The A Little Bit Trilogy Bundle: A Little Bit Submissive; A Little Bit Rough; A Little Bit Controlling - A BDSM Erotica Romance (3 page)

Naturally, my mom was furious when she found out I’d quit school but I didn’t care. By the time she found out, I already had a job with a well-known and established real estate agency and had started to work. Growing up with very little money had put the hunger in me to succeed and I would stop at nothing to get my first sale.

However this took me a little longer than anticipated and I had to keep my part-time jobs for longer than I wanted to. It took me almost a year of showings and open houses and multiple offers that always fell through to finally get my first sale and, though the commission was low, I was on a high for days.
I made a sale! I made a sale!

From there, I was able to get more listings and make more sales. As I went along, I refined my process, showing houses and expanding my client list. Soon, I started selling more regularly and getting momentum. Soon, I was able to quit my part-time jobs, which left me more time for selling houses. The great thing was that the more I sold, the more people wanted me to work with them. After a while, I became the highest performer at my firm. I was on a perpetual high. Selling houses became my obsession and I couldn’t get enough.

I was very happy with myself at age twenty-five. I had all of my debt paid off, was renting a nice townhouse and drove a nice car. I had nice clothes and sometimes, nice men to buy me dinner and, occasionally, take care of matters in the bedroom. However, I didn’t really attach myself to anyone, especially after the fiasco in college when I had gotten my heart broken. I wasn’t interested in love. I was interested in money.

I’d never had any long-term relationships in my past and just didn’t really see the need for it. With Adam, which was more or less just a short fling, it had been mostly about sex—to him anyway. I had wanted more than that from him and being so young and vulnerable, I thought I could immediately have it. I didn’t know guys liked to play games and sleep around. It was hard for me to understand that. He hadn’t been in love with me, as I had with him. I was one of those girls who fall hard and fast and I’d fallen for him. But it was first love, probably never meant to last. And, because of that, because of him, I just distanced myself from love, thinking I didn’t have to have it, that I didn’t need it. And so, yes, I did have sex occasionally with the men I dated because a girl does have needs. But I never allowed myself to fall for any of them. It was too much trouble, love, and I was having too much fun being a real estate agent.

So I left my love life to happenstance. If it were meant for me to love again, then I would. If not, I had my career. And I was in love with it. There wasn’t really enough room for anyone else. The sales got bigger, the listings got better and the better it got, the more I wanted. It was always about the sale. I didn’t think I could be so happy doing what I was doing. I thought I’d do it forever and I liked that.

I was happy. I was settled. My career was going great. What more could I ask for?

Well, everyone always wants to improve on their circumstances, don’t they? I was no different. Things changed for me when one day I heard about this magical place far, far away. In this magical land ordinary houses in ordinary neighborhoods were selling for what mansions went for in my Southern town. There were also million dollar homes in this place where commission checks could go into the six digits. Yes, six digits and sometimes even higher! Even higher! It was a land of plenty, with lots of inventory if only I was willing to make the move. I couldn’t imagine such a thing. It sounded like a fairy tale, something too good to be true. The town was called Los Angeles and it beckoned to me. After I heard about what was going on in real estate there, I began to obsess about moving there, getting a good job with a good agency and making millions of dollars.

I tingled at the thought. Millions of dollars… Could it be possible? I did my research and it seemed so. I didn’t tell anyone I was thinking about moving but I did start to really, really save every penny I could. I knew I’d need some start-up money while I waited for my first sale.

But could I move? Should I move? It would mean leaving everything I had. It would mean leaving my family. It would mean leaving my cute townhouse and it would mean leaving the real estate company that had been so good to me, that had taught me everything I needed to make it in the business. I’d leave a good network of friends, some occasional fuck buddies and my security. I’d leave everything I had worked for but, somehow I knew it would be worth it.

The bug to move and seek my fortune elsewhere had bit me and I could not ignore it. I couldn’t stay where I was, only making good money, when I could simply move and make
great money
. After much soul searching, I brought it up with some friends who rallied me on, telling me to go for
it, that
I could do it, that they would definitely visit once I was settled. After that, I told my mother, who told me that it would just be “plain stupid” for me to go out there. But that was coming from the woman who told me to stay in school and in debt. She’d been wrong about that. So I figured that she was probably wrong about this, too.

I awoke woke early one winter Sunday morning and it was raining. I went to the window and looked out, then thought about Southern California and all that sunshine. I imagined myself living there, in the warmth, feeling it on my skin. I imagined all the sunscreen I’d have to use as I was so fair skinned. I imagined the big commission checks made out in my name. I imagined the ocean and the freeways, which I’d heard were insane with traffic, and I imagined myself living there, being myself,
doing
my thing. And I saw it. It was like a vision:
Go West, young woman! Go West!

And so I did.

I immediately sat down and figured out how to do it. I’d need a place to stay and, obviously, a job. I added all the money I had in my bank accounts—savings and checking—and ascertained I could live for almost a year on what I had while I waited for my first big sale. I would be living frugally, sure, but it would allow me to pursue my goal of becoming a top Los Angles real estate agent.

After that, I researched apartments online and found a great one near the offices of the real estate firm I wanted to most work for. It was one of the biggest and best agencies in town. I made a call and somehow landed an interview, which I scheduled for two weeks later.

Then all there was to do was give my boss my notice and, once I was done with that, I handed my clients over to another agent. After that, I got everything ready to move. I withdrew all the money I had in my bank accounts and told my landlord I was moving. I packed my car with just what I needed and gave everything else to charity. I got on the road at five in the morning, making my move out West, seeking my gold in the real estate market. And I drove and drove and drove until eventually I hit the city limits of Los Angles, California.

