Beauty and the Billionaire: The Wedding

The moment the client disappears? I bury my face in my hands.

“Uh oh,” Farah says from her desk across the way. “What happened? You were on cloud nine ten minutes ago! Did something happen to LaDonna?”

I take a deep breath and lift my head to look over at my friend. “Jack happened.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Dumb Jack, Jack Jack, or Winky Jack?”

“Winky Jack,” I say miserably. “He stole that open house from me and said he’d handle it. What could I do?”

“Tell him no?” Farah raises one dark brow at me. “Tell him to do his own work instead of stealing yours?”

“He’s the boss,” I tell Farah with a sigh. “I like being employed.”

“I don’t see how,” she says drily, pulling out a stack of folders on her desk and flipping through them. “They don’t leave you enough clients to make a living.”

“Oh, they do,” I say glumly and cross my arms, staring at my laptop. The screen still has a dozen comp listings pulled up from this morning’s work, all gone to waste. “They leave me all the clients with bad credit and no money. You need to buy a house with nothing down and a spending limit of fifty grand? Go talk to Ivy.”

She snorts.

That’s all she can do, because we both know I’m not wrong. Farah’s been with Three Jacks for ten years—no clue why she stays. Me, I’ve been here for one, and a lot of the time I feel lucky to have that one. They hired me, fresh off the streets after I got my realtor license, and I didn’t have a lick of experience to my name. I was working at an ice cream shop prior to Three Jacks . . . something that the bosses like to remind me about all the time.

Three Jacks is a boys’ club. I knew it was when I got hired. It’s run by Jack Farrington (Dumb Jack), who’s older than the hills and a silver spoon in his mouth; Jack Jackson, who’s a snake oil salesman if there ever was one; and Jack Richards (Winky Jack) who thinks women aren’t born with two brain cells to rub together and he’ll have to rescue us from ourselves. They’re nice enough, as far as bosses go, I suppose. After all, they did give me a job. I make half of a percent on any house I sell. That means on a regular three percent agency commission, they get the other two point five percent and I get what’s left after expenses. If I sell a house that’s a hundred grand? I get five hundred dollars and the company walks away with the other twenty-five hundred.

Jack (Dumb Jack) told me that I could ‘promote’ my commission amount once I’ve earned two million in sales for the company. Given that the only clients I get handed to me are dirt poor or can’t land a mortgage? It’s been an exercise in frustration, but I’m determined not to give up.

Ivy Smithfield is going to get a better life for herself and her sister even if she has to climb uphill both ways, I vow. I may not have the experience or the pedigree, but I’ve got determination.

With that mental pep talk, I feel a little better. I’m going to do this. So I’m still 700k away from getting that pay increase? It’s doable. I just need to hustle and hustle hard. I’ve got this. I do.

“I’ll just have to find some new leads,” I announce to Farah. “It’s a minor setback, but it’s not a deal-breaker.”

“Whatever,” Farah says, giving me side-eye. “You know it’s okay to be pissed, right?”

“I’m not pissed,” I reply, pulling up local housing forums to scan them for potential clients, just like I do every day. My mama always said ‘fake it until you make it’ and I’m getting to be a real pro at faking it. Sometimes I even almost believe myself. “Minor setback. I’ll just have to work on some other leads.”

“Mmhmm.” She curls her lip. “Least they put you on the flyer. Dumb Jack told me I was too ‘Mexican’ looking.”

I glance over at her. “I thought you were Persian?”

“I am.”

I wince. Well, he’s called Dumb Jack for a reason. “Ouch. Besides, you know they only put me on the flyer because they had to have a girl on there.”

“Oh, I know. Said they didn’t want to appear sexist.” She puts her fingers in the air and makes a set of quotes. “Appear. I mean, they are sexist, they just don’t want to look it.”

I smile wanly at her. They may be sexist, but they’re also the bosses and I can’t do much about it. To make things worse, Winky Jack also handles the Human Resources for the company, so it’s not like I can go complain about his buddies. Or himself.

I just need to work harder. Once I’ve climbed a few rungs in the ladder, I’ll make good money and I’ll have so many clients I won’t be stuck here in the office, twiddling my thumbs. And if at that point, I’m still not making good money? I’ll at least have enough experience under my belt to go somewhere else . . . or hang my own shingle and get the full three percent commission. It’s a nice dream.

It also won’t become a reality unless I hustle.

I look over at the picture on the corner of my desk. It’s recent, a picture of my little sister Wynonna in her cap and gown at graduation. My arms are around her and our faces are pressed close together. She’s so happy, so excited to take on the world. So eager to get out there.

It’s for her that I’m doing all this.

So I pull up the forums, put my hands on the keyboard, and go back to work trying to drum up clients online.

***

It’s getting late in the day when I get a call from my sister on my brand new iPhone. I had to get it because my flip phone and printed maps were making some of the clients look at me funny. Problem is, I can’t figure out how the whole ‘smart’ phone works, and so I swipe the wrong buttons and end up missing the call. Farah just snorts and rolls her eyes, like I’m the world’s biggest goober.