After doing this for the first nine guys, Bronwyn had learned to appreciate having a significant other in the mix. The guys never got confused about her role, and she did her job with ease of unwanted advances. Each girlfriend proved how much she didn’t see Bronwyn as a problem by the lack of fuss or grief the guys got about Bronwyn’s almost all-access pass to his life. That didn’t diminish the overbearing antics of some of them. On a few occasions, Bronwyn had to remind some that she worked for their man and not them.
Plus, she got comfortable with confrontation fast. Some of the little heifers had gotten it twisted, trying to boss her around and tell her how to do her job. Until she swiped a credit card belonging to that chick, there was no way Bronwyn was going to be bossed around by any girlfriends either.
Thinking of overbearing girlfriends, Bronwyn remembered she needed to stop by another client’s home to make sure the house rental group of girls from this last weekend hadn’t left anything behind. With that burning a hole in her to do list, she made quick goodbyes and left.
3
Bronwyn
At the spacious Buckhead mansion of one of the most eligible athlete bachelors in town, Bronwyn made it back to the front entryway. Ever the businessman with innovative hustle, he rented out his in-town home to the affluent parties while he chilled out at his primary home north of the city where most of the athletes resided. Among other things he could come up with, her job was to make sure his place in Atlanta always looked like he lived there. His current girlfriend only knew about this home, and he wanted to keep it that way.
Truth be told, she thought Scott purposefully had her deal with his girlfriend before he saw her. He might be fine as hell but must be a wuss for how little he dealt with things when it came to his International model girlfriend from one of those cold and austere countries.
A sweep of the house confirmed it. Like she’d thought, the little brats hadn’t left the place as clean as their lease agreement stated. The housekeeper wouldn’t be by until the end of the week. That left her to straighten up before the girlfriend touched down late tomorrow.
Times like these were when Bronwyn kicked herself for not charging for special circumstances. Sure, he paid well and on time, but Scott’s requirements always pushed the boundaries of what she’d intended to provide. Bronwyn was nobody’s housekeeper, and she didn’t do girlfriend babysitting, both of which seemed to be creeping in on what she’d do for Scott.
Part of her marketing to these guys was a no fuss comprehensive pricing plan. A pricing plan that needed to go up exponentially with how much more the guys were requiring. Scott was top of the list with his requests. His fee needed to quadruple.
Once again Bronwyn pushed back thoughts of how she needed to get the money to fix the van and get other materials to make it through the rest of the month. It made no sense that she was scrimping and scraping to make it when she had these many clients. Yep, her introductory pricing had to change immediately. With a little more gumption, she was going to have to talk with Scott about increasing his monthly fee. He’d pay it, probably without hesitation, but that still didn’t mean she wanted to have the talk. Her top paying client, Scott, was different. There was something about him that kept her unable to have a money talk or tell him no on any request. The niggling thought in the back of her mind was that she didn’t want to have to talk with Scott about anything that he didn’t instigate. As her wealthiest account so far, Bronwyn needed him to stay as one of her clients and refer more like him—she hoped. If Bronwyn took enough time to think about it, she’d have to admit that he wasn’t her client, at least not in the long run. With a sigh and determination to shake off that nagging thought, she finished up.
Done with a quick walk through and tidy up of Scott’s place—yes one of the girls had left behind a bra behind one of the beds—Bronwyn left a note and invoice for him to pay. This was another thing only he got away with—invoicing. She did the most for him and one other guy, besides Ollie. Hate to admit it, but Scott was one of her crushes. He had the looks and dangerous vibe of a bad boy, the body of an athlete and the charm of a Casanova. The fact that he was a star baseball player for the home team didn’t hurt either.
Leaving the requisite foyer lights and perimeter lighting on, she keyed in the admin code and allowed the biometric meter to scan her eyeball. Just another part of her service, Bronwyn provided for her guys. In today’s world where celebrities were top of the list for burglaries, she didn’t mind the extra precaution Scott had her take. With the alarm set, she left, tired but satisfied.
Back in the van and the adrenaline of her day dissipating, soreness with the beginnings of what would be stiffness tomorrow sprawled across her chest and into her shoulders. A trip to an Urgent Care facility for x-rays was out of the question due to time and more importantly money. Pain radiated along the phantom outline of the steering wheel from that earlier hit and run. For as hard as she worked, Bronwyn had undersold her services. She was super busy but not super paid. For the amount of time, gas, innovative ways to deal with metro Atlanta traffic to get anywhere on time, all while providing excellent customer service, client acquisition, and retention, she was always running on fumes. Rubbing the sorest part of her chest, Bronwyn said a prayer nothing was broken or cracked and kept it moving.
This business was her first. Her underestimation of what it took to run, profit and grow was a learning curve she was managing as if her head were stuck in the lion’s mouth with him about to clamp down. The stress and financial strain added to the stack of mounting reasons why she was determined to get bolder with her pricing.
