Under His Spell (The Miami Tycoon) (2 page)

BOOK: Under His Spell (The Miami Tycoon)
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Erica was lying awake, again, that night. Emily had insisted that Erica leave the motel for her and Manuel’s guest bedroom until she could find her own place. The room had just been painted pale yellow, but it wasn’t the paint fumes keeping her up. She kept replaying the moment when Maxwell had brushed her breast, kept feeling the comforting weight of his hand on hers. What would it be like, to be with someone so handsome and self-assured? It would be different, far more serious, she decided. Nicholas—no, Maxwell, she corrected herself in her mind—did not seem capable of doing anything casually. Plus, a man of his size and stature had to have something big happening in the downstairs department... Erica’s hand found its way between her legs. Maybe an orgasm will help put me to sleep, she reasoned.

The buzzing of her phone woke her. She was surprised to see the time was nine o’clock; Erica hardly ever slept past seven. Must have been some orgasm. She cleared her throat and answered the call, which was from an unknown number. “Hello?”

“Hi, Erica. George Brown here, Maxwell & Brown. Congratulations on your new job.”

Erica was still rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Um. What?”

“You’ve just been hired as our newest associate. We’d like you to start immediately. Can you come in after lunch, meet the team?”

“Y-yes. Of course.”

“No sweat, you’ll fit right in here. All young people, like you. Except for yours truly.” George sounded a little curmudgeonly about the age difference. “So I’ll see you around one, then?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be there.”

“All right.” George hung up. Erica was giddy as she showered, dressed, and flipped through her real estate books. She left early, wearing just a touch more mascara and blush than she normally did. The long sleep had done wonders for her skin, too. She felt ready to start over. New job, new life, new Erica. Everything seemed possible as she breezed out of Emily’s sunny kitchen, grabbing an apple and yelling her goodbye to Manny, who was listening reggae in his study.

“The job’s not hard. We help people sell houses, we help people buy houses, and we invest in properties we think are going to appreciate significantly in value. You’ll do fine. The only complicated thing is the goddamn software Nick’s got us using.”

George, who’d turned out to be a gruff yet kind man in his fifties, was still talking, but Erica was having trouble listening. He’d met her in the same starkly decorated lobby as before, but they’d taken the door opposite of the one to Maxwell’s office. Erica tried to pretend she didn’t feel a little disappointment as they followed a long hall, away from Maxwell. “...Jessica really knows what she’s doing on the computer, I’ll pass you off to her. Sound good?”

They were in a high-ceilinged office with an open plan. A half-dozen desks and three times as many potted palms were scattered in haphazard fashion about the room. “Yes, sounds great,” Erica replied, without much of her previous enthusiasm. Erica hadn’t exactly been expecting cubicles, but the design of the room didn’t leave any privacy at all. It also seemed like a pretty good way to incite competition, if one wanted to think of it like that. No matter. High-pressure environments were nothing new to Erica; she’d just been hoping this wouldn’t be one of them.

George turned to back to her again and spoke. “Oh, and one more thing. Are you still looking for an apartment here?”

“Sure am,” she replied.

“Great. Nick gave me this to give to you. It’s the info of an apartment building owned by an old friend of his.” He handed her a folded piece of stationery and left the room. Erica figured he must have a private office too, as Maxwell did.

She opened the card. It read:

Erica-

You’ll want to see this place. I set up an appointment for you with the owner of the building on Thursday at seven. Even if you hate the apartment, it’s worth taking a look at.

7120 Bonita Drive

Miami Beach

-Nick

Erica had always liked Miami Beach, especially the art deco district; although quick Google Maps search on her phone revealed that Bonita Drive was nowhere near the district. It was a little waterfront street across from North Beach. Erica’s interest was piqued. Just then, a short and perky woman popped into her field of vision.

“Hi! You must be Erica. I’m Jessica, obviously, and we’re all excited to have you here. I’m sure you’ll get along with everyone, you look like a total sweetheart.” Erica smiled, pleased to see such a bright presence in the office. Right away, she could tell that Jessica was one of those women of boundless energy and bubbly efficiency. Erica had known a few in law school—people often underestimated girls like that, but they always effortlessly managed to excel in classes, volunteer at soup kitchens, and drag their boyfriends to parties and events. Erica was sure that Jessica would be pleasant to work with, competent at her job, and a good teacher. George had chosen well.

