Page 24 of Mr. July

“Got it. How’s the beach house?”

“I just booked my first weekend rental to a couple expecting.”

“That’s perfect because I was showing Carlos the listing and well…,”

“Stop right there.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. Char has that tell in her slightly elevated voice. I knew what came next and was helpless to defend myself against it.

“It’s really quite exquisite. A real find and Carlos pitched it to Southern Living… they are doing a whole summer spread on most wanted beach homes.”

“Fuck, Char. Again?”

“Not you—you can keep your clothes on. He just wants to shoot the house. I know you’ll make the cover and just think of all the bookings you’ll get after being featured.”

“I’ll think about it,” I replied.

“…ugh… well… I already said yes for you.”

I closed my eyes feeling a headache come on. “Who needs a wife with a sister like you?” I hung up, opening my eyes to the spreadsheets I was working on. I pressed the button for Bunny’s direct line. “Bun, bun. I need a water and three Advil.”

“Not your nurse.”

“Bun, please. I’m dying.”

“Man baby.”

“You’re fired, Bun.”

Her response was a snort and the dial tone. Two minutes later she came in with an ice-cold water and three white pills.

“You’re a lifesaver, Bun. Hold all my calls.”

She rolled her eyes, shutting my door with a soft click. After taking the pills, I got back to the spreadsheets.

The rest of it was straight forward. After I amended it, I sent it to the partners to sign.

A soft tap at my door had me looking up. “Come in,” I smiled softly as Bunny tip toed in. “I finished all the work you gave me. I’m taking the rest of the afternoon off. It’s bridge night at my house and I need to make my special spinach and artichoke dip.”

“Good for you Bun. You’ve got more of a social life than I do. Did I tell you I’m a real card shark? By chance do you play for money?”

She waved a hand. “You and a bunch of old ladies playing cards. We’ll need a defibrillator. Especially when they see the new calendar I’m going to put up in my kitchen. Diersky had spares.”

I grinned. “I know you checked out my abs.”

“Oh you,” she waved her hand. “I have cataracts. Can’t see further than five inches from my face.”

“Bullshit, Buns. You saw.”

“You all act like children. Don’t worry about Diersky. The women in the office call him ‘douchebag Diersky.’”

“Douchebag Diersky,” I muttered under my breath. “Fitting.”

“He wined and dined Beth in accounting for two months then dumped her flat. She caught him out on Valentine’s Day with Annabelle from HR.”

“He gets around the office… stupid. One wrong lay and a woman can ruin your career. I’d never sleep where I work if you know what I mean.”

“I do. Smart. Rich. Talented and one heck of a six-pack. If only I was forty years younger…”

“I knew you looked.” I winked.

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