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Or maybe I was getting ahead of myself because I was really, really into this woman, but—I’d question myself later.
Chapter 28
“Thanks again so much for today,” Fitri said, standing up from the table by the window with me. “Really nothing I can do to pay you back for all this?”
I waved her off. “You bought me lunch. Have you seen the cost of living in Miami these days? That’s more than enough.”
She adjusted her collar with an awkward laugh. “Well, so you say… still, it’s generous of you to do all of this for me. How are things with that company you started at?”
“Ah.” I finished off my coffee, tossing the cup into the trash. “Not too great. I don’t love it. But it’s keeping food on the table.”
“Oh.” She paused. “Are you… staying there, then?”
“Ha…” I shrugged. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Don’t know. I’ve wondered about heading out as an independent agent, but, you know. The market’s vicious.”
“I think the market’s vicious in that it filters out… fresh-faced upstarts. People like me, I guess. You’re a veteran, and a good one, too. I think you could do it if you wanted to… there’s something about how open and honest you are that I think makes you easy to work with.”
Open and honest, huh? I shook off the thought, sliding my tablet into my bag and hoisting it up onto my shoulder. “Thanks, Fitri. Might be right. We’ll see how things shake out. I’ve gotta run, though, but I look forward to seeing how your project goes for you.”
I saw her off at the door and went full-speed on to the meeting with my supervisor and Robert down in Coconut Grove for a strategy meeting before we talked to the big residential-investor client we were bullying today, and it was only once we’d finished that and were waiting for the client that I found myself sitting in the silence between moments, my knee bouncing, looking down at my phone where I’d pulled up my texts with María, of all people. Why? Even I wasn’t sure, but I guess it was only a coinflip anyway.
Want to talk business, can we chat today?
Took until nighttime—I finished up a meeting with the investor, where I managed to piss off Robert by deliberately taking the pressure off the prospective buyer, and he gave me a stern talking-to after it was done, and then it was off to the next thing, knocking on some proprietors’ doors and trying to make friendly, and I felt like I had the soul sucked out of my bones by the time I was back in my apartment with Earl on my lap, and María sent me another text.
I’m in your neighborhood, might as well meet if we’re going to talk
Mother Goose must have been feeling a little better, if she could be spontaneous again. She suggested a bar close by, hipster place with vinyls and cocktails, and I caught her there at the end of the bar, wearing a night-out dress that suggested she was out for more than just me tonight. I slid in next to her, and she raised her drink, freshly placed in front of her, to toast me.
“Here’s to business,” she said. “I like the sounds of that.”
“María. You’re talking this up too much. Now I feel like I have to deliver.”
“I know. High-pressure sales tactic.”
I laughed, glancing at the menu and ordering a negroni offhandedly. “I guess you’re doing at least a little better, if you’re giving me this attitude?”
“Más o menos. Something about this city really doesn’t let you quit, does it?” She held her drink up to her lips, not sipping it but just holding it there pensively. “Draws you back in… but I guess you’d know, hija.”
“Find work, then?”
“No. Nothing concrete. But I’ve been talking. And maybe that talking will go somewhere. Hablemos de ti ahora. Leon treating you okay?”
“Ah… más o menos.” I paused. “Emphasis on menos.”
She closed her eyes and sipped her drink, long and slow, and let out a sigh. The moment in the conversation she’d been waiting for. Seemed María and I still knew each other like the backs of our hands. Of course—we were never that different. Guess it made sense. “Así, we’re talking business.”
“Si. You knew it was going to happen if I went to Leon, didn’t you?”
“Not until I saw Miguel happy as could be there. The two of you can never both be happy. Realized you weren’t the right person for it.” She looked down, setting her drink down hard just as my drink came out, and I needed a drink, too, because that was when she dove into, “Damn, I miss Queen Pearl.”
I took a long sip of the dark, bitter drink, setting it down gently on the wood surface. The dark of the bar around us, the rich warmth of the vinyl music filling the air—felt like a secret world away from the rest of the universe. “Yo también. You and me both.”
“You should just stick to English. Your accent—”
“I know, I know.”
She laughed. “So, how’s the Mercier account?”
