Page 12 of So Not My Thing
Chapter Four
Ipaced inside of theempty space on Julia Street. I’d arrived ten minutes early for my appointment with Miles because I was always early for appointments. I loathed tardiness, and I was already annoyed knowing that Miles would be late today like he’d been at the office.
If he was more than five minutes late, I would text him that I was leaving and he could book another appointment. Even better if he booked it with someone else.
I checked my outfit to make sure it looked good on the extremely slim chance he did show up. Gray pinstriped trousers with a wide leg, fitted white top, stacked red heels to keep it interesting. Hair in a low ponytail, simple silver pendant necklace with a fleur-de-lis charm.
Pace.Pace.Pace. Walking back and forth inside the front door wasn’t enough to burn off my nervous energy. And there definitely wasn’t enough in the boring beige walls and acoustic ceiling tile behind me to keep my mind busy.
What if Miles had recognized me yesterday? What if that was why he’d chosen me?
Worse, what if he didn’t recognize me yesterday but did today?
I didn’t want to deal with either scenario. I absolutely did not want him to seeGabiJones. Only the most distantly polite version ofElleJones possible. I wanted a third scenario to be true: Miles hadn’t recognized me yesterday, wouldn’t today, and would be bored enough with my services that he’d pick another agent or firm.
Maybe running through my affirmations would help. Normally, I focused on business, repeating the outcome I wanted, or naming my goals. Stuff like, “I will close this deal.” Or “I will make my second quarter goals.” Simple ideas that I repeated until they felt inevitable. I’d listened to a metric ton of self-help and sales psychology books that said to do this, and so far, I was meeting all my goals. It basically boiled down to, “Here’s how to talk yourself into believing you can do it.”
But yesterday, I’d pulled up an old podcast from when I’d first started Crescent City Properties. I’d been so intimidated about whether a barely-out-of-college grad could break into New Orleans commercial real estate that I’d had to begin with an even simpler affirmation about basic self-confidence.Act like you’re as successful as you want to be until youareas successful as you want to be.
Today I’d have to take it even further:Act like you were never the teenage girl this man humiliated on national television. Act like you have always been the picture of grace and composure.
“You are a...duck,” I said aloud. One of our sales seminars had used that metaphor, the idea that your feet might be paddling furiously beneath the water, but to the client, you look serene. “You are aswan,” I said next. Even more graceful. Why not? I lengthened my neck like a ballerina.
When Miles showed up, I’d be the picture of composure. Subdued, elegant.
I glanced down at my watch. It was nine o’clock exactly, and there was no Miles walking through the door.
What I wouldnotdo was wait forty-five minutes for him the way the whole office had on Tuesday.
He had exactly five minutes before I walked out and texted him to reschedule.
When the minute hand hit the five, I pulled out my phone and started the text as I headed out the door.
Sorry you couldn’t make it. I’m punctual and expect my clients to be as well. Please notify me next time you have a conflict.
There. That should tick him off enough to fire me and go find someone else to cater to his whims.
I pressed send right as I hit the sidewalk and a male voice called, “Whoa!” and hot coffee drenched my chest as I smacked into something hard.
