Tomorrow’s task: Convincing Spider my apartment’s not a B&B and I’m no laundry fairy. Every time he hoists a leg to scratch his butt on my couch, I grit my teeth and imagine my mortgage shrinking by the second.
I turn to Matty, swallowing hard. “I need to get my life together and sort my financial mess; I checked last night and my mortgage payments are sky-high. No wonder I have a Spider. Was I out of my mind with worry every day before the accident?”
He thinks for a minute. “It’s probably worse now since it’s all hitting at once. Before, you sort of got used to it gradually. But yeah, the weeks before your accident you seemed really on edge, like everything was piling up. I kinda thought you were pissed at me since we barely talked. You even snapped at me a couple times.”
Knowing I was stressed then adds to my stress now.
“Sorry,” I say, embarrassed. “I guess the whole apartment drama had me overwhelmed.”
He grins. “It’s cool. I had it coming.”
“Wish me luck, I’m calling my real estate guy now.” With a heavy sigh, I stand from my desk and find a quiet spot in the office to make the call. The last time I remember talking to this guy was about twelve months ago.
Just when I think he’s not going to answer, a voice booms down the line. “Dave Watson.”
“Hi, Dave. It’s Lucy Walsh.”
“Ah, Miss Walsh,” he says without missing a beat, though I can tell he’s trying to place me. “A pleasure to hear from you. How are you?”
I give him the shortened version of events. “Great. I have a little… bump on my head.”
“That’s terrible,” he replies in a well-rehearsed tone. I suspect I could have told him I had a head transplant and I would have received the same response. “What can I do for you?” There’s a not-so-subtle hint of impatience in his voice.
“Just wanted to check in on how we’re doing with selling my apartment?”
The emails have been scarily quiet lately and for the last few, Dave hadn’t even responded.
“Sure, sure. Been some interest trickling in here and there. I’m sure we’ll get a buyer before long.”
The “zero fucks given” tone makes my stomach lurch.
I grit my teeth, remembering back to when I first met him. The guy bragged he could sell water to a water park. I remember that smug smile of his as he preened his tie like it was yesterday.
Now, I’m starting to think he couldn’t sell an umbrella to someone caught in a monsoon.
I grip the phone tighter. “Will there be any viewings this week?”
“Leave it to me.”
Is that a yes or a no?
“But you told me you’d have an offer for me within three days of it being listed!”
There’s an uncomfortably long pause. “Market’s a bit sluggish right now-your… um… unique business downstairs might make it a touch trickier to move. Maybe knock the asking price down a tad more… knocking off seventy should do it.”
I almost drop the phone. “Seventy? Seventy thousand dollars?”
“Maybe make it ninety to be on the safe side.”
“Ninety.” I choke on the word as people shoot me curious glances. I might be sick. “But that’s way below what I bought it for. I may as well give it away for free.”
“Yeah, that’s unfortunate,” he says. Is he even listening to me? “Listen, I gotta run. We’ll schedule more viewings ASAP. Speak soon, Miss Walsh.”
I’m left with a dial tone in my ear and the weight of what’s happening floods my gut.
I’m in deep shit.
Every penny of my savings went into this “smart investment.” Real estate in Manhattan never loses value, they say-but one blow-up doll has tanked everything.
Soon I’ll be in that window myself with Roxy, a “Buy Me” sign round my neck.
Or maybe I’ll take up a second job, like becoming an Uber driver at night, since apparently, I can drive now.
Is life mocking me? All of the money Dad left me, all my savings were poured into that place. I can almost hear Mom’s voice telling me I’m foolish to put so much into it, but I thought Dad would have been proud. And now? It’s all gone.
I feel like a child, stumbling around in her mom’s oversized high heels, attempting to play the adult without the slightest notion of how to go about it.
It takes me a minute to realize I’m crying, until one of the techies looks at me in horror and uncomfortably asks, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, because that’s what he wants to hear.
He flees the scene, relieved to escape the hysterical woman. I take a deep breath and try to compose myself.
As soon as he’s out of view, I let out a loud sob. I can’t believe I’m crying like this at work. How did I let myself get to this point?
An obnoxious cough cuts through the air, startling me out of my tears. I glance up to see Dwayne eyeing me as if this is the first time he’s seen tears.
For fuck’s sake.
He leans in and awkwardly pats me on the back. “There, there.”
I shrug him off, mortified. “I’m fine,” I sniffle.
“Do you want me to call HR?”
I shake my head and almost laugh. What good can they do?
“Okay.” He stands there, staring.
I wipe my nose on my sleeve in the classiest way. “Really, Dwayne. I’m good.”
Now take a hike.
He nods awkwardly and whips out his notebook. “I’ll log this as an ‘incident’ anyway. For health and safety.”
My jaw drops and all of my emotions come vomiting out.
“Are you for fucking real?” I roar. “I find out I can’t sell my home and have to live above a six-foot sex doll forever with a guy called Spider and you want to add me to your stupid health and safety register? God, I’m going to strangle you.”
The entire area falls eerily silent. Everyone stares at me wide-eyed, fingers frozen mid-type.
I take a deep breath, every muscle in my body tensing.
“Lucy,” says a deep rumbling voice. I tilt my head to find JP Wolfe’s piercing stare from the doorway of his office. “In my office, please.”
Oh God, this is it, isn’t it? I’ve messed up so badly this time. Is he going to fire me?
The silence shatters with Dwayne’s loud teeth-sucking.
“So I’ll log this as a… um… let’s see… as workplace stress, and note that HR may need to be consulted if incidents escalate. Yes. That should cover everything properly.”
I mentally give him the middle finger but I stumble, heart pounding, toward the unknown fate that awaits me with the Big Bad Wolf.
JP
She walks into my office with the eagerness of someone facing the firing squad. Even worse than the last time, and I didn’t think that was physically possible.
“Mr. Wolfe,” she rushes to say as I close the door behind us. “I apologize for the scene out there. It was completely out of line.”
I close the space between us in two swift strides. “I told you to call me JP.”
“JP. Got it.” She looks like she’s about to flee. Christ, this is hard for me to take.
A knock interrupts us, and Amanda peeks her head in. “The sales team is waiting in boardroom six, boss.”