The emails have been scarily quiet lately and for the last few, Dave hadn’t even responded.
“Sure, sure. Been some interest trickling in here and there. I’m sure we’ll get a buyer before long.”
The “zero fucks given” tone makes my stomach lurch.
I grit my teeth, remembering back to when I first met him. The guy bragged he could sell water to a water park. I remember that smug smile of his as he preened his tie like it was yesterday.
Now, I’m starting to think he couldn’t sell an umbrella to someone caught in a monsoon.
I grip the phone tighter. “Will there be any viewings this week?”
“Leave it to me.”
Is that a yes or a no?
“But you told me you’d have an offer for me within three days of it being listed!”
There’s an uncomfortably long pause. “Market’s a bit sluggish right now—your… um… unique business downstairs might make it a touch trickier to move. Maybe knock the asking price down a tad more… knocking off seventy should do it.”
I almost drop the phone. “Seventy? Seventy thousand dollars?”
“Maybe make it ninety to be on the safe side.”
“Ninety.” I choke on the word as people shoot me curious glances. I might be sick. “But that’s way below what I bought it for. I may as well give it away for free.”
“Yeah, that’s unfortunate,” he says. Is he even listening to me? “Listen, I gotta run. We’ll schedule more viewings ASAP. Speak soon, Miss Walsh.”
I’m left with a dial tone in my ear and the weight of what’s happening floods my gut.
I’m in deep shit.
Every penny of my savings went into this “smart investment.” Real estate in Manhattan never loses value, they say—but one blow-up doll has tanked everything.
Soon I’ll be in that window myself with Roxy, a “Buy Me” sign round my neck.
Or maybe I’ll take up a second job, like becoming an Uber driver at night, since apparently, I can drive now.
Is life mocking me? All of the money Dad left me, all my savings were poured into that place. I can almost hear Mom’s voice telling me I’m foolish to put so much into it, but I thought Dad would have been proud. And now? It’s all gone.
I feel like a child, stumbling around in her mom’s oversized high heels, attempting to play the adult without the slightest notion of how to go about it.
It takes me a minute to realize I’m crying, until one of the techies looks at me in horror and uncomfortably asks, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, because that’s what he wants to hear.
He flees the scene, relieved to escape the hysterical woman. I take a deep breath and try to compose myself.
As soon as he’s out of view, I let out a loud sob. I can’t believe I’m crying like this at work. How did I let myself get to this point?
An obnoxious cough cuts through the air, startling me out of my tears. I glance up to see Dwayne eyeing me as if this is the first time he’s seen tears.
For fuck’s sake.
He leans in and awkwardly pats me on the back. “There, there.”
I shrug him off, mortified. “I’m fine,” I sniffle.
“Do you want me to call HR?”