Bronwyn had to get over that little insecurity about asking for money. Every time she’d talked money with her clients they’d paid it. Based on that alone, her fears were at best phobias. What she needed were a few whale clients who paid well but needed little. Having them would help her get over this hump and see some light at the end of this treacherous tunnel that never seemed to end. Never an ingrate, she said a prayer of gratitude and thanks for the cool guys she did have as clients. Some folks wished they had the clients she did.
Enough of focusing on what she didn’t have, Bronwyn took back the runaway train her thoughts were on and focused. Flinging thoughts that didn’t serve her or her bright future as far away as possible, a smile blossomed.
Another gift Bronwyn had was that she was a “girlfriend whisperer” as one of her guys put it. Yep, she was the perfect wing woman, always looking out for them when their girlfriends wanted to get a little too close to what they had going on. Scott was a master at this, and she’d learned a lot about how guys really were, working for him for the last six plus months.
Kicking herself for spending so much time thinking about the dream that was Scott couldn’t be good for her self-esteem, but she couldn’t stop herself. The guy was hot. Getting him as a client had been a huge boost to her ego. Even if he did flirt in that way of his to get what he wanted, Bronwyn was putty in his hands. He got so much more out of her than she offered that it bordered on embarrassing.
Her saving grace was that he paid, not as well as he looked, but she’d get his fees increased after that talk she had to have with him. It was hard not to realize that he talked to everyone who did services for him the same way. That was his way of making sure he got great service. It worked because here she was at night making sure his place was in order before his insanely jealous girlfriend made it into town for her weekend here.
Late in the evening and still seated in her work van idling and thinking, Bronwyn finally pulled away from the mansion belonging to Scott—the crush of her dreams. She’d make it back to her sublet condo and figure out how to fix the van in the morning.
Located only five miles or so north of where most of her clientele was concentrated in Buckhead and the up and coming Sandy Springs area, Bronwyn had to give another sigh of relief that she’d hit the jackpot in getting the place. The opportunity had come into play like a blessing from the heavens. After losin
g her job at the airport along with her roommate, Bronwyn was on the verge of being homeless. A friend of a friend told her about a couple who’d gotten the chance of a lifetime to work abroad for a few years and needed someone to supplement the cost of their condo. On a whim, not thinking it would pan out due to her lack of finances, Bronwyn met with them. After a quick meeting and realizing how desperate they were to get a trustworthy soul in their home who wouldn’t tear up the place, she found herself renting their posh condo for the next two years. The rent was well below market—thanks to their excellent mortgage rate.
Everything fell into place with her finding her work van on a community listing, getting a place to stay for a couple of years and a bit of ingenuity to start a business that was meager cost. Word of mouth was the magical boost that had gotten her on her feet. The great thing about it was that she still didn’t advertise, relying on client referrals to take on new clients. Making it back onto the Interstate heading north, her ire rose as thumping and rattling of her broken back doors drown out any hope for a quiet ride home.
“Damn Hero.” The way she stressed the word, hero, had enough venom to burn acid. “Nobody asked him to help break my doors.”
Concluding it was best not to dwell on what she couldn’t fix or deal with at the moment, Bronwyn finished the drive home, prepared to conquer her new obstacle in the morning. Forgoing dinner in lieu of a shower and bed, Bronwyn settled in, ready to drift off to sleep when the face of her phone lit up. The bedside clock cosigned her bewilderment. It was a little after eleven at night. The only calls happening this time of night were bootie calls.
“Can’t never.”
She eyed the phone, curious to see a call coming in from an international unknown number. Her mumbled words filled the immediate space taunting her to take a look. Out of entrepreneurial curiosity and hustle to never pass up an opportunity, she grabbed the phone.
“Hello?”
“Ah yes, Bronwyn, sorry for the late call, but we needed to reach you as soon as possible.”
It took a few seconds for Bronwyn to place the voice on the other end. It was her landlord, the female one whose name she could never remember.
“Oh, hey there,” she offered, trying to sound cheery and hide the fact that she couldn’t remember the woman’s name. “What’s up?”
There was a pause. Her gut lurched with dread. Something was up, and it wasn’t going to be in her favor.
“Right, I guess I’ll get to it then. Jonah and I are coming back home in a fortnight.” Another pause. “Bronwyn, are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m listening.” What the hell was a fortnight?
“As I said, we’re coming home in a few weeks and wanted to let you know that we’ll be moving back to the condo.”
“Wait, what? It’s not been a full year. You said I had a two-year lease on the condo.”
“Yeah, about that, well, it’s against the condo association’s rules to sub-lease. And, we never signed a sub-lease agreement with you, so you’ll have to find another place. But, hey, at least we’re letting you know two weeks in advance!”
It took a few seconds for the woman’s words and tone to sink in. What the hell? This basic bitch was trying to handle her by reneging on their agreement.
“But, I can’t move in two weeks. I’ve got other things going on right now that I need to take care of.”
“Bronwyn, I feel for you. We both do—really, but we have a home and need to come back to it. If there were any other way to do this, we’d do it.”
“Oh really, I bet.”
“Sorry, but the situation here hasn’t worked out as we thought,” another pause. “Look, that’s our home, not yours. We’re giving you two weeks to find other arrangements. That’s more than generous, seeing as we don’t owe you advanced notice.”
