The Trouble With Quarterbacks - R.S. Grey Page 0,120

walks closer to me. I slide my notes onto my lap and she perches on the table right beside me. At this distance, her acrid yellow dress makes my eyes water, so I focus instead on her face—her sad, pitying face.

“Do you like working in real estate, Madeleine?”

“Of course!” I reply quickly.

“You can be honest with me. If this isn’t the job you imagined it would be, I’d rather you tell me now than—”

“Helen, I really enjoy my job.” It’s the truth. “The days where I’m meeting with clients and showing them listings are my favorite. I enjoy the thrill of the chase, I just haven’t found my stride yet.”

“You’ve worked here for a year this month, Madeleine, and you’ve only closed on one listing.”

She’s merciful in leaving out the fact that the one listing I managed to close on was for my brother and Daisy’s house. That was six months ago, and I’ve had no solid leads since.

“Because of that, I think it would be best if for the next two months, I put you on a probationary period.”

“What?”

She holds up her hand to silence me. “Nothing too serious. I won’t be breathing down your neck every second, but I think you need a bit more motivation.”

“Don’t you think the problem is with Hamilton? This town is growing, but not that quickly. There are just not enough people looking to buy property!”

She leans back and shakes her head. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Hamilton is flourishing, and if you really put your nose to the grindstone, I know you could be one of my top sellers.”

She really thinks it’s possible for me to turn my embarrassing sales numbers (or complete lack thereof) around, and when I leave the conference room in a daze, I’m not sure if I’m upset that I’m on probation or inspired by her mini pep talk there at the end. I settle somewhere in the middle at neutral, glazed over. All the other agents are already in their cubicles, placing phone calls and returning emails. Lori has a full headset in place as I pass by her, a blue stress ball throbbing in her left hand. Her face resembles a trader on the stock-market floor as she jots down notes with her free hand.

“That house will sell fast, Barney. The lot is oversized and it’s only a block over from Main Street. Every client I’ve been in talks with has wanted to look at that house…” Her voice fades as I continue walking and then it explodes again out of nowhere. “Yes!” she shouts to the whole office. “I just sold Walnut Street!” Then she proceeds to ring the tiny bell that hangs on the corner of each of our cubicles. Helen wants us to ring them every time one of our clients buys or sells a property. If she had it her way, the office would sound like a handbell choir on Easter Sunday.

My bell has been rung exactly once, although I have bumped into it accidentally a few times. Lori hates that the most. I swear I heard her whisper stolen valor the last time.

“Whoop, there it is!”

“Raise the roof, Lori!”

“YOU GO GIRL!”

The other agents hurry to congratulate her with dated catchphrases and I mumble along with them. It’s not fun being Bitter Betty. I’m not used to the role, and it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Eventually, I will have to leave the agency or learn to put up with Lori in a healthier manner…like killing her with kindness, or murdering her with smiles, or disemboweling her with compliments. That sort of thing.

I drop my coffee and notepad on my desk and take a deep breath. It’s time to get to work. My cubicle is clean, my inbox is empty, and I have one blinking red light on my office phone, indicating a voicemail. I smile as I take my seat, confident that it’s Mr. Boggs getting back to me about one or more of the houses I showed him yesterday. Mr. Boggs has been a client of mine for as long as I’ve been working at Hamilton Realty. While he was passed on to me because no other agent could stand working with him, I feel like he and I share a sort of kinship with one another. He’s old and grumpy and cynical, everything I aspire to be one day. Also, Helen makes us meet a weekly quota for showings, and I can always count on Mr. Boggs