"You're a dick," I tell him, and thump the picture. "And you're just jealous you didn't see her first."
"Nah," Clay says. "I like my women a little rough around the edges." He wiggles his eyebrows at me. "So when you gonna meet Miss Classy and scope her out?"
I eye Miss Classy in the picture, and my gaze goes down to those long legs. Might be nice to get laid before the weekend, if I can talk this sweet piece into it. I've never dated a classy girl before, so maybe she ain't that type. She might be cold. Hell, she might fuck with that same starchy look on her face. That's a depressing thought.
Only one way to find out, though. "Guess I go house hunting tomorrow."
My brothers just smirk.
Chapter Two
Ivy
A familiar tweed suit passes by the print room while I'm standing over the copier. I immediately abandon my task and race after him. "Oh! Jack! I didn't realize you were in the office! Wait up!" I hate that I have to scramble after him-in heels, no less-but the bastard's not slowing down an iota. I hobble after him on the marble floors of Three Jacks Real Estate's swanky office, hoping I don't fall on my ass and make a fool of myself in front of the others. When Jack doesn't stop, I have to speed up just to catch him. "Jack!"
He finally stops, right at the front doors of the office, and frowns at me like I'm an annoying puppy. "What is it, Ivy? I'm on my way out the door, as you can see." He gestures at the large glass double doors like I'm an idiot. "Let's make this fast."
"Of course!" I put on my fake, cheeriest realtor smile. "I was just going to say that my day is clear, and I know LaDonna had that big house on Forsyth that was scheduled to have a showing. I've made flyers-well, actually, they're on the copier right now-and I can go handle things, maybe pass out a few cards-"
He narrows his eyes at me. "Is LaDonna out?"
"Um, she's having an emergency appendectomy, remember?" I bite my lip as he continues to look blank. "It was emailed out to everyone?"
"Mmmhmmm?" The look on his face tells me he didn't read it, or doesn't care.
"So I thought I'd pitch in and help with her listing for today? It's a really great house and I've researched the neighborhood, and I can chat with some prospective buyers and-"
His lips purse and he holds up a finger. "The house is on Forsyth?"
"Yes."
"In the Twin Oaks development?"
I nod. It's the hottest area in the suburbs at the moment, and there's a waiting list for properties. This one's a little pricey but I also know it'll fly off the market within days. It's such a big opportunity.
"How much is the list price?"
There's a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I ignore it. I have to. I'm this far in. "It's listed as one point one million."
Jack pulls out his phone and starts to type. "Street address?"
I give it to him.
"Great. I'll take care of it."
"Oh," I say, fighting the crushing disappointment I'm feeling. "But I can do it, really. I've done comps and I've got flyers ready and-"
"Now, Ivy. You said it's a million-dollar house, right? It's been a lean month for the company and we need to make sure we land all the commissions we can." His tone goes condescending. "And I just don't know that you're the right person to take on such a big task."
"I can absolutely do it, Jack-"
"Now, if I wanted an ice cream cone, you'd be the first one I'd call." He winks at me, the jerk. Winks. Like it's a funny joke. "But for a million-dollar listing? Let's make sure someone with a lot more experience handles it, all right? Oh, and I'll take those flyers, too." He gives me a I'm-the-man-around-here look. "And can you grab me a coffee while you're in the copy room? Super. I'll wait right here." He winks. "Make it snappy. I've got an open house to handle."
"Right. Sure." I force a smile to my face and turn on my heel, heading back toward the copy room to retrieve the flyers I've been working on all morning.
It's not fair. It's so not fair. Every time something decent even comes close to landing in my lap, one of my bosses is there to snatch it away again. I'm stewing as I snatch the stack of copies from the machine and tuck them under my arm, then head to the coffeemaker. Get him a coffee while I'm at it? Like I'm his freaking secretary? But he's also the boss, so I'm stuck. I eye the two coffeepots on the burner. One's nothing but dregs, and the other's a fresh pot. I grab a paper cup, tip the dregs into the cup, and then march back out the door to hand Jack the flyers about the house I know I could sell today, if I was given the chance.
