agent leave a card. No, it's not professional but I can't account for the behavior of agents not with my company. Of course, I tell everyone who schedules to leave some sort of card so you know they were there. That's right, we did have a second showing now that you have lowered your price. I'll keep you posted. And please, remember to vacuum the cat hair every day and make sure the air freshener is working. Bye now." She stuck her tongue out at the phone before hanging up.
"Nice save, chick," Val declared over the top of her cubicle wall. "And you must fill me in on that incredibly hot moment you shared this morning with our fine company cocksman," Her grin widened.
Sara rolled her eyes, but knew her skin betrayed her by flushing red.
"Oh, he was just messing with me because I wasn't drooling. Guy can't stand it when he thinks there's a female in the room not completely ready to fall on her knees."
"Hmmm, maybe," Val said, turning to go. "I've known Mr. Gordon a while and I sense something else -- anyway, I'm here to listen, when you want to talk."
By three that afternoon, the office buzzed with activity and Sara let work consume her. She talked with prospective clients, provided info for current ones, and was generally sufficiently distracted enough to forget that morning's drama.
As she wrapped up a comparative market analysis for a potential seller, her phone buzzed. Jack. She decided to let him sit for a while. Within five minutes, he had called again. When he called yet again a few minutes later, the phone nearly fell off her desk, buzzing its way across the top.
She grabbed it and hit redial, wondering what was so urgent, and realized the moment he picked up that the appraisal must have hit his desk.
"What the fuck is your lender up to?"
Sara winced and held the phone away from her head.
"I haven't seen it yet. Let me pull it up." She searched through her email inbox for the incriminating file.
"Don't bother. I can assure it won't stand. It's a complete bullshit hack job. We gotta come up with a report to justify a re-do so get your sweet ass over here and help me." He hung up.
Sara sighed, but her body began to betray her when she realized she would be working alongside Jack today, even though he was spitting mad. A low appraisal was every realtor's nightmare and then some. Her buyers needed to borrow a large percentage of the purchase price from the bank. If the bank is told the house isn't worth it, they won't lend.
She punched in a text to him: "I'll be there in about forty-five minutes."
"FINE" he yelled via return text. "I'm on floor until eight anyway."
She spent about fifteen minutes sprucing up before leaving her office, her brain half-misty with desire and half terrified at the thought of yet another obstacle in the road towards a successful closing of this particular transaction. The drive would have normally taken ten minutes but side street construction gave her an extra twenty minutes to ponder what the evening held.
Sara had done a little online research, claiming to herself it was just to figure out what it all meant. What she found had been a surprising insight into the psychology of people who, like herself, needed to be in control of pretty much all aspects of life, except one. And how much pleasure could be gained from releasing that very control to someone you trusted.
Trust Jack? Yeah, as if.
But she had, once, and it had provided her with the most incredible sexually charged moment of her life.
Sara squirmed in her seat, remembering how she'd reacted to the pictures and stories. Somehow, the home page of one club in Detroit stuck in her head with its lush colors and vivid yet classy descriptions of the services they offered. One photo in particular of a tall man with dark hair dressed in a suit standing over a woman on her knees with her hands bound behind her, blindfolded, had set her off. She'd had
"Nice save, chick," Val declared over the top of her cubicle wall. "And you must fill me in on that incredibly hot moment you shared this morning with our fine company cocksman," Her grin widened.
Sara rolled her eyes, but knew her skin betrayed her by flushing red.
"Oh, he was just messing with me because I wasn't drooling. Guy can't stand it when he thinks there's a female in the room not completely ready to fall on her knees."
"Hmmm, maybe," Val said, turning to go. "I've known Mr. Gordon a while and I sense something else -- anyway, I'm here to listen, when you want to talk."
By three that afternoon, the office buzzed with activity and Sara let work consume her. She talked with prospective clients, provided info for current ones, and was generally sufficiently distracted enough to forget that morning's drama.
As she wrapped up a comparative market analysis for a potential seller, her phone buzzed. Jack. She decided to let him sit for a while. Within five minutes, he had called again. When he called yet again a few minutes later, the phone nearly fell off her desk, buzzing its way across the top.
She grabbed it and hit redial, wondering what was so urgent, and realized the moment he picked up that the appraisal must have hit his desk.
"What the fuck is your lender up to?"
Sara winced and held the phone away from her head.
"I haven't seen it yet. Let me pull it up." She searched through her email inbox for the incriminating file.
"Don't bother. I can assure it won't stand. It's a complete bullshit hack job. We gotta come up with a report to justify a re-do so get your sweet ass over here and help me." He hung up.
Sara sighed, but her body began to betray her when she realized she would be working alongside Jack today, even though he was spitting mad. A low appraisal was every realtor's nightmare and then some. Her buyers needed to borrow a large percentage of the purchase price from the bank. If the bank is told the house isn't worth it, they won't lend.
She punched in a text to him: "I'll be there in about forty-five minutes."
"FINE" he yelled via return text. "I'm on floor until eight anyway."
She spent about fifteen minutes sprucing up before leaving her office, her brain half-misty with desire and half terrified at the thought of yet another obstacle in the road towards a successful closing of this particular transaction. The drive would have normally taken ten minutes but side street construction gave her an extra twenty minutes to ponder what the evening held.
Sara had done a little online research, claiming to herself it was just to figure out what it all meant. What she found had been a surprising insight into the psychology of people who, like herself, needed to be in control of pretty much all aspects of life, except one. And how much pleasure could be gained from releasing that very control to someone you trusted.
Trust Jack? Yeah, as if.
But she had, once, and it had provided her with the most incredible sexually charged moment of her life.
Sara squirmed in her seat, remembering how she'd reacted to the pictures and stories. Somehow, the home page of one club in Detroit stuck in her head with its lush colors and vivid yet classy descriptions of the services they offered. One photo in particular of a tall man with dark hair dressed in a suit standing over a woman on her knees with her hands bound behind her, blindfolded, had set her off. She'd had
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