Yes, I was more than a little intimidated by the size of the place; talk about urban sprawl! Nothing had prepared me for that. But, due to good planning, I knew where I was going and I went straight to my new apartment, signed the lease and moved my stuff from my car and into the apartment. I had to go out and buy an air mattress and some
linens
, but I was happier than a lark. The next day, my interview was scheduled and, due to the fact that my former boss gave me a glowing letter of recommendation, I walked out an hour later with a job. The only caveat was that I had to get my license from the state of California immediately. I got right on this and, in a matter of time, got my first listing on a condo in the Valley, a fixer-upper that we listed for a few hundred thousand. The place was a wreck and I didn’t know how the hell I was going to sell it. Who would buy this dump?
And for that price?
I saw a price-reduction in the near future. Maybe we’d have to give it away? But within a week, I had an investor interested and a week later, I made my first sale.

To say that I was shocked would be an understatement.

It was almost like I’d gone to Las
Vegas
,
put a quarter in a slot machine and—
Ding! Ding! Ding!
—hit the jackpot. It had been so easy, I thought that I had forgotten to do something and that I’d missed a step. But I hadn’t. I’d hit paydirt that easily. That quick sale set me up for many others and initiated the hunger in me for more.

After that, there was no stopping me. I was able to get more and more listings, sometimes carrying over a dozen at a time, which was probably really stupid. But they all sold! Soon, I worked my way up to being a top agent. Everyone loved me, both my bosses and my clients. They loved my Southern charm and my pretty face. They felt that I was approachable and that they could trust me, which seemed to be an overriding theme out there as you just couldn’t do that with a lot of people. After about three years at my agency, I went from selling condos in the Valley to multi-million dollar homes in some of the most prestigious neighborhoods in the world. And the kicker was, I would sell a client a house, they’d stay a while, build some equity, then ask me to find them a newer, better home, and then resell their “old” house, moving themselves up the property ladder. It was like a revolving door of listings.
And of money.

The market in California was like a honey hole. Everyone was buying! Everyone wanted to sell! The commissions allowed me to rent a fabulous apartment with all the amenities. It was gorgeous and everything I’d always wanted. I was making so much
money,
I could furnish it with the best furniture, art and accessories. I had the best dinnerware, the best linens and the best rugs.
The best everything.

I made so much
money,
I was able to lease a new European car every year. In LA, it was all about the image. If you projected wealth, people would assume you didn’t really need the money from the sale of their house. This gave you an aura of indifference; you could take the listing or not and this made them want to give it to you even more.
Whatever.
It was LA, after all. If you acted desperate, no one wanted to deal with you. If you didn’t project the image of affluence and status, you might come off as what my mother called “a poor ass.” And people turned away from that. If you wanted to be the part, you had to act the part. You had to drive the car, wear the clothes and jewelry and carry yourself as if you not only fit in but you were the star. And everyone wanted to work with a star. This applied to everything, including real estate. That meant they wanted you and no one else in the world to either sell their house or help them buy a new one. You were the best and they only wanted the best. If they got you, that meant they had the best.

In LA, that’s what was important: Being the best and having the best. And, if you couldn’t do that, you had to at least look the part. It was all about image.

I went along with this because, hey, it made me a lot of money. And I was a damned good real estate agent and I knew I had to do whatever it took to sell houses. I loved the hustle of it, of knowing I helped people buy their dream houses, or sell them, and keep them moving on to other “forever homes.” This allowed me to shop in the best stores and send plenty of money
home
to my mother, as well as give to charity. I was also able to afford great assistants, going through a few until I got to my latest and greatest: A super cute wannabe actress named Hailey. I was on top of the world and I was the best at my game. If you wanted to buy or even lease the best properties, you came to see me, Teagan Finney.

Soon enough, I met and married a man I totally loved. He was a good looking, famous actor and… Well, the relationship hadn’t worked out. Like my college love, Adam, he too left me brokenhearted. I again turned back to my career to fill the hole, making more money that I ever thought possible. I began to work seven days a week, sometimes twelve hours a day not only to distract me from the pain but also to help heal my heartbreak. And once again, I was happy to be reuniting with my real love, real estate. The money was flowing, everything was good. I was happy, even if I was nursing a broken heart. Life was good and it always had the potential to get better.

Then the market crashed.

And it crashed, just like that. It didn’t take any time for things to turn in the other direction. It’s like the bottom fell out and I fell right along with it. Suddenly, I found myself no longer making those gigantic commissions, and starting to beg for smaller listings, hoping against hope that it would all get better. Getting a deal was like pulling teeth—wisdom teeth. The honey hole had dried up.
Even the fact that I had been married to a famous actor, and was a quasi-celebrity due to our very public divorce, didn’t make a difference.
I got listings, sure, but the houses languished on the market, refusing to sell. No one actually wanted to or
could
buy properties. The market was that bad. Houses began to lose their value and no one could get loans. In other words, things went from normal to pear-shaped. At first, people thought it was only affecting the regular houses and not the multimillion dollar mansions, but eventually, the recession trickled up and absolutely nothing was selling.

It was quite depressing, to say the least.

Looking back, if I had been smarter, I would have done a few things differently. First, I would have paid my astronomical mortgage off. Second, I would have traded Rodeo Drive for the mall. Third, I would have flown coach home instead of business. And, last? I would have gotten some fucking alimony! My ex had offered it to me but, being the prideful person I was, I had refused.
No, thank you, I am an independent woman and fine on my own.

I was so dumb, dumb,
dumb
.

I guess all good things have to come to an end and they sure did. Everything went topsy-turvy. I was upside down on my house. I had a closet full of designer bags, clothes and shoes and yet, I had to eat fast food, when I could afford even that. When I couldn’t, I ate ramen noodles, just like in college. When I took clients out for drinks, I sipped water.