never been my roommate, never been in my life, then she would still be alive.” A sob escapes her throat, and she claps a hand over her mouth.
I reach out and touch her arm. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “You had nothing to do with her death. It’s not your fault. You can’t take it on like this. And as far as her personality goes, you were right. She was hard to like, so don’t feel guilty. It was pretty clear from my few interactions with her that she was the prickly sort. That’s an understatement, I’m sure. I doubt she and I would have liked each other as adults, if we’d ever gotten to know each other again.”
“Probably not,” Isabella says in a muted tone. “What…what was she like as a child?” Her eyes fill with tears again. “That’s what gets me. Remembering that she was a little girl once. A little girl with hopes and dreams like all of us. Hopes and dreams that were snuffed out, whatever they were. What was she like as a little girl?”
“She was…” I stop, thinking back to those fleeting, faraway days. “I don’t know. Quiet. Even then, I didn’t know her very well. I know she had a tough childhood.” I frown and shake my head. “That’s my family for you. Our wonderful legacy of dysfunction.”
Isabella’s expression is filled with sympathy. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly.
I shrug. “It is what it is.”
“We just do the best with what we’re given, right?”
“Right.”
Our eyes meet. Once again, there’s that understanding between us, the same feeling I had when we talked at the graveyard. Life is about survival. Not everyone gets that. But Isabella does.
There’s no shame in doing what you have to do to survive. And with a person who understands, there’s no judgment.
Isabella feels like the friend I’ve never had…that friend I’ve always missed but didn’t realize until now.
“So what do you think?” she asks.
“About what?”
“About getting a job in real estate and staying here in the city?”
I pause before answering. I’m almost afraid to hope, but despite my best efforts, I allow a small trickle to find its way in. “Do you really think it could work?”
She nods, a big smile lighting up her face. “Absolutely.”
“Okay,” I say after a long moment. “I’ll do it.”
She lets out a squeal. “I’m so glad!” She gives me a hug.
A question crosses my mind. I pull back to look at her. “How come you’ve never worked in real estate?”
She smiles enigmatically. “Well, things have been working out pretty well for me so far. Don’t think I haven’t considered it, once I found out Anthony had this connection. Never say never. But right now, things are going well for me, for the most part. I don’t want to change anything. I know it sounds crazy when things aren’t always perfect, but that’s where I’m at.”
“Sounds like love is steering your ship.”
“Yep.” She smiles. “You nailed it.”
“He sounds like a great guy.”
“He is. He has his issues, but he’s worth it.”
“At least he doesn’t have issues in the bedroom, right?” I nudge her. “Unlike my crappy luck.”
“Stop,” she says with a laugh. “There are other good men out there. You just have to find them.”
“Absolutely,” I say, but privately, I know my life will never look like Isabella’s. I just don’t have that kind of luck.
Except…well…maybe, just maybe, this new job will be the start of a new destiny for me.
I suddenly feel a burst of hope, and then determination. I’m going to do it. I’m going to stay in this city and pursue my dreams of making enough money to live a nice life and help Mom back home. I’m going to do it. Eff Ms. White and her escorting company. I don’t need her. Thanks to Isabella, I can still stay in New York. I can still find a way to make it here. Maybe I won’t have to go back to Podunkville after all.
I take a deep breath and square my shoulders, unable to stop the large smile that breaks out over my face.
New life, here I come!
six
Three years later
“Abby, I’ve got a new property for you to show,” my boss says to me, his blue eyes twinkling. “Wait until you see this listing.” John Rehnquist is nothing if not a shark. A nice, polite gray-haired shark in a tailored suit with perfect manners and a gentlemen’s air, but still a shark. If he weren’t, I never would have become a millionaire already within the first three years of being hired at Rehnquist Real Estate. Yep, you heard me right. A millionaire.
Me!
You see, John Rehnquist goes after—and gets—all of the top real estate listings in all of Manhattan, and I’ve become his top salesperson. His firm sells properties to famous actors, wealthy businessmen, and international billionaires. He’s discreet and charming and knows how to work a room like no one I’ve ever seen, despite being nearly seventy with a gold-tipped cane. He has the mental agility of a man a quarter of his age, and the clout to back it up. In short, his firm is the go-to place for the wealthiest people in the world looking to buy or sell a property. And I have benefitted by working hard, learning, and becoming indispensable to John.
