Page 133 of Diego

Today’s client is one of them.

Rafe Calloway, founder and CEO of Calloway Aeronautics, is looking for something in the city with enough space to entertain, privacy from neighboring units, and a building that can accommodate the kind of security he considers necessary. The budget is high enough that it's not even a factor.

My only job is to figure out which expensive property actually makes sense for him.

Very similar to Diego. I guess this is what I'm known for now.

Dream job.

I am halfway through a showing on the thirty-fourth floor of a newly renovated building when my body decides to remind me that it is not entirely my own anymore.

The apartment is beautiful. Wide-plank floors; enormous windows; a kitchen fitted with custom cabinetry, integrated appliances, a broad stone waterfall island; and a terrace wrapping around two sides of the living space.

My client has been interested from the moment we walked in, which means I should be thrilled.

Instead, I am standing beside the kitchen island while the smell of freshly brewed coffee turns my stomach inside out.

It happens so quickly that for a second I do not understand anything is wrong at all.

One moment I am explaining the storage hidden behind the paneled wall.

The next, saliva floods my mouth.

My stomach clenches hard enough that I stop mid-breath.

I keep my expression exactly the way it is.

My client is looking toward the built-in cabinetry, completely unaware that I am currently engaged in a private battle with my own digestive system.

“The storage continues through here,” I say, and somehow my voice sounds normal. “There’s also a secondary pantry behind that panel, which is useful if you entertain often.”

He nods and moves toward it.

I remain where I am for half a second longer.

Do not throw up.

The coffee smell gets stronger when he passes the machine.

My stomach rolls again.

I pick up my tablet from the island, mostly because I need something to do with my hands, and step toward the living room.

“The terrace is worth seeing before we go upstairs.”

There is no upstairs.

I catch myself before the words fully register.

Jesus.

“Into the bedrooms,” I correct myself smoothly. “The terrace is one of the strongest features of the unit.”

My client either does not notice the mistake or is polite enough not to mention it.

I cross the room at a normal pace.

Not like a woman fighting an internal war.