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She sighed. “I’ll say. Now that you mention it, why the hell does no one get excited in the first place?”
The answer was because most people’s primary concern is looking cool and impressive and they can’t risk someone knowing they like something, but I wasn’t getting into all of that. Ruth probably knew the answer, anyway. “Maybe we need to bring more party tricks. Do a magic show at the property.”
“Oh, that’ll do something, that’s for sure.” She scratched her head, and she checked both ways before she lowered her voice. “Hey… do you remember Jessica Schafer?”
“She’s the… ag-tech woman we got into Marco’s property, right? January?”
“I got in touch with her. Let her know things were a little dire here—”
“Ruth.” I frowned at her. “You can’t go spreading that around everywhere.”
“I didn’t go into too much detail. Relax. Besides, it’s all in the earnings reports, no matter how much María dresses them up. She doesn’t own you. Or me. She can’t make us keep things quiet.”
I pursed my lips, an ugly feeling coiling in my chest. There was no sense chiding her about it. Nobody would change their behavior just from being scolded. “All right, all right. And?”
“She says she could use someone like you.”
“Like me? Ruth—are you looking for jobs for me?”
She put her hands on her hips. “Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m gonna snap that thing up like it’s the last carton of lo mein on Chinese takeout night if you don’t take it. But I’m worried about you, you know. You’re poised to go down with this ship. Me—I’m an expert at getting out. So I put in a good word for you.”
“Ruth…” I shook my head. “I really appreciate it, but this ship isn’t going anywhere. Cameron Mercier is a good lead. I think we can make this work.”
“You might as well at least talk to her.”
“I’m grateful that you put in a good word for me,” I started, but I didn’t get a chance to finish before the door opened and the man with the gross, greasy blond hair walked out, huffing away, and María stepped out behind him, folding her arms and sinking back against the frame, watching him walk down the hall and disappear into the elevator.
“Mark is a fucking asshole,” she said.
I straightened, following her gaze to the elevators. “That’s the insurance guy?”
“Sadly. I at least bullied him into standing down, so… things will be a little cooler for the next week or two.” She turned to us. “Ruth, it’s good you’re here. I wanted to tell you about London’s new job.”
Ruth put her hands on her hips. “A fashion icon, and you didn’t put me on the case?”
María put her hands up. “So we have a tattler, and we have a woman who thinks she has any right to say the word fashion when she wore a fanny pack to work.”
“It was the trend then.”
María gestured to her office. “Well, fine then. Step inside for a second with me anyway. I have a request.”
I sat down in the chair opposite María’s desk, while Ruth stayed standing, her hands in her pockets. María finished off the dregs at the bottom of her coffee cup before she dropped into her rolling chair, kicking a foot back or so as she spun to the window.
“So, London. How did it go?”
I’d rehearsed this, but I got a cotton mouth again. All I could think about when it came to the whole tour was the way Cameron’s eyes had flared as she’d taken me—the way she’d felt bending me over the table and—
“Better than expected,” I said. “She didn’t like it being over her budget, but she was delighted by the whole place. She wasn’t as interested in the touch-screen wall as we’d hoped. Too attached to the traditional way of doing things. Judging by her reactions, we can afford to cut the square footage a little. And… she’s a big fan of the pool. Really wowed by the rooftop.”
“Not bad. So, shall we cut to the place in Coconut Grove and see if the location moves her?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Coconut Grove is nice, but you expect it to instantly sell her over a Miami Beach penthouse?”
“What, did you not read the report? It’s where her house is now.”
“Oh.” I winced. “Right… about that. Let’s take Coconut Grove out of the equation.”
She turned back to me, folding her arms on the desk. “She’s not a fan?”