John’s business began in the 1990s and has evolved into the premier real estate brokerage firm since then. As his favorite protégé, I’ve learned everything I can from him and soaked up knowledge like a brand-new kitchen sponge. I’ve watched and absorbed and studied, and soon I was putting John’s techniques and strategies into play. Now I have my own client list, which is growing every day. John Rehnquist couldn’t be prouder. He says I’m like the daughter he never had. Unfortunately, his only son is a thirty-year-old loser who has no interest in learning the business as he’s too busy playing video games all day in his luxury penthouse funded by John’s ex-wife. There are no grandchildren to teach the business to, either. This leaves me as John’s sole focus as someone he trusts and wants to teach the business to, and it works well for us both.
I’ve grown a lot in these past three years. I’ve made enough money to not only buy myself a beautiful, albeit small, apartment, but help my mom, too. I even sent enough money for all of the ladies at the diner to get their teeth fixed. I’ve also put money aside for when I return to college, which I plan to soon.
As for my love life, it’s nonexistent. I haven’t dated much, just gone out with a few guys here or there, but nothing memorable. I’ve given up one-night stands, too. In fact, I haven’t had sex since my missed encounter with Liam Black, the infamous billionaire that I royally blew it with. And I’m not talking about his penis. Instead, these past few years have been focused on building my career and seizing this opportunity of a lifetime that Isabella and Anthony gave me.
Isabella and I are close friends now. We go to movies together, spend time with each other, and just do girl things. She often confides in me about Anthony, with whom she is still having her usual ups and downs. I won’t go into detail, but let’s just say I don’t know what’s up with those two. They have the strangest relationship. I’ll never understand it, but one thing’s clear. They deeply love each other, and that’s what binds them together. Come to think of it, love is a pretty good glue for a couple to have.
Not that I would know. I’m still the same Abby, uninterested in commitment or a long-term relationship. I was soured on men when I first came to the city, but my encounter with Liam was the last straw. I’ve stayed my distance from guys since. I’ve been perfectly cont
ent just focusing on work, even though it does get lonely sometimes. I’ve grown used to the loneliness, though. I’ve come to accept it as part of my DNA.
John hands me a glossy pamphlet. “Here’s your listing. Your first potential buyer will meet you there at noon. If he seems interested, take him to lunch after the showing and expense it. Nothing less than a five-hundred-dollar lunch. You know the routine.” He winks. “This guy is one of the wealthiest men in the country. He’ll expect the five-star treatment, and there’s no one else better able to deliver that than you.”
I smile, excitement trickling through my belly. “I’ll need to head to the salon first and expense a new outfit at Saks.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He smiles. “Go to it. And have fun.”
As I ride down in the luxurious Rehnquist private elevator used only for top employees and select clients, I let myself enjoy this feeling: the anticipation, the buzz of a million butterflies bouncing around in my stomach, and the sense of adventure. I’ve grown to love the rush of meeting a wealthy client for the first time, of taking him through some of the most beautiful properties in all of Manhattan, of wining and dining him to get the deal, and, best of all, seeing the documents signed. John calls it a prolonged “business flirtation,” and maybe that’s what it is. But it’s only flirtation, nothing else. It’s business, and it’s all about doing what it takes to get those documents signed. If stroking a man’s ego a bit during negotiations does the trick, then so be it.
I’ve grown into a savvy businesswoman, and a pretty good one, at that. I truly get a rush out of making deals happen.
Nope, there’s nothing like closing a big deal with a shrewd businessman where millions of dollars are exchanged. When those final signatures are put on that pile of documents, the handshakes exchanged, the champagne popped, there’s no other feeling like it. Then, of course, my bank account will grow some more zeros, and I’ll celebrate by sending money to Mom, and then buying myself another treat like I did last month when I purchased a shiny, new Aston Martin just for myself.
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