EMMA

Cora barks, “Cover for me,” five-inch heels striding by my desk at a skilled yet alarming rate. “I need a massage!”

Watching her I lift an eyebrow. You sure need to relax but one little rubdown won’t perform miracles.

Aloud I ask from behind a plastered smile, “You’re supposed to show a house this afternoon?”

She eyes me, grimacing like I’m an idiot. “No, I want you to cover for me by dancing a jig and eating pineapples under the full moon! What do we do here?”

“We sell houses.”

“God, you are so air-headed,” she sneers, checking her face in the gilded mirror. Visible just beyond where she stands preening, the sign reads Cora Williamson Realty, etched permanently in the glass storefront window. You can read it from the street, but from here it’s backwards, an oversight I always found amusing.

I think at one time she loved this agency, back when she was a nicer person. When my Aunt Rachel recommended me for this job she happily confided that her grade-school friend lived to sell properties. I thought we’d have that in common. But I’ve never once witnessed that joy from my boss.

I keep the belief to myself that it’s her divorce that changed her, that she hides it from my aunt out of embarrassment, because Rachel and Uncle Jaxson’s marriage is solid, filled with love, respect and the sweetest friendship.

Rumor has it that Cora briefly dated Jaxson when they were in their twenties. But Rachel and Jaxson fell in love when they were eight, before Rachel’s family moved away. Such a sweet story I’ve made them tell me so many times.

Still, I bet Cora wishes Jaxson was hers.

Who could blame her?

Doesn’t mean she has to be a bitch about it though.

“We don’t sell houses, Emma!” Annoyed, she fumes, “We show people their dreams, their futures, where they’ll lay their heads at night, and where most of their memories will unfold before their eyes!” Closing her compact she sneers, “Dammit, paint the picture right or you’ll never get anywhere. The address is in my calendar! If you know how to find that!”

As the door shuts, bells jingling, and those expensive heels whisk her off to her world of bitterness, I growl, “You need to get laid!” and call my cousin and best friend. “Hannah, I can’t take it anymore!”

“Cora again, huh? When she treats you like that, stand up to her!”

Jumping from my swivel chair I pace. “She’s having me show one of her properties today, which is bizarre. She normally hoards her clients and won’t let me near them!”

“Maybe she’s giving you a chance?”

Rolling my eyes I walk to the mirror Cora vacated, smoothing the frizz from my long chestnut-brown hair. “Keep dreaming. It’s probably just a difficult client she doesn’t feel like working with. But it is a first.”

“Take this opportunity then!” Hannah says in a distracted way before muttering, “Why won’t this coffee brew faster?”

“Why won’t my hair stay straight when I want it to?” Giving up I cross to Cora’s computer for her calendar.

“Because you have a natural wave, you lucky jerk. And who cares if she is the biggest bitch in Buckhead? You’re a Cocker. Tell her where to shove it.”

The screen awakens to life as I grumble, “I would love to but I don’t want to upset Aunt Rachel. She has no idea that her friend who wears this friendly mask whenever she helps out at Sunflower Retreat, bites my head off every time she sees me. What the…? Look at this!”

“I can’t see what you’re seeing. We’re on the phone.”

“She’s given me the Moody/Lowry mansion! If I sell this it will be huge. All my debts gone in one sale, type of commission. Car finally paid off! Oh wait, she’d split the commission, hopefully fifty-fifty though I’m probably delusional.” My eyes narrow as I read the client’s name. “I don’t know the potential buyer. No notes attached to his file, which isn’t like her at all. If he’s wealthy enough for a property this size, wouldn’t his reputation precede him?”

“We don’t know everybody,” Hannah reminds me. “Maybe it’s someone from Roswell. It’s become nearly as big as Buckhead over the last twenty years or so. Maybe he’s from there. Or out of town?”

I start tapping around. “I’ll search him on the internet.”

“What time is your meeting?”

My fingers pause before returning to the calendar. “Oh no! I have to leave!”

“It’s now?”

“Eleven minutes!” Grabbing my things I run for the door. “She was just here, Hannah, and did not tell me that!”

“Either Cora is setting you up or she needs a vacation.”

With sunglasses awkwardly in my hand, purse-strap on my arm, bag swinging from it, and still holding the phone to my ear, I wrestle the office’s lock into submission. “Vacation. Cora is tired, angry and hard to work for, but she’s not evil.”

“Emma! You know what you are?”

Running to my car I grin, “I’m a Cocker, dammit!”

“That’s right! Sell that house! Pay off that car! Show your boss you’re to be respected! And now I’m going to have my coffee. Oh, you didn’t tell me, what’s his name? Maybe I know him and can help you out!”

Sliding into my waiting Lexus and throwing my bag on the passenger seat, I don my sunglasses as the car starts itself, activated from the remote sensor. My pre-set music player also turns on automatically, and Gabriel Cocker’s voice croons through the speakers as I tell his sister, “Hannah, if I don’t know him, you don’t know him.”

“That’s probably true.”

Excited, I pull onto the street, convertible top down, announcing to all of Atlanta, “His name is Tanner Hamilton, and after this, he won’t know what hit him!”