Page 13 of The Confidentiality Clause
Brock: I can do that.
I swallow down my emotions and pride as I type another message.
Brock: Thanks for lunch. I’ll pay you back.
Ariel: Don’t worry about it. Consider it your reward for winning the race.
I sigh. I don’t deserve her efforts. While a part of me wishes she would stay out of my life, another part knows she’s just trying to help.
I set down my phone and grab an onion ring. This is supposed to be a victory lunch, but all I can taste is bitter failure.
One thing about my friends is they don’t like to take no for an answer. Our group chat lately consists of them bullying me into playing a video game with them. Then, once we’re on said game,they spend the whole time trying to convince me to go on a blind date with their teammate’s cousin’s friend.
Jason: I can’t believe you’re turning us down AGAIN. Are we even friends anymore?
Miles: You’re not saving lives, you know. You can take a break.
Shaw: Do I need to come up there and throw your computer out your office window?
Emmett: Can you make a separate group chat to bother Brock? This is getting old.
I sigh. They just don’t understand. Their careers are set–partially because of the work I do–so they don’t have to worry as much as I do. They’ve each got Superbowl rings, Stanley cups, Masters jackets, and World Series rings to prove they made it. If they never do anything else, they can point to that and say they achieved the highest accomplishment possible in their profession. I, on the other hand, have to prove it every day.
Jason: Maybe if we threaten to fire him, he’ll spend more time with us.
Anger courses through me, hotter than asphalt in July. If they only knew how I was fighting to keep something like that from happening. How I panic each time they bring up a project or sponsorship while on the game chat, because I’m worried I missed something or fell behind. Talking to them becomes more difficult by the day. When I first signed them and we all became buddies at my birthday party, I thought it was amazing. But as time goes on, I don’t know how to keep up with both sides of who I have to be for them. I don’t want it to feel this way, but it does. The stakes are too high for me to mess up.
Brock: I’ll catch you on the next one, I swear. I’m flying to Boston at five in the morning tomorrow, so I need to sleep.
And answer all the emails I didn’t get to today. Marie answers some, but I need to be in the know. I can’t have my client miss an opportunity because I left it up to someone else’s judgment.
Shaw: We’re holding you to that promise.
Chapter seven
Ariel Cambridge
If anyone ever needed a new reality TV show based on real estate agents, my coworkers would make for an entertaining cast. And the star of the show would be Houston Vonclout. He’s the perfect choice, with his fresh-pressed suit, toothpaste-commercial smile, and vindictive personality. The producers would have a blast following him around as he harassed other agents and stole away clients with hischarm.
I grip my computer mouse hard in my hand. Another email. Another client saying they’reso sorrybut Houston found them theirperfecthome and they’ll be going with him for their closing.
“Murder is wrong, murder is wrong, mur–”
“That’s a nice motivational saying.” Bethanne pokes her head over our shared cubicle wall. “Did you find it on Pinterest?”
“Yes, I was thinking of putting it above my desk. Maybe cutting out some magazine clippings to really emphasize themurderpart of the quote,” I say with a sardonic grin.
“I’m sure everyone would appreciate the reminder every time they walked by your office.” She lets her tan, bracelet-covered arms rest on the top of the wall. “I know I would.”
“I’m surprised it hasn’t become an office motto with the way Houston is snatching clients left and right.”
“He got you again?”
I huff and spin my chair to face her. “Yes. After I showed my clients fifty houses, he swoops in and shows them the next one on my list. I’m convinced he logs onto my computer and steals my showing schedule.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him” Bethanne huffs. “But I think it’s more likely that he doesn’t have a life outside of real estate. He’s got to eat, sleep, and breathe it the way he’s always three steps ahead.”
“If he’s that invested, you’d think he’d find his own clients instead of stealing mine. I do all the hard work of narrowing down the buyers’ choice. All he does is call them after they’ve figured out what they want and charm them into thinkinghefound their dream house.” I cross my arms. “This last couple sent me a link for the house they put an offer on. It doesn’t have space for a pool, like they told me they needed. I’m sure Houston listed all the cons of having one just so he could make the sale.”