“Ashley and Ryan are still out of the office, but you can meet Jill and...hey, do I know you from somewhere? You look so familiar.” Jessica cocked her head and looked at Erica intently, trying to place her.

“Um, I don’t know, I’m not sure if I recognize you, but maybe...” Erica trailed off, embarrassed. She was drawing a total blank.

Jessica’s face lit up when she figured it out. “Oh I know, we went to school together! Homestead High! When I was a senior, I remember they let you into AP English as a freshman, you were in my friend Megan’s class...right?”

Relieved, Erica replied, “Oh, yeah! Now that you mention it, you do look familiar. You were...a cheerleader, right?” It was a guess; Erica figured there had to be a 98% chance that a girl like Jess would have been a cheerleader in high school.

“Cheer captain, actually,” Jessica beamed. “How fun is this! God, high school.” Jessica launched into a slew of memories of football games and pep rallies, of which Erica had attended exactly none. Erica had been a late bloomer; she didn’t have many friends until college, when Emily had started forcing her out of her shell. She half-listened, punctuating the silences with “Mm-hmm” and “Yeah, that was crazy.” While Jess blathered on, Erica checked out the other two people in the office. Two desks away, a brunette with long, killer legs ending in red-soled stilettos was typing an email. She had a sharp, pointed face. Looking at her, the first word that came to Erica’s mind was shrewd. The second was shark. The man, whom she could hardly see behind a potted palm, looked totally absorbed in the phone call he was on. She could see a black-sleeved arm, a french-cuffed wrist with silver cufflinks, and a large, manicured-looking hand twisting the phone cord.

When Jessica paused the nostalgia-fest long enough to introduce them, the woman, whose name turned out to be Jill Michaels, actually seemed to be nice enough. She complimented Erica’s gray herringbone skirt, and when the man walked over to her desk to say hello, she said, “Now, don’t mind Anthony. He thinks he’s god’s gift to women.” The accompanying eye-roll was jokingly overdone.

“Hey Jill, don’t oversell me or anything to the new girl here.” He turned his attention to Erica. “Anthony Lewis,” he said, extending a hand.

Shaking it, Erica’s suspicions were confirmed: the guy definitely got manicures and was an unapologetic dandy, from the slim English-cut suit to the crimson silk pocket square. “Jessica talked your ear off yet? You let me know if you want to learn from the best. I’ll be at my desk.” He winked at Erica, revealed a dazzling white smile, and stalked off.

Jessica echoed Jill’s eye-roll. “He really isn’t that bad, and he’s a great broker. He makes the most sales every month. But I’m gunning for his ass this month. And so should you! Somebody needs to knock him off his high horse.”

Erica laughed, saying, “Give me a month or two to catch up. You still haven’t shown me the software that George says is impossible!”

“Oh right, right. It’s not that bad, it’s just hard for Dinosaur George. Anyway, the only tough thing to master is the search engine optimization when you’re formatting a listing.” Jessica was off again, talking a mile a minute as she showed Erica to her desk. Erica tried hard to keep up.

A little later on in the afternoon, the other two agents showed up. Ashley, an ex-sorority girl if Erica ever saw one, showed no real interest in Erica other than a cordial, if perfunctory, greeting. The other man, Ryan Smith, was goofy and sweet-faced, with muscles practically bulging out of his suit. He chatted with Erica for a bit, asking her where she’d moved from and whether she liked the company so far. He also asked her if she had joined a gym yet, telling her he knew a couple great personal trainers if she was looking to work out, and then got embarrassed when Erica asked, half-kidding, if he was trying to hint at something. “Oh, jeez, no, you don’t need to work out at all, I mean, you’re beautiful, I mean, uh...” He’d turned bright red. “I’m just really passionate about working out is all.” Erica decided to put him out of his misery. “Don’t worry, I didn’t really think you meant it that way. No offense taken.”

Ryan looked immensely relieved. “Okay. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything. Was really nice meeting you.” Erica shook her head as he and his hulking shoulders retreated from her.

She jumped in surprise when Jessica whispered in her ear; she hadn’t even realized Jessica was standing behind her. “Jill and Ryan are dating, you know.”

