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“It doesn’t work like that,” I say. “Sorry, but I’m not open to bookings.”
He raises his eyebrows like I’m an idiot. “Really? I think you may want to reconsider that stance. If anything, being your lettings agent, you should be offering me a discount, not a refusal.”
“It’s not personal.” I try to make the rebuttal sound nice. I even smile. “I’m not on the public market, that’s all. It’s nothing against you.”
“You have a pimp, is that what you’re saying?” he asks.
“No.” I get a skin crawl. “I work for a professional company. And there are rules. Exclusivity is one of them.”
“Oh, yes. I’ve heard this story before. Exclusivity. I would think this idea of exclusivity through very carefully before you turn me down, Ella,” he says, and twirls one of my pigtails in his fingers. “I know your friends offer quite a lot of services by all accounts. Are you filthy like they are? Give me a price, and a list of options, fuck exclusivity, I’m sure you can cut me a deal.”
“I can’t…” I hate how my voice sounds so weak.
Richard would have to join the agency, and the referral process doesn’t work like that. I can’t introduce clients, and I can’t take them on outside my entertainer appointments. I wouldn’t dare risk it. I wouldn’t want to anyway, not with him.
He steps behind me to look at my ass, and dares to hitch my skirt up, trying to check out my panties, but I push him away.
“Oh, come on, don’t be shy,” he says. “It’s not as though you don’t bare it for other people. If anything, you should be giving me a complimentary viewing. Show me the holes I’ll be fucking before I hand over my cash for the privilege.”
Now, that is too much for me. I picture my old boss, sneering and rolling her eyes at me when I was working my hardest, like I was nothing but a stupid piece of shit, there to do the store’s bidding.
He’s my letting agent, not my fucking ruler.
“I’m not for sale, and it’s not on offer!” I snap, and step away from him. “Sorry, Richard, but no. I’m not a public service, and I’m definitely not here to be groped by a wannabe client.”
He grits his teeth before he speaks.
“It’s Mr Jacobs, Ella, and I’m definitely not here to be duped. I thought you were a professional in PR, not a hooker seeking a deluxe apartment in Belgravia.”
“I’m not duping anyone. I earn more than enough to pay for it.”
“Then cut the bullshit and tell me how much you’re going to charge me. You’re not the untouchable Tiffany. She owns her apartment, so she can afford to give me the middle finger with no consequences, but you…” His voice trails off, and he looks at me like I’m a cheap piece of shit. “You owe me plenty already. I overlooked your credit rating, by the way. It was abysmal. I also overlooked your current address. Considering your employment reference, I thought you’d landed lucky in your career, but no. You spread your legs and opened wide for money, didn’t you? And you can do the same for me.”
The old Ella in me wants to back down, for the sake of my apartment. He’s like a puppet master, dangling my new home on precarious threads. It would break my heart to lose it, because he controls all of the lettings in Belgravia. If I say no to him and he turns the cogs behind the scenes, I’ll be out in the cold, and he’ll likely sour my reputation through the whole of his professional network. Should I risk that, really? I can’t go back to my old place. I just can’t…
He sees me wavering and grins.
“How much?” he says again. “And when are you available? I’ll have a regular slot from when you get your apartment keys.”
The thought of fucking him in my upcoming home makes me feel sick, so exploited.
I think of Tiff and Josh, and the other entertainers at the agency. So many professionals, with clients appreciating their services – no matter what services they may be. And fuck him. Fuck Richard Jacobs and his bullshit fucking threats, like he can use me as a cheap toy whenever he wants me.
I imagine Tiff in my place. The confidence in her stare, and I force myself to look right at him in the same vein, even though my insides are churning.
“You’d never be able to afford me.”
He’s so taken aback his jaw drops. “I’m sorry?”
I summon my inner Tiff. I summon Ebony. I summon the professionalism of the great people at The Agency Christmas party. I summon my relationship with Josh.
I summon ME. The real ME.
“If you could afford me, Richard, you wouldn’t be a lettings agent, manager or not. You’d be one of the mega landlords in the background, earning thousands in the blink of an eye.”
“How dare –”
“I’m telling you the truth,” I say. “And even if I wasn’t, even if you were a nice guy and I really did have the ability to break my exclusivity contract, I wouldn’t take you on as a client. My clients treat me with respect, even when their fantasies are anything but. Something tells me you’d be a piss-taking piece of shit. I wouldn’t hand it out to you for any fee.”
