Fluffy(25)

“I’m a preschool teacher. Same thing.”

“Fiona...”

“Promise me you’ll take it. Email him and say yes. Worst case, you quit on day one. Best case, you end up married with kids and a family real estate business.”

“That is one hell of a lot of room between two extremes.”

“It’s a spectrum. Just go with it.”

“If I don’t take the job, you two will never, ever get off my back, will you?”

“Have fun watching Jeopardy every Tuesday night at 7 p.m. while your dad clips his toenails in the living room on a hand towel, Mal. If you lose your apartment, that’s what you’re facing.”

“Maybe I’ll get a roommate.”

“You live in a one bedroom apartment. Good luck with that.”

“Toenails and Alex Trebek, or Will Lotham.”

“I can see how this is such a difficult choice,” she says dryly. “You suffer either way.”

“I do! I really do.”

“Email Will before Perky hacks into your account and sends an acceptance email on your behalf.”

“She wouldn’t.”

“You’ve been friends with her as long as I have, Mal. You seriously think she hasn’t already?”

Damn.

I quickly check email.

“Liar!” I accuse.

“Made you open your app. Now it’s simple. Find Will’s email and reply, “I accept. When do I start?”

I stare at Will’s email:

I like how you started to re-arrange the living room. And that feng shui theory sounded ludicrous, but then again, I’m superstitious enough to bury a statue of St. Joseph when trying to sell a property. I need someone to handle staging for our company. If you’re willing to do a one-month trial as a consultant, I’ve got a gig for you. No coconut oil, and sorry–clothing isn’t optional.

I type:

One month. Fully clothed. And I am charging you a 1% commission if the house sells within that month. No negotiation. Take it or leave it.

Fiona’s reading over my shoulder and gasps.

“Mal! You’re not serious. You–that reads like Perky wrote it!”

I close my eyes and tap the screen.

“You sent it! Oh my God, you sent that?”

I did.

I did, and before I can even close the app, a notification informs me I have a reply.

“He’s replied already!” I choke out.

“Refresh the screen.”

“I can’t. I’m paralyzed.”

Fi takes the phone from me and reads aloud.

One percent commission and no hourly rate. If you think your feng shui is that strong, prove it. :) As for clothing, we can be flexible.

“Oh, ho ho!” Fiona crows. “He’s a crafty one, isn’t he?”

A surge of adrenaline rips through me.

Deal, I type.

“Mal!” Fi’s mouth is open in shock. “You need guaranteed money. You can’t control whether a house gets sold or not. One percent of nothing is–”

I hit Send.

“One percent of nothing is nothing to lose,” I tell her. “He thinks he’s so smart? He thinks he has all the power? I’ll show him.”

See you tomorrow, he says, giving me his office address.

“I think I have a job,” I whisper.

“I think you have a masochistic streak.”

“Same thing.”





7





I can’t quite catch my breath.

It’s my first day at my new job working for Will, and I forgot about the fringe benefits. I may not be an employee, technically–just a contractor–but my, my, my, does Will look so fine in that suit.

He’s on his phone and angled away from me, face turned up to the arched ceilings that soar as high as my pulse right now. It’s summer, so he’s wearing a lightweight tan suit, the kind that looks really good on models in Nordstrom’s ads but horrible on everyone else.

Unless you’re Will Lotham.

If Tom Brady became a supermodel like his wife and started doing Ralph Lauren ads, he’d be one tenth as hot as Will right now. White dress shirt open at the neck. No tie. Tan suit, dark brown leather shoes, and patterned socks, a flash of color peeking out from under his pants cuff. A leather belt the same shade as his shoes bisects his body, the flat abs a wall of yummy goodness as he pivots, turning his body to write something down on a notepad.

In a flash, sunlight glints off the pen he’s using, a silver pen in a hand that moves gracefully.

“Mmm hmm. Yes. No. Ten percent. Deliverable is fine,” he says as I stand there, suddenly awkward. I move, just enough to make a sound so he knows I’m here. Will looks over, waves, and turns back to his call.

No smile. But I’m mature enough to know his lack of a smile has nothing to do with me.

Um, right?

He’s wearing reading glasses, perched on the bridge of his nose the way people who haven’t worn glasses most of their life balance them. Whoever he’s speaking with has his full attention. He doesn't notice that I'm watching him.

Out of the blue, a grin spreads across his face, making him change from a hard-edged business executive to a carefree, sigh-able man. He’s all ease and achievement, relaxed and unwaveringly stoked. The energy in the room changes so fast.