Love All The Way

23| Selling sunset

For the next thirty minutes, I work on Laurelle's list and try not to think about the viewing. It's worse, in a way, having us all there at once. The others will be watching me, ready to report back to Laurelle like good minions. This is less of a house viewing and more of a test trial – I'm the one on the stand.

When I can't take staring at a screen any longer, I get to my feet and head to the coffee machine, which is empty as usual. Those on seven prefer to sip at green tea and forgo the caffeine, which further reminds me of the things I miss about Milo. I'd never really noticed it before – I'd thought the opposite was true – but we're similar in more ways than one. If things had worked out, if whatever we had hadn't imploded before us, would that have made things harder or easier?

"Kennedy."

Charter is at the door to deliver the news: it's show time. I grab my stuff, glancing out of the office window one last time before following her toward the elevator. The other girls fall into line behind us, stepping into the elevator one after the other like they're escorting me to my doom. Charter looks over, flashes what I hope is a reassuring smile, and presses the button for the lobby.

A second passes. Then another. We reach the sixth floor before the doors slide open, and in steps none other than Milo. If I thought his good luck message unraveled me, seeing him up close in all his glory is enough to send me into overdrive. I face the front, determined to ignore his presence, but our eyes catch in the door's reflection, and it's game over.

He's undressing me with his eyes. They take in my dress, which appears to meet his tacit approval, before slowly working their way up my body and back to my lips, where they stay for the next few seconds. I stare at him, subtly pulling my lip between my teeth, and his eyes grow black. Another second passes, and he loosens his tie. The air feels thick, electric, and if it weren't for the three other people in this elevator, bad – terrible – things would have happened by now.

The five of us step out into the lobby. With one last look, Milo nods briefly before heading through the revolving doors, disappearing onto the street. It's not like him to take off this early, which leaves me to wonder where he's going, and who he might be going there with. Still, I don't have time to dwell on it now: I'm about to meet my fate.

By the time we survive the subway and get to the property, it's almost five. I stare at the building, lost in its beauty and grandeur once again. Despite having visited thousands of properties, there is always something a little bit magical about each one.

"Come on," Charter says as Lucas and Miranda head inside, "let's give the place one last look over, test you on some key features, and then it's show time. The girls and I have agreed to let you take the lead on this one. If I were you, I'd try and hone in on a handful of people you think are more serious."

I tear my eyes away from the building and place them on her. "Sounds good."

We head inside to check everything before the clients show up. I'll admit, Charter and the others – barring Lucas – are not what I expected. As we fluff up pillows and rearrange flowers, Charter offers words of encouragement and tidbits to help me to impress Laurelle.

"She seems like a hardass," she says, "but it almost makes it easier to understand her. She's straightforward, and she'll tell you how she wants things, so as long as you listen, you won't have a problem."

"Even if she tells you to talk to clients over drinks?" I ask.

It's been playing on my mind since I saw that To-Do list. Maybe the old me would have said yes without affliction, but my conversation with Milo that night about having drinks with Dean was a wake-up call. It reminded me that if it wasn't Milo's job to appease our wealthy clients, why was it mine?

"We've all had to do it," Miranda says. "Make your boundaries clear, and you'll be fine. Are we all set?"

The four of us look around the fourth floor to catch any glaring mishaps, but there are none. I glance at the clock, which now reads five-thirty, and ignore the quick pang in my chest. Any moment now, the various clients we've all pooled together will be sauntering through the walkway.

"Break open that champagne bottle," Lucas tells Miranda. "In celebration of Kennedy's first viewing on seven."

He grins as Miranda hurries to open the bottle before pouring each of us a glass. "To Kennedy's first viewing," she says, lifting her glass and the rest of them cheer in my honor. I raise my glass, too, smiling a little as I take my first sip. Despite Lucas' annoying and unwelcome presence, this is the first time since my promotion that I've felt like I belong.

I just hope it will last.

A/N

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