God, it was so damn hot.

I fanned myself with the manila folder in my hands, sighing heavily as I looked out the tinted window of the black Mercedes Benz, silently wishing the chauffeur would turn the air conditioning on just a notch higher.

I glanced through the partition and noted that it could, in fact, go up one more level if I asked. I bit my lip. Sure, I was used to getting what I wanted. I had money, means, and moxy. I wasn’t afraid to stand up and stand out, and when something needed to be done, I was always the first one rushing to do it. But sometimes I still hated feeling like I was asking too much of people. Especially since my driver, who was a Florida local, didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the incredible heat. He was happily humming to himself, a tune I vaguely recognized. Probably a Jimmy Buffett song.

The folks around here were all about that chilled-out, Hawaiian-shirt aesthetic. For someone from around here, the temperature today probably did feel pretty pleasant. Eighty degrees is downright chilly if you’re used to one-hundred-and-ten in the summer months.

So I decided to keep my annoyance to myself, but I did make a mental note to wear something a little less fallish tomorrow. This wasn’t New York or Martha’s Vineyard. This was not the Hamptons. This was Fort Lauderdale and yes, even in November, it was still hotter than any place had a right to be.

Of course, it was sometimes difficult to keep tabs on what the weather and climate would be like on any given day. I traveled so frequently—well, more like constantly—that as soon as I started to feel comfortable and at home in one time zone, I was on back on the tarmac, jetting off to the next ritzy locale.

Last week, I had spent a few days off the coast of Washington state, chatting up some wealthy Seattleites who were retiring and planning to head down the California coast. Their plan was to pass their booming, wildly successful tech company to their children and retire in San Francisco, take up yachting as their new hobby and lifestyle. Because that’s what it was: a lifestyle. At least, that was what I told all my clients.

Buying a yacht is a uniquely life-changing event, I would tell them, because a yacht isn’t just some toy you can toss in a garage and let collect dust. A yacht is not a Ferrari. A yacht is not a tennis court. The loaded retiree I spoke to in Washington had scoffed at first, responding that he had been on a friend’s yacht before and while it was enjoyable, it certainly wasn’t the life-altering experience I was trying to sell him on.

I loved when a client tried to challenge me on my sales pitch. It made my heart race, made the adrenaline start pumping. It was the thrill of the chase, the dramatic but subtle to-and-fro, back-and-forth of the sale. It was my job to paint a beautiful, irresistible portrait for my clients, promise them heaven and actually deliver. So I explained to him in elaborate, eloquent detail, how it was a different experience when it was your yacht. When you were the one at the helm, deciding how far to sail and how long to drift. When you chose which champagnes to stock, what manner of bartender to hire, what music to play. Buying a yacht was a game of infinite choices and customizability. For a bored, spoiled retiree who was very accustomed to getting exactly what he wanted when he wanted and where, it was a gold mine. A honey trap. All I had to do was prove to him how many expensive, detailed choices he would get to make over the course of the purchasing process, and he was hooked.

I had to admit, I was pretty damn good at my job.

“Oh, right up here is fine, thank you,” I told the driver, leaning forward slightly.

“To the curb, ma’am?” he asked.

I nodded and smiled at his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Yes, perfect.”

“Very good, ma’am. And when would you prefer to be picked up?”

I thought about it a moment. How long would this sale take? I had been sent here on a very important and unusually personal mission: to stake out and purchase a yacht for a client I knew better than anyone else in the world. My older brother, Jeff. It was strange, being on location not to sell a yacht, but to buy one. It wasn’t unheard of for me to play customer, of course. As a broker, it was my job to inspect and buy products and designs for our growing portfolio. But this time, I needed to find the perfect ship. Family was everything to me, and my brother was no exception.

“I’m not sure yet,” I confessed to the driver. “I will be in touch when I have a better idea of how the day will go.”

“Very good, ma’am.”

The black Benz rolled to a stop at the curb outside a ritzy-looking coffee shop on the boardwalk and the chauffeur hopped up to come around and open the door for me. I took his hand as he helped me out and I nearly gasped at the oppressive heat bearing down on me. I had to fight the urge to swear at the sun. Too hot. Way too hot.

“Have a wonderful day, ma’am,” said the chauffeur. I gave him a hasty smile and nodded.

“You, too,” I said.

He got back behind the wheel and drove off, leaving me melting on the sidewalk with my manila folder and my designer work bag. I pulled my aviators out of my bag and slid them on, looking around at my options. I needed a quiet, cool place to sit and look over my notes. And some iced coffee wouldn’t hurt, either.

I was a shameless caffeine addict. I’d already had a mug and a half of terrible hotel room coffee before the driver even arrived to pick me up this morning. But with my job, my chemical dependency could hardly be held against me. With the way I hopped back and forth between wildly varying time zones, it made perfect sense that I didn’t sleep much. I was in a constant state of adjustment, either jetlagged or wired or both at any given time. And it was vital to my success that my clients would see me as confident and competent. That meant I needed to be on my A-game all the time, no matter how exhausted or loopy I really felt.

