Chapter 22

Wesley

 

The bar I take Mariah to is a favorite of mine, the Seafarer. Fortunately or not, I’ve forgotten that I’m not the only one from the office who likes it here. When she and I arrive after the short walk from the office, one of the tables is already full of our fellow realtors.

“Hey, look who came out for a change!” Gage, one of the longest-tenured agents at the company (and a friend of mine), calls out. “Pull up a chair, boss!”

Mariah looks at me to make the decision, and for just a second after I say, “Sure!” I see a flash of…disappointment in her face.

Disappointment? That can’t be right. Why would she be sad about getting to spend time with some of the top realtors in the company? The simple answer is, she wouldn’t – she has already expressed how much she wants to network and rise up in the company ranks - so I shrug it off mentally and grab a couple nearby chairs.

The bartender brings over my usual (a rum and coke - incredibly imaginative, I know), then leans over to Mariah.

“How about you, new face? What’s your pleasure?”

Mariah smiles, and I notice for the first time that when she does, dimples rise on her cheeks. It’s cute.

“Um, I’ll take a Bahama Mama, please,” she says.

“Coming right up.”

One of the guys, Trevor, snickers just loud enough at her drink choice for Mariah to hear. She glances at him and his beer bottle, then says, “Oh, sorry, are we only allowed to order cheap beers with less alcohol content than my pinkie finger?”

The whole table is silent for a second, then everyone starts laughing.

“The new girl’s got you there, man,” Gage says between chuckles.

Even Trevor smiles ruefully as he sips from his beer. It’s pretty clear, though, that Mariah’s getting off scot free at least in part because this gives him an excuse to stare at her.

“Heard you closed the Sanchez account today,” Ron, another longtime agent, says to Mariah. “Nice work.”

She blushes. “Thank you.”

It impresses me that she’s so humble about the whole thing. That account had been a veritable thorn in our side for months now, and she figured out a way to resolve the whole thing in less than forty-eight hours on the job. Not to mention, if I hadn’t happened to come by her office and eavesdrop, Jacobs would’ve taken all the credit for the sale with no one the wiser.

Even when I’d given her more than one chance in our conversation to spill the truth, she’d kept it to herself and she’d been professional every step of the way. It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone as smart and clearly dedicated as she is.

“Why don’t you tell us how you managed it?” I hear myself saying before I can think of a reason to stop. “What was the magic pill you got the Sanchezes to swallow so quickly?”

It only takes a second – and a glance at her reddening cheeks - to see that I’ve put her on the spot, but I don’t feel bad. I think she can handle herself. I hope.

“Well.” She pauses to take a deep draw from her drink, which she snagged from the bartender before he even has a chance to set it on the table in front of her. She’s clearly nervous, and it’s cute. “I looked over the files and meeting records, trying to get familiar with the case… and I just noticed that the house had been in the family for a very long time. It wasn’t that the family didn’t want to sell… it was that saying goodbye was hard. I think they just needed someone to acknowledge that, so that they’d feel comfortable letting go?”

This is a surprise, even to me. I’d heard the names and glanced at the file, of course, but it was Jacobs’ case, and each time we talked about it, he attributed the delay to the family being unhappy with the size of the offers being made. It hadn’t even occurred to me (or him, obviously), that the problem might be sentimental.

And yet. Mariah had figured it out almost immediately. She’d connected with the family, our clients, on a deeper level, and in the end, that’s what it had been all about. The instinct on its own is impressive, and that instinct paired with action? It means she has the makings of a truly great businesswoman.

Around me, the whole table is laughing and chatting, including Mariah. She’s really connecting with everyone on the team, and that’s another check in the win column for her as far as I’m concerned.

But even in the face of all this, the thought still niggles at the back of my brain… am I thinking this way about her because of her skills, or because of what I imagined doing with her while sitting behind my desk right after I met her? And, to be honest, quite a bit after that?

Ridiculous, I tell myself. I may be, as my Aunt Shelly would say, “a bit of a horndog, even after you’ve long grown out of your teenage years,” but I’ve never let that affect my business decisions before, and there’s no way I’m slipping so much that it’s starting to do so now. Right?

That’s when it hits me: there’s one surefire way to find out if I’m overestimating Mariah or being biased in some way. And the best part is, she’s handed the solution right to me, so I know I’m not getting twisted around: An open house.

She wants one of her own, like she said, to prove herself, to be sure this last sale wasn’t a fluke. Unusual? Sure. Unprecedented? Definitely not. So that’s it then. She’ll get her open house, she’ll succeed or fail on her own merits, and I’ll manage and oversee the whole situation guilt-free.

“Boss, you haven’t even touched your drink! Come on, the workday is over.” Gage nudges me, and I realize I’ve been sitting there, tuned out into my own little world, for so long that most of the table is well on its way to a second round while my drink is getting watered down all to hell as the ice melts in it.

“Sorry, sorry. Just hadn’t quite shifted out of business mode yet.” I apologize to Gage, but my eyes are on Mariah.

Talk to her, I think. Say something. Learn about her. I open my mouth to say…something. Anything.

That’s when her phone rings.