“By what lease agreement are you referring to? The one that you reminded me doesn’t exist?”
Bronwyn’s stomach soured. She didn’t want to go there with these folks, but they’d done this on purpose, hoping to catch her at night when she was sleepy.
Son of a bitch!
She’d had enough. This was the last straw, first her van and now this. If she could, Bronwyn would have reached through the phone and strangled the woman. Bronwyn heard the husband, Jonah, whispering something in the background. Shock with how they’d sprung this doozy on her started to ebb. The woman must have put her hand on the phone receiver as his voice became too muffled. Even with an intense effort to strain to hear, Bronwyn couldn’t understand what he said. Volatile mixes of anger, fear, and confusion of what she’d do about her living situation smeared themselves over her mind. The result rendered her thoughts a tangled mass of conflicting synapses haphazardly firing substantial enough to trigger a massive migraine.
Determined to get off the phone so she could start planning her next move, Bronwyn spoke up. “I just paid for the next month’s rent. I’ll need the prorated amount back before I vacate. Once I receive the prorated credit back, I’ll be out within the day.” Her mind seemed to come back online as she continued. “I’ll also need you to put it in writing—the amount that is owed back to me. Oh, and that I was a great tenant, paying on time as well.”
“You want us to put it in writing?” The voice was tentative. “Why would you need that?”
“Because of this conversation right here. We had an agreement. Now you’re changing it. I want to make sure I receive my money back and get a rental recommendation to help me find my next place to live.”
“I see.” The terse iciness of the woman’s voice did nothing to make Bronwyn back down. This call at this time of night was done to make sure they had the upper hand. One thing she couldn’t stand was manipulative people, and this woman was trying to handle her.
Fueled by shrewdness to look out for herself, she added, “Yes, I’ll need both the rental recommendation letter stating why I find myself looking for a new place to stay. It needs to include my stellar payment history, the state of your condo—I can provide a current video of the place—and the agreement to give me my prorated amount back. You give me those things, and I move out—no harm no foul with your apartment in pristine condition. As a show of good-faith, I’ll even sign off on not coming after you for breach of contract.”
Intake of breath on the other end was confirmation that Bronwyn had learned a thing or two about negotiation.
“Breach of contract? We don’t have a contract.”
“Yes, we do, and I can prove it to any court. I have almost a year’s worth of utility bills in my name with this address on them.” Bronwyn’s mind was whizzing with all the information she’d picked up helping one of her clients get some deadbeat tenants out of his rental property. “Those bills prove I lived here and had the requisite right to do so.”
Silence snuffed out the breathing on the other end, but she’d be damned if she asked if the woman was still there. Anger had set in on how they’d tried it. Sure, she needed a place to stay, but if they were going to try this, she’d get out and find some place else. She’d found this, and she’d find another place to live.
If nothing else, the last year had taught her to trust her life with faith. It was that same faith that would help her get the hell out of here without a second glance—but they’d give her the money back for the remainder of the month on the way out.
“Fine!” The huff and attitude from that word were enough for Bronwyn to pull the phone back and look at it in disgust. This heifer had brought this on herself with that punk-ass move; now she wanted to get in a huff? Please. “We’ll wire the money back to your account and send over the paperwork you require.”
Feeling herself and thinking she had the upper hand now, Bronwyn amended, “You’ll send the money back, along with the paperwork with the same speed and efficiency as I do. You’ll PayPal me the money via Friends and Family, and you’ll send the paperwork back digitally signed and witnessed to my email.”
“Back, what do you mean?”
>
“I mean that I’m going to draft the paperwork and recommendation, send it to you, and you’ll sign and send back.” Pulling the phone back again to look at the date, she added, “You’ll have five days from receipt to sign and send back. Oh, and that goes for my prorated unused amount as well.” Feeling the surge of being in the power position, Bronwyn wouldn’t stop the roll she was on. “You can keep your fortnight too. I’ll start packing and be out of here within seven to ten days.”
“Well,” another pause, “Thank you for being so understanding about this.” Relief flooded Bronwyn’s ear.
“Don’t thank me. I don’t appreciate the way you handled this. I don’t want to be anywhere that so precarious for my well-being. I’m not going to go on about it, but know that from this point on, you’ll deal with me in the manner I decide.”
“Or else?” Incredulity was thick in that question.
“I go to your precious condo association and let them know that I’ve been subleasing from you for almost a year.”
That let them know that she wasn’t playing around. Bronwyn had to retake a step. This was harsh, even for them. She hadn’t meant to strong-arm them, but this was the last straw for today, and they were the poor schmucks who’d been in the line of fire.
Refusing to back down or change her mind about any of it, Bronwyn put the matter to bed, like she was going to be doing soon.
“I’ll send over the paperwork within forty-eight hours. You have five days from then to sign and send back my proration and deposit. Yeah, I didn’t forget about that either. You’ll send back my deposit too. It’s late here, and I have an early morning. Goodnight.”
Sputtering was the only thing that proceeded a feeble, “Goodnight,” as Bronwyn disconnected the call.
Dragon's Curvy Concierge Page 2