Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
"Yes, Mr. Fitzpatrick," Sasha replies.
I send her a happy smile.
Everyone gathers around and quiets down, and Sasha takes her seat with Joshua behind her shoulders for moral support. She says a quick, quiet prayer and then puts the phone on speaker.
It instantly begins to ring. It occurs to me suddenly that we have celebrated even before the negotiation call has even been made, but it is endearing nonetheless.
"Greta Schmidt speaking?" a woman answers. She has a cool professional voice and a strong German accent.
"Hello, this is Sasha Kuznetsov. I am from Fitzpatrick & Co. We were contacted earlier about a Park Avenue listing and given your number as a contact…"
"Ah, yes… I am Mr. Ivanovich’s PA, and you will be dealing with me on this matter. He would like to schedule an appointment to view the property in question in the next two days."
"Next two days?” Sasha repeats and winces because she knows it will take time to connect with the seller’s agent and stage the house properly to show it at its best.
At this response, the lady goes briefly silent, and my heart jumps. As I look around, I can see the nervousness in everyone's eyes. Sasha most definitely doesn't miss this either.
“Is that not possible?” Greta Schmidt’s voice is cold and disapproving.
“Of course, it is possible,” Sasha says quickly. “It will be ready. I'm at your service. When would Mr. Ivanovich like to see it? Anytime at all. Even now.”
Greta allows herself a small almost mocking laugh. “There are two spaces in Mr. Ivanovich's calendar. How does tomorrow sound?"
Sasha’s eyes glitter with excitement. "Tomorrow is wonderful.”
“What time?”
“3.00 p.m. sharp. Please do not keep Mr. Ivanovich waiting.”
“We'll be ready."
"Good.”
"Thank you," she says, and just like that, the call comes to an end. For a long minute, no one speaks or even moves, and then once again the entire office erupts into chaos—smiles, celebrations, and congratulations. I rush headlong into my father's chest.
Suddenly the phone begins to ring again. We almost miss it, but Derek is alert enough to yell for us to be quiet. Sasha scrambles for her phone and picks it up, clearly out of breath with excitement.
"Hello," she says.
"The girl,” Greta Schmidt’s voice says crisply, “the one that makes your advertisements and social media posts?" she says, and all eyes turn to me. I wasn't ready for all that attention because I’m doing what I never do at work. I’m leaning in a very unprofessional way against my father. I quickly step away from him and stand on my own.
"What about her?" Sasha asks as she picks up the receiver and takes the call off the speakers. I watch the light die from her eyes.
"What's happening?" my father whispers, but no one has any response.
"Holy shit," I whisper hoarsely. Maybe they saw my unprofessional, cheaply made videos, and decided we were a joke. "Have I just cost us this listing?"
"That can't be," my father whispers back, but his entire demeanor has changed. He even looks a bit white around the mouth.
Sasha ends the call.
"What did she say?" everyone asks breathlessly.
Sasha manages a smile, but I can see the terrible disappointment in her lovely eyes as she turns to face me.
"They want you to do the viewing, Lara. Not me," she says softly.
Chapter Three
LARA
At first, I’m sure I must have misheard her, but the shocked murmurings all around convinces me I couldn’t have.
"That can't be," I laugh nervously.
My father smiles at me, and there is pride in his eyes. "They said they want the girl posting on our social media page and on our adverts. That would be you.”
Well, of course, it would be me, I think. No one else wanted to be involved in my tomfoolery, even though I had constantly tried with every fiber of my being to persuade them that it was one of the best ways to expand our agency. Sasha actually thought it made our agency look less professional.
“You’ve got to go close the sale,” Dad says with a big happy smile.
I let out a deep breath as the magnitude of what has just been dropped on my shoulders finally sinks in and I can't help but feel overwhelmed and scared. The fate of the agency and all the staff depends on this. I look at all the faces gathered around me with expectant hopeful expressions and then I look at Sasha. There is a frozen smile on her face, and I know instantly. She is expecting me to fail.
I turn to my father anxiously. “But, Dad, I can’t do it. I’ll screw it up.”
"You won’t screw it up. Sasha will help you,” my father says firmly.
I shake my head. “Dad, I know you love me and you can’t help but see the best in me, but the reason I do social media and the adverts is because I’m a terrible salesperson.”