I have a month off. If the board suspends my license...”
She didn’t know what would happen then, nor did she want to think about it. After college she hadn’t had a clue as to what she wanted to do with her life. Then she’d stumbled into real estate, and for the first time ever, she felt that she’d finally found a place where she belonged. She loved showing houses and getting people good financing and watching their faces light up the day they moved in to their new home. It was her whole life.
“April’s a bitch,” Maya said.
Phoebe sighed. “She’s a single mother with three kids, one of whom is chronically sick.”
“You’re making excuses.”
“I’m telling the truth. She’s right. If she’d taken any more time off to stay home with Beth, she could have been fired. So she asked me to fill out the paperwork for the Bauers. My mistake was in listening to her. I knew the paperwork was wrong.”
Phoebe had fought with her boss, and a frustrated April had finally yelled at her to just do what she was told and file the stupid things. Which Phoebe had done, even though she’d known better. But through a series of unfortunate events, what should have just been a mistake had ended up starting a lawsuit and a subsequent criminal investigation—the consequences of which had landed her in court. Rather than tell the truth, April had let her take the fall, explaining that Phoebe could afford to be a screwup. If April got fired, there were three kids on the line. Phoebe hadn’t come up with an argument to refute that one.
“I didn’t think the real estate board got involved in paperwork mix-ups,” Maya said.
Phoebe thought about the letter in her purse. The one she’d read while consuming four pieces of almond truffle and a double latte from Starbucks.
“They don’t. However the Bauers were April’s clients, and I did the paperwork. They’re accusing me of taking the credit and money for her sale.”
Maya’s green eyes widened with sympathy. “Which you didn’t do.”
“But who’s going to believe me?”
“April knows the truth.”
“April won’t risk telling it.”
“So what happens now? You could haul her into court. I could do an exposé.”
“Thanks, but I’m looking for a different sort of option.” Although what it was, Phoebe couldn’t say. “I guess I have a month to find myself a new job.” Depending on what happened with her license, maybe a new career. “I love selling real estate. I don’t want to stop doing that.”
Maya shook her head. “No, what you love is rescuing people. You’re the only Beverly Hills agent I know who specializes in starter homes for the financially challenged. You could be making truckloads of money with movie stars and Hollywood execs, but instead you work with newlyweds and single moms on a budget that wouldn’t support a rodent family.”
Phoebe thought about protesting, but she knew her friend was right.
“I know what it’s like to be desperate for a place to belong,” she said. She’d lived with the feeling most of her life. One day, she promised herself. One day she would find it, and then she would never let it go.
“Oh, wait.” Phoebe brightened. “I do have one movie-star client, but Jonny Blaze doesn’t want to buy a house here in LA. He’s looking for a vacation paradise home complete with room for a helicopter pad.”
“Could you at least sleep with him and take your mind off things?”
For the first time that day, Phoebe laughed. “I wish, but the man actually ruffled my hair and told me I looked like his kid sister.”
“That’s a drag.”
“Tell me about it.” Phoebe rose. “I have chocolate calling my name, and you have the rich and famous to stalk. I’m going to get out of your way.”
“No way.” Maya rose, came around her desk and gave Phoebe a hug. “I’m not leaving you alone. Let’s go out for Mexican.”
“Are you sure you have time?”
“For you? Always.”
* * *
MAYA HAD SAID she needed to wrap up a few things at work, so Phoebe deliberately took the slowest route to their favorite Mexican restaurant. She hated waiting alone in a bar. Instead she took a seat in the foyer and watched the couples and families stream into the popular eatery. Every now and then a single man arrived on his own. She was careful to look away when that happened. The last guy she’d met in a restaurant bar had not only tried to borrow five thousand dollars from her on their second date, but had lied about being married. She was still stinging from the threat of serving jail time and worried about her real estate license—the last thing she needed was a lousy relationship.
Although a good one wouldn’t be so bad, she thought wistfully. She wasn’t looking for perfect—just a nice guy who would love her, who wanted kids and a regular life filled with things like family car-trip vacations and PTA meetings. A family of her own. Unfortunately she didn’t seem to be skilled at meeting normal, stable men. She seemed to attract losers like Jeff the Unfaithful, or married men who wanted money. Maybe instead of looking for a man who obviously didn’t exist in her universe, she should think about getting a dog.
Before she could consider breeds or sizes, the front door opened, and Maya breezed in. She was both stylish and elegant in a black suit that skimmed her curves and highlighted her blond hair. Phoebe had been so caught up in her own problems earlier that she hadn’t noticed the outfit.
“New?” she asked as she stood and smiled. “It’s fabulous.”
Maya grinned, then twirled quickly so her suit could be viewed from the back. “It wasn’t even on sale, but I couldn’t help myself. I love it. This is the suit I bought for my interview with the network, and I’ve got a green number that matches my eyes for the on-camera audition.”
“You’ll totally rock the interview,” Phoebe said loyally. “And look amazing doing it.”
“You’re so sweet. Thank you.”
Phoebe didn’t envy her friend her gorgeous wardrobe. Phoebe shopped at the outlet mall or the Macy’s sale rack. With the exception of action-movie stars like Jonny Blaze, her clients didn’t want to think their hard-earned money was going to support a designer wardrobe, and she was okay with that.
“I’m starving,” Maya said. “And you need a margarita.”
They followed the hostess through a maze of wooden tables laden with drinks, chips and oversize plates of fajitas, enchiladas and tacos. The smell of sizzling beef and chicken made Phoebe’s mouth water.
The waiter appeared, and they ordered their margaritas and, without looking at the menu, the number three dinner. The busboy was on his heels, leaving chips and salsa.
Phoebe eyed the chips, mentally calculating calories. Not that it was going to matter. By her second margarita, she would throw her eating plan out the window and chow down on everything in sight. In the morning she would try to StairMaster off