Erica swiveled around in her chair, surprised. She wouldn’t have guessed that the sleek Jill would date such a bumbling goofball. Ryan was a smoke show, though. Erica could practically see the six-pack through his shirt. “Is it a secret?” Erica whispered back.

“No, not really. Actually not at all,” Jessica said in a normal voice, straightening. “It’s a pretty close-knit office. We all go out together on Friday nights. You’ll come out with us, won’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” Erica replied, wondering just who was included in Jessica’s ‘we.’ “Definitely.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of new information, Jessica talking and Erica trying to take notes. Maxwell made no appearance in the main office. Erica again tried to herself that she didn’t care whether she saw him, that she was just excited to be working an awesome new job. And she was, she really was. That didn’t stop her from glancing at the hallway every few minutes, willing him to walk through it, though.

The next day, Erica was on her own. She struggled to remember all the protocols, software shortcuts, and advice Jess had given her. George was right, though, the program used to create and manage listings was complicated, and Erica kept accidentally deleting and having to re-input and reformat. She made a few half-hearted sales calls throughout the day, feeling more and more defeated as she sat at her desk. Jess and Ryan had both said she could come to them for help, but Erica didn’t want to look stupid or as though she hadn’t listened well enough yesterday. Erica was just a slow learner, she needed to repeat things a few times before she got into the swing. She gritted her teeth and tried to remember which folder the escrow agreements were in.

By 3:30, Anthony and Ryan had both closed on three sales; Ashley and Jill two; Jess one. Erica had hardly even convinced anyone to come to the open house next week on one of her assigned properties. She felt like the potential buyers she’d contacted could hear the hesitation and inexperience in her voice.

Jill sauntered over and perched her ass on the corner of Erica’s desk. “How’s it going, newbie?” Erica sighed. “Slowly,” she replied. “Nobody will even come look at the house in Wynwood.” Jill looked quizzically at Erica. “Seriously? Everybody wants a piece of that neighborhood right now.” Erica looked down. Jill went on.

“Honey, if you can’t sell a house in Wynwood...Well, all I’m saying is I bet lots of people would want to look at that house. Are you sure you’re trying hard enough?” Her tone wasn’t mean exactly, but the concern in her voice was fake. Erica hated being condescended to. “I’m doing my best, thanks,” she said crisply.

“Okay,” said Jill, “you just come on over if you want me to show you how it’s done.” Annoyed, Erica resolved not to ask anyone for help. She was going to make a sale by herself if it killed her.

So deep in her resolve was she that she didn’t realize someone had approached her desk. A large, blue-suited someone.

“Excuse me, Erica.” A buzzing and static started in her ears; the rest of the room fell away.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Maxwell,” Erica said, smiling like a fool.

“You can call me Nick, if you’d like. We go on a first-name basis here. Anyway, I’m about to pop out of the office for a couple hours, was hoping you could...”

Erica nodded dreamily, trying to listen to what he was asking, but really mooning over the fact that she could call him Nick and he was popping out of the office and he was asking her to...wait, what?

“Got all that?” He was holding out a manila folder, looking expectantly at her.

“Oh, uh, yep!” Erica took the folder, reining in her imagination.

“Great, thanks. If you’re still around when I get back, there’s something else I want you to look over. If not, it can wait until tomorrow.”

“Sure, I’ll be here, don’t worry. Bye, Mr. Maxwell.”

“It’s Nick,” he called over his shoulder.

The second he walked away, Erica looked in the folder. It was a couple pages of lists of numbers correlating to unrecognizable acronyms. No other identifying information. Shit. Erica had totally zoned out and had no idea what she was supposed to do with the pages. Hadn’t she heard something about faxing them to...someone? She felt like she’d heard the name Conlon but she wasn’t at all sure. Erica felt like such an idiot. Jess and Anthony were out of the office; she doubted Ryan would be able to help her. She swallowed her pride and hoped Jill would know something about where she was supposed to fax the documents.

“Uh. Jill? Do you have a second?” Jill appeared to be doing some kind of complicated math on a spreadsheet, looking deeply absorbed. “Oh, sure,” Jill said, closing the spreadsheet window surreptitiously. “What do you need?”

“I was hoping you could tell me what I’m supposed to do with these papers. Mr. Maxwell asked if I could fax them, but I was, um, distracted and I forgot where they’re supposed to go. Any ideas?”

BOOK: Under His Spell (The Miami Tycoon)
6.43Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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