Page 16 of Diego

The knot in my stomach tightens.

I force myself to keep my voice even. “I’m new here. I don’t have connections yet.”

Randall shrugs as though that has nothing to do with him. “Diego wanted you to show him houses, so you’re going to show him houses.”

“You know perfectly well that finding properties for someone at his level on this kind of notice takes relationships. Off-market opportunities. Brokers willing to make calls for you. Sellers willing to accommodate a next-day showing.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

I stare at him.

He picks up a pen, turns it once between his fingers, and sets it back down. “And I suggest you figure it out quickly.”

Pure hatred for this smarmy asshole blooms beneath the panic.

“How quickly?”

“By tomorrow morning.”

I almost laugh, but nothing about his face suggests he is joking.

“You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

I glance toward the closed door, then back at him. “You’re expecting me to build an entire luxury showing schedule in less than a day with no established client list and almost no broker network.”

“I’m expecting you to do the job you were hired to do.”

“You know that's not the same thing.”

His expression hardens.

I stop there.

Arguing with Randall is not going to suddenly make him generous.

He leans forward and lowers his voice. “Let me make this very simple for you. Diego Conti is one of the new owners of this company. He asked for you personally. That means you now have an opportunity most brokers in this office would kill for.”

There is something ugly in the way he says personally.

I feel it immediately. I also know better than to react.

“If you pull this off,” he continues, “good for you. It opens doors. Your career skyrockets.”

“And if I don’t?”

His smile turns ugly.

“If you don’t pull this off, you’re out of here.”

For one beat, I simply look at him.

He reaches for a small piece of paper near his keyboard, writes something down, and slides it across the desk toward me.

“Here’s his contact information.”

I pick it up.