“It’s only a matter of time before my landlord loses all patience with me and kicks me out,” she lamented.
“A homeless real estate agent,” her grandmother said. “How ironic.”
“Not helping, Daj.”
Her grandmother clucked her tongue. “Find your sense of humor, chavi. You’ll never be homeless. You’re within five miles of ten different family members, any one of whom would take you in any time you need it. And before you say anything, I know that’s the last thing you want. But sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do to get where we want to be. It’s not as though I wanted to live in a one-bedroom apartment with my in-laws for two years while raising a couple of kids so your grandfather could finish college.”
Roxy found a legitimate smile. “I’m surprised you made it that long.”
“It was the greatest trial of my life, but it was what my family needed at the time and I got through it. If you lose your apartment because you’re too stubborn to accept financial help from your family, you’ll accept shelter from us instead. But one way or another, I feel you’re on the right path. These roadblocks are simply testing your resolve.”
“They sure are,” Roxy muttered.
Her grandmother made a loud grunting sound. Roxy pulled the phone away from her ear and gave it a questioning look.
“What are you doing, Daj?”
“Pulling up my Spandex. It’s bingo night.”
Roxy’s mother and grandmother played bingo once a week at the local community center. Roxy hadn’t realized what day it was.
“Sorry,” she said. “I can let you go so you can finish getting ready.”
“Nonsense. Not until we get you back on track. My Roxy isn’t one to let life get her down or stop short of her goals. Now, what have I told you about overcoming obstacles that stand between you and a goal?”
Roxy lifted a pen and started doodling on a Post-It Note as she replied, “Identify the obstacle, face it head on, break it down, and find the way through.”
“Right. And once you break it down?”
“Look for patterns contributing to the obstacle and break the pattern.”
“Right again. And does that give you some direction?”
Roxy’s gaze lifted to the computer. “Actually, yeah, it does.”
“I like the sound of that. You’ve got this, chavi.”
“Thanks, Daj. Have fun at bingo. I love you.”
“Love you, too. And don’t worry, I will.”
Roxy chuckled over the certainty in her grandmother’s voice as they disconnected the call. Seemed as though Daj felt she was going to win tonight.
Shifting gears, she grabbed the mouse and pulled up the websites she wanted to reference. Then she started doing some research. She focused on the clients she had met over the past few months who ended up contracting with another agent, both the clients she hadn’t felt much connection with and those she had been certain would sign with her. She started with five accounts to keep it manageable, making notes as she reviewed them to try to find a pattern.
The clients were all from different areas around the city, so it wasn’t a geographical connection.
They were all varying ages, genders, races, and marital statuses.
Three of the listings were single-family homes, one was a townhome, and one was a condo, so it wasn’t the type of home being sold.
Each of the listings were priced at over four hundred thousand dollars, which was worth noting. Maybe there was a correlation between clients with a larger investment in their home sale and discomfort with “inexperienced” real estate agents.
As she pulled up the new listing for Morton and Geneva’s gorgeous Inman Park home, the listing agent caught her eye: Bentley Kamps.
“Bentley. Stupid dog’s name,” she said out loud.
Which made her remember seeing it before.
A familiar energy flowed through her as she made the connection. Clicking back through the listings she had just been reviewing, she realized two of the five ended up signing with that same guy. Further research connected three of her other lost clients to one Bentley Kamps, Independent Broker and Realtor.
“Son of a bitch,” she breathed.
Further research revealed that Bentley ran his own brokage in North Buckhead with ten agents working under him. He was forty-eight, single, and lived in prestigious Argonne Forest. An article written up about him in a local magazine the year before listed his annual net worth as over two-point-five million dollars.
Roxy stared at the magazine photo of Bentley with his perfectly coiffed hair, carefully applied spray tan, and blindingly white teeth and sneered at it.
“Who the fuck are you?” she asked the screen. “And why did your parents name you after a fucking car? Did they know you were going to grow up to be a complete asshole?”
She tapped her pen on the desk blotter and considered this new information. How was this Bentley guy learning about her clients? It must be more than a coincidence that he had signed so many of her potential listings.
Arnie might know more about him, she thought. If Bentley was so successful, someone with Arnie’s connections surely knew who he was, right? Maybe he could help her figure out how her leads were being systematically picked off.
It appeared she was going to have to try to connect with her broker, after all. Would he finally make some time for her when he learned they were losing business to this guy?
What would she do if he brushed her off again?
A light tap at the glass door jarred her from her thoughts. The sky outside had darkened to deep indigo, causing the inside lights to reflect off the glass door and making it difficult to make out the lone figure standing there.
Yet she knew who it was.
Her heart jumped into the rhythm it only ever found when Callan was near. She got to her feet and walked over to the door. His image got clearer the closer she got. Even though he wore a smile, she sensed what that smile was hiding. The grief all but radiated from him.
Rather than open the door to invite him in, she changed tactics. She held up a finger to tell him to wait, then returned to her desk to close the programs she had been using and straighten up the desk so it was ready for Darcy to use in the morning. Then she collected her phone and purse, pulled out her keys, and headed back to the door.
After setting the alarm, stepping out beside Callan, and locking the door behind her, she finally turned to greet him.
“Hi, Callan.”
“Hi, Roxy.” It looked like he was prepared to say one thing, but what he ended up saying was, “God, it’s good to see you.”
There was no denying the pull between them. Even just standing there, they both involuntarily moved closer together. She didn’t want to fight it anymore.
They both needed comfort, she thought. So they would comfort each other.
Chapter Eleven
Callan had been standing outside the office where Roxy worked for the past ten minutes. He’d actually been surprised to find her there considering the late hour.
The impulse to leave his condo had come to him on a whim. As he had done since returning home from his grandfather’s funeral, he had been sitting on his couch flipping through the channels on his television in hopes of finding something that would keep his mind off his grief. The idea of going anywhere and having to be social just depressed him more…and he loved socializing.