Page 7 of Diego

“At 11:30 last night.”

Carter grimaces. “Buyer walked.”

“Why?”

“Financing,” Leah says. “Or that’s the official explanation.”

I make a face. “At that price point?”

“Exactly.”

She gives me the look brokers give each other when we all understand that the explanation we have been given is almost certainly only half the explanation. Real estate is full of people who tell you they changed their mind because of financing, timing, family concerns, market conditions, or some other respectable reason when the real answer is usually that someone got nervous, someone got greedy, or someone’s spouse decided they hated the kitchen after pretending for three weeks that they loved it.

“Does that mean the listing is active again?” I ask.

Carter looks offended. “She has been here six weeks, and she’s already circling carcasses.”

“I prefer to call it opportunity.”

“That is exactly what a person circling a carcass would say.”

Leah laughs as I open my email. “You’re going to do fine here.”

“I know.”

Carter presses a hand to his chest. “The humility.”

“I save it for clients.”

“That may actually work.”

“It usually does.”

I say it lightly, but confidence has never been the part of this job I struggle with. Experience can be built. Contacts can be made. Clients can be found. I can learn inventory, neighborhoods, buildings, boards, developers, and every microscopic preference wealthy buyers convince themselves is essential to their happiness.

What I cannot imagine doing is walking into a room already expecting everyone else to be better than I am simply because they have been here longer.

That seems like an excellent way to stay at the bottom.

My inbox loads, and I begin sorting through overnight messages while Carter wanders back toward his desk. There is a request for updated property information, two internal emails, one invitation to a broker open, and a message from someone I met at a networking event last week who may or may not turn into an actual client. I flag that one immediately.

Leah leans in. “Anything good?”

“Potentially.”

“Residential?”

“Buyer.”

“Price?”

I glance at her.

She holds up both hands. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

“I don’t have enough clients to start sharing them.”

“That is the correct answer.”