He figured out shortly after he started here that working over the weekend was an excuse so that I wouldn’t have to socialize with my friends. I love them, but I hate the constant change. At least if I’m working, seeing less and less of them can feel like it’s my fault and not because they’re all building lives without me.
“Yes, boss,” I deadpan. He taps my desk and heads for the door with a wave.
“Have fun,” I call after him, then I’m sitting in my silent office.
There are no indications about which Van Doren worked here. I’ve wanted to ask, but the other agents tend to get skittish and tense when I talk about the Van Dorens. Which I find strange because every Van Doren I’ve ever met has been perfectly kind.
Except perhaps Loren. That’s a different story, but I’m confident he doesn’t have his real estate license.
It’s only three, but aside from more calls, I have nothing else scheduled, so I decide that maybe I’ll head home early. Why not?
I make sure I’m always kind and approachable in the office, so a smile is on my face as soon as I step out.
There are five others who work in the office besides me and Zaiden. Three are full-time, two are part-time. Since Zaiden left, there are four remaining, two of whom have their desks right out in the open and not in an office with four walls. Absently, I wonder if they resent me for having the Van Doren office.
“Have a great weekend, everyone,” I call as I head for the door.
I hear a repeat of the same words in return, some of which say my name. It took me a solid eight months to keep them from calling me Mr. Holleran. I’m not their superior. I’m a real estate agent. Just as they are. Zaiden is the superior.
But I get it; I sit in the VD office.
The sun is hot today. Surprising for Arizona, right? The thought makes me roll my eyes. It’s always funny to me how uptight people get about how hot it is when I mention the weather. Like… I live here. I know. Guess what? I’m still going to live my life, regardless of the temperature.
I start my car, and the check engine light flickers on with one of those loud carbings. I wince because they always make me jump. Then I glare at the light. This is a new fucking car!
As soon as I touch my finger to the ignition, the light turns off. I pause, staring at the spot where the light had just been. Is it going to come back? Was it a fluke? I pull my finger away and wait again. Nothing.
“Huh,” I murmur out loud. Perhaps I should bring it in for a quick check. It’s early enough. But the light is out now, so are they even going to be able to figure out what’s wrong? Was iton long enough to send a code through the computer? Actually, was there even something wrong if it went off less than thirty seconds later?
No matter. I shift into Drive, but don’t take my foot off the brake until I’m relatively certain the light won’t turn back on. Okay, it was just a fluke. The car was having a moment. Not a big deal.
Depending on traffic, my drive home is only twenty-two minutes, though it can be up to half an hour when I leave during the peak of rush hour. I try not to. My goal is usually to get in early enough that I miss it in the morning, so I can leave early enough to beat it in the afternoon. Three is a good time.
When I get home, I drive around the side of the big house where I can access the underground parking. If I’m not working this weekend, I might as well park my car where it belongs. It’s not like it’s difficult to get my car in or out. Like the rest of the world, laziness is often confused with convenience. It truly is laziness when I keep my car in the side lot instead of driving it into the garage. It’s not like there isn’t an elevator!
I head to the third floor and my room to change out of my clothes. There isn’t exactly a dress code at work, but I tend to dress in slacks and polo shirts. It’s dress casual as far as I’m concerned. I’m not a slob, and I’m not in a suit. Perfectly presentable.
However, I feel like I look like my father, so I stay in it for as little time as possible. Slacks and a polo aren’t just his work attire; they’re also his golf attire, weekend attire, vacation attire, and lounge attire. The material of his clothing changes more than the style.
Now in something that feels far more comfortable, I step back into the loggia and look around. It’s empty. I can’t say a house this big is ever truly quiet, but… it’s quiet.
I glance at Honey Bee’s room. The door is closed, but I imagine she’s still at work. As is Levis. I could drop in on Oakley, but Loren doesn’t work anymore either, apparently, so I know he’ll be there. Haze is probably at work. Briar has a spouse and a kid.
Sighing, I drop onto the couch and close my eyes. I’m surrounded by my friends, and yet, it feels like they’re hundreds of miles away.
“Hey, you.”
My heart stutters at Voss’ voice, even before I pick my head up and open my eyes. He sits beside me instead of across from me. His hand rests on my leg.
Voss has kind of a preppy-grunge look. His jeans look well-worn with tears and rips all over the place. They’re folded at the bottoms, though they’re not long, and worn over suede shoes. He’s wearing a knit vest with a hood over nothing.
One wrist is covered in a variety of bracelets. The other has a large-faced silver watch. His hair is short, dark, and almost always messy. His face has a permanent fuzzy shadow. Interestingly, his glasses are incredibly similar to mine, with a square-ish shape and solid, dark frames.
“Hey.”
“You’re home early,” he says, leaning in to kiss me.
“Yeah. Zaiden told me to go home, and you don’t argue with the boss.”
