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I placed my glass on my forehead, hoping the cold would help quell the pounding behind my eyes. The headache had settled in, making every sound feel like a hammer striking my skull. Just as I started to feel a bit better, my phone rang. I fumbled with it, managing to answer on the third ring.
“Lincoln Elliott,” I answered, trying to sound as authoritative as possible.
“You called? This is Erika Bramwell.” Her voice was sexy and sultry, but there was an edge to it that immediately rubbed me the wrong way.
“I’m inquiring about the Fifth Avenue property in the Grayson Building,” I said, keeping my tone businesslike.
“You have an offer?” she asked, her voice almost mocking.
I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me. “Thirteen and a half.” The moment the words left my mouth, I had to pull the phone away from my ear as Erika burst into laughter.
“You’re joking,” she said between giggles.
I frowned, annoyed at how unprofessional she was being. “I’m making an offer, so why would I be joking? My client doesn’t want to negotiate.”
“You are aware that property was just discounted?” she countered, her tone dripping with condescension.
“I am, but I can only make the offer based on what my client wants,” I replied, struggling to keep my irritation in check.
A loud crunching sound suddenly filled the receiver, forcing me to pull the phone away from my ear again. It felt like I was being punked. My headache throbbed harder, the beating in my head intensifying.
“I’ll present the figure,” Erika finally said, her voice taking on a snobbish tone. “But I highly doubt my clients will be interested, especially with no negotiation.”
“Please give me their lowest. Maybe I can talk my client into negotiating,” I suggested, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism. The crunching continued, pushing my patience to the limit. “Do you mind?” I asked, my voice tight with annoyance.
“Mind what?” she responded, feigning innocence.
“Don’t you think it’s unprofessional to eat while we’re discussing a property?” I asked, the frustration evident in my tone.
“Not at all,” she said casually. “I didn’t eat all day, and this is my downtime.”
“An early day?” I forced a smile, though I was anything but amused.
“Hardly. I have a showing at 7,” she replied, dismissively.
“Does that mean I’ll have to wait to present back to my client?” I asked, trying to gauge how long this would drag on.
Erika snorted. “I doubt they’ll even entertain anything for you to get back to your client with. Your offer is a lowball.”
“I agree, but it’s not my money. Are we done here?” I asked, tired of her attitude.
“I’ll call my clients and get back to you,” she said curtly.
“Fine. Thank you,” I replied, ready to end the conversation.
One last colossal crunch echoed through the phone before Erika hung up without so much as a goodbye. What a bitch, I seethed internally, finishing off what was left in my glass before setting it down next to me. The sun was now glaring directly into my eyes, so I closed them, hoping to block out the world for a moment.
I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, I was startled awake by the ringing of my phone. I snatched it from my lap.
“Elliott,” I answered, my voice gravelly from the nap.
“I thought your name was Lincoln,” came the voice on the other end.
“Who is this?” I asked, confused.
“Erika Bramwell. I presented your offer, and the answer is a flat no.”
I stifled a groan because I knew this would be the case. Mrs. Ducane wasn’t making this easy and the thought of going back to her to ask about negotiation made my balls crawl up into my belly.