He gives me another wink as he turns to go. "Thanks for the tip, Ivy. Good work."
I watch him leave, my fists clenched. I'm stewing with helpless frustration. Thwarted yet again. Thanks for the tip. Like it was a freaking tip? That was my hours of hard work. That was my opportunity that he snatched away. And if I keep thinking about it, I'm going to puke with anger. So I take a deep breath, smooth a hand down the front of my suit, and calmly walk back to my desk in the back of the office, tucked near the bathrooms. A client is strolling out of the men's room and I keep a poised smile on my face. I'm composed until I sit down and put my hands on my keyboard. Calm. Rational.
The moment the client disappears? I bury my face in my hands.
"Uh-oh," Farah says from her desk across the way. "What happened? You were on cloud nine ten minutes ago! Did something happen to LaDonna?"
I take a deep breath and lift my head to look over at my friend. "Jack happened."
She wrinkles her nose. "Dumb Jack, Jack Jack, or Winky Jack?"
"Winky Jack," I say miserably. "He stole that open house from me and said he'd handle it. What could I do?"
"Tell him no?" Farah raises one dark brow at me. "Tell him to do his own work instead of stealing yours?"
"He's the boss," I tell Farah with a sigh. "I like being employed."
"I don't see how," she says drily, pulling out a stack of folders on her desk and flipping through them. "They don't leave you enough clients to make a living."
"Oh, they do," I say glumly, and cross my arms, staring at my laptop. The screen still has a dozen comp listings pulled up from this morning's work, all gone to waste. "They leave me all the clients with bad credit and no money. You need to buy a house with nothing down and a spending limit of fifty grand? Go talk to Ivy."
She snorts.
That's all she can do, because we both know I'm not wrong. Farah's been with Three Jacks for ten years-no clue why she stays. Me, I've been here for one, and a lot of the time I feel lucky to have that one. They hired me, fresh off the streets after I got my realtor license, and I didn't have a lick of experience to my name. I was working at an ice cream shop prior to Three Jacks . . . something that the bosses like to remind me about all the time.
Three Jacks is a boys' club. I knew it was when I got hired. It's run by Jack Farrington (Dumb Jack), who's older than the hills and has a silver spoon in his mouth; Jack Jackson, who's a snake oil salesman if there ever was one; and Jack Richards (Winky Jack) who thinks women aren't born with two brain cells to rub together and he'll have to rescue us from ourselves. They're nice enough, as far as bosses go, I suppose. After all, they did give me a job. I make half of a percent on any house I sell. That means on a regular three percent agency commission, they get the other two point five percent and I get what's left after expenses. If I sell a house that's a hundred grand? I get five hundred dollars and the company walks away with the other twenty-five hundred.
Jack (Dumb Jack) told me that I could "promote" my commission amount once I've earned two million in sales for the company. Given that the only clients I get handed to me are dirt poor or can't land a mortgage? It's been an exercise in frustration, but I'm determined not to give up.
Ivy Smithfield is going to get a better life for herself and her sister, even if she has to climb uphill both ways, I vow. I may not have the experience or the pedigree, but I've got determination.
With that mental pep talk, I feel a little better. I'm going to do this. So I'm still seven hundred K away from getting that pay increase? It's doable. I just need to hustle and hustle hard. I've got this. I do.
"I'll just have to find some new leads," I announce to Farah. "It's a minor setback, but it's not a deal-breaker."
"Whatever," Farah says, giving me side-eye. "You know it's okay to be pissed, right?"
"I'm not pissed," I reply, pulling up local housing forums to scan them for potential clients, just like I do every day. My mama always said "Fake it until you make it," and I'm getting to be a real pro at faking it. Sometimes I even almost believe myself. "Minor setback. I'll just have to work on some other leads."