In the evenings, I turned to a Manhattan to keep me relaxed and in the zone, but in the mornings? It was all about the coffee. So I turned on my strappy Louboutin heel and walked into the coffee shop behind me. As soon as I passed through the door, I was wrapped in a wave of ice-cold air conditioning and I knew I’d made the right choice. I stepped up to the counter and smiled at the barista, a young girl with cropped blonde hair and what had to be a permanent Florida tan. I definitely envied her that—it was always a joke I made to my clients that they had to just take my word for the fact that I knew my yachts well, because with my pale skin it was probably a little hard to believe I’d ever spent much time in the sun. Still, I thought my creamy skin contrasted quite nicely with my long, sleek, dark brown hair and light green eyes. Jeff, my brother, always poked fun at me for it. He inherited our father’s golden tan and dirty blond hair, so he looked like the poster boy for yachting, whereas I looked more like someone who worked in an office somewhere and rarely saw the light of day. He was forever teasing me, prodding me to go get a spray tan or something. But that wasn’t me. I knew who I was and I was comfortable this way. As far as I was concerned, there was no need to change.

Still, sometimes I wished I had that natural glow, too.

“Hello. Welcome to the Java Jetty Café,” chirped the peppy barista. “What can I get started for you today?”

“Hi, yeah, I’m going to need an iced coffee with a double shot of espresso,” I said.

“Any special flavor? We have mocha, caramel, white chocolate, gingerbread, pumpkin spice, and raspberry,” she rattled off, her smile never wavering. I almost laughed.

“Gingerbread? Really?” I asked, amused.

She nodded cheerfully. “It’s seasonal for autumn,” she explained.

I glanced back out at the blazing sunshine, the sparkling blue waters of the harbor visible through the wide window. “Doesn’t quite feel like autumn here to me,” I said, getting out my wallet. “Must be pushing eighty-five out there.”

The barista shrugged. “It’s Fort Lauderdale. We don’t really get much of a fall. Or a winter. But the gingerbread flavor really is good if you want to try it.”

I grinned. “Sure. Let’s do gingerbread.”

“What size would you like?”

I handed her my credit card and answered, “The largest size you have.”

Once I had ordered my massive cup of iced coffee, I found a table by the big window and set up shop. I took out my tablet, my phone, and my notes on the seller I was supposed to meet in about an hour or so. I started scanning the bullet points I’d made a couple days back, taking down information from my brother about his specific preferences in regards to the yacht. He was, like our father before him, a shockingly picky guy for someone who could look at home on someone’s back deck grilling hotdogs and hamburgers.

Jeff was a chameleon of sorts. He could look equally comfortable relaxing with a beer in his hand or seated at a table in the fanciest restaurant surrounded by billionaire businessmen. I wasn’t quite that flexible. My job was stressful, with long, weird hours and constant travel. I technically lived in Atlanta, Georgia, but I was on the road so often that it hardly felt like home when I was there. My apartment was sparse, decorated nicely but without a lot of personal character. Don’t get me wrong, I thrived on the stress of dealing in such a high-stakes market, but sometimes it did wear on me. I rarely slept more than a few hours a night, and bouncing from city to city made it pretty impossible to make and maintain a lot of friendships.

And a romantic relationship? Well, that was pretty much off the table altogether.

Just then, my phone rang. A FaceTime call. I quickly answered, “Yes?”

“Jilly!” exclaimed my older brother. He was grinning. I sighed.

“Hey, Jeff. What’s up?”

“Just calling to check in on how the deal is going,” he said.

He sounded out of breath, panting a little. There were trees behind him, the cry of seagulls in the background. I told him, “I haven’t even gotten to meet the guy yet. Be patient. Are you running or something?”

“Jogging. Gotta stay in shape. I thought the meeting was at ten,” he said, moving the phone to show his running outfit. He was all sweaty. I grimaced.

“Yeah. It’s nine-thirty. You’re in Monaco, still, right? So you’re in a different time zone,” I explained to him, rolling my eyes. “I’ll call you as soon as the meeting is done, okay?”

“Can we just go over the notes one more time really quickly?” he asked.

I groaned. “I need to prep for the meeting right now. I don’t have time.”

“Come on, I just want to make sure all the details are right.”

“I got it. All the info is correct. You just have to leave me alone and let me handle it. I have an MBA. I have experience. I know what I’m doing here, Jeff. Chill,” I told him.

“What if the guy is a jerk? What’s his name again?” he pestered me.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I said slowly, “The owner’s name is blank. I don’t know who it is. But whoever he is, I can handle him.”

“As long as you don’t let him handle you,” Jeff said pointedly. I frowned at him and he shrugged. “You know how some of these guys can be. They’re used to getting whatever they want, including whoever they want.”

“I’ll be just fine, thanks,” I said, a little snippy. He gave me an apologetic smile.

“Just looking out for my little sis,” he explained.

“Uh huh. Well, do me a favor and look out for me a little less. Jeff, I really need to go.”

“Aw, don’t be mad, Jilly,” he said plaintively.

“I need to hang up. I’m in a cafe and I’m sure the other customers don’t want to listen to our sibling conversation, all right? I’ll see you when you get into town later. Don’t miss your flight,” I reminded him. He nodded and gave me a thumbs up.

“Good luck, sis. Call me right after you’re done. I might be on the plane, but just leave a message if I don’t answer.”

“Will do. Now, stop calling,” I said firmly, even as a smile crept over my lips.

I hung up on him and sat back in my chair, rolling my eyes. Don’t let him ‘handle’ me. Who the hell did my brother think he was, insinuating something like that? I glanced down at the digital time on my phone screen and nearly jumped out of my seat. Too late to study my notes now. It was time to rush off to the meeting. I gathered up my things and, carrying my gigantic coffee, headed back out into the bright Florida sunshine.