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  Hurrying up the porch, I flipped open the metal lid of the box and grasped the papers inside. The porch was dim in contrast to the bright Alabama sunshine, so my eyes took a moment to adjust. A few bills, a circular for the grocery store, a magazine, and oh…

  Here it was.

  In a pale-blue, stiff-looking envelope, oddly formal against the other detritus from my mailbox. Everything seemed to become sharper in focus as I pulled it open. Breathless, I stared as I pulled out, feeling the urge to both cry, scream, and dance around.

  State of Alabama. Cammie Book. Real Estate Broker.

  Hugging it to my chest, I wondered who I should call first, and then darted inside, almost forgetting to close my mailbox. Tossing the rest of the mail on the table, I banged down my purse and snatched up my cell phone. Dialing my mother, bouncing on my toes, I did a series of mini-pirouettes as I waited for her to answer.

  “Hello?” Came my mother’s voice.

  I’d meant to be more dignified, but I couldn’t resist gushing, “Mom, oh, Mom, it’s here, I got it. It’s real. In a pretty blue envelope and everything.”

  “What’s that honey?” She sounded slightly distracted, and I thought I could hear the rush of the sink in the background.

  “Mom,” I said, a little softer, and I heard her shut off the sink. “My license came.”

  “Today?” My mother gasped. “My word. Oh, Cammie, I’m so proud. So, so proud. You did all that hard work and now,” her voice trailed off as it became watery with tears. “Would that your daddy was here, oh my, I’m going to have to call your Aunt Bethany; won’t she brag to all the bridge ladies about this, and your grandmother, oh, they’re all going to want to see it…”

  I smiled even wider, my throat working as my mother rambled on. “The only thing is that I don’t know when I can get home next, Mom,” I said when she finally took a breath of air.

  “Oh, Cammie!” She let out a sigh. “I suppose little old Cropwell isn’t enough for a city girl anymore. We’re just too country.”

  “Mama, now you know that’s not true,” I said, resisting the urge to laugh. “It’s just that I need to get working on getting into a realty company and actually selling homes. Tomorrow, first thing, I’m calling Birmingham Realty to see if I can get a job there. Isn’t that exciting?”

  “Oh! That big ol’ company?” Mom sucked in a breath, and I heard her sit down with a thud. “Camilla Book, do you think you can get in at a place like that on your first go-round? I know you interned for them, but…” Her voice dropped a few octaves. “Isn’t it a bit upper-class?”

  “You sound like Anna,” I sighed before I could help myself.

  “You know we both just want the best for you! Now, why not try somewhere a bit smaller first? Build to that? You just always had to go straight for the top.”

  “Daddy taught me that,” I responded quietly. “’Shoot for the moon, land among the stars.’”

  “Oh, that man,” My mother’s voice filled with affection and exasperation, tugging at my heart. Daddy had been gone for almost seven years, but my mother’s love for him was strong and steady as her heartbeat. Sometimes I wondered if I’d ever get so lucky.

  “Please tell me you have something to wear,” Mom’s tone was now brisk and businesslike. “And that you’re going to be applying to other jobs, young lady. Can’t put all your eggs in one basket. That’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

  “Of course, Mama. I know that,” I said.

  Thirty minutes later, after reassuring my mother for the tenth time that I would apply to other realty companies, that I wouldn’t wear anything too bright, that I’d give my grandmother a call later, and that I’d call her as soon as I heard back from one of those places, I finally managed to extricate myself from the conversation.

  Sitting at my kitchen table, I let out a sigh, feeling as though I’d just run a marathon.

  Then I held up my license again and set my jaw. Since preschool, I’d been a goal setter and a go-getter. I liked to aim as high as possible. I figured even if I didn’t reach them, as my Daddy had said, I’d land among the stars. So far, I’d gotten the moon almost every time.

  Thinking back, I found myself recalling all the time and effort I’d put into this moment. Sitting here at my table, license in hand to sell homes.

  After high school, I’d worked odd jobs around Cropwell and Pell City for a year. Everything from being a waitress at the high-end golf club along the river, helping shuck hay in the fall, babysitting, and even a brief stint as Mrs. Hooley’s chauffeur.

  That had continued when I’d moved to Birmingham to pursue my license. I’d walked dogs, bussed tables, frosted cupcakes, and tutored kids on their homework. Beyond that, I’d pinched pennies, limited my going-outs with friends, and had opted to stay in this tiny house in Druid Hills.

  In addition to all of that, there were the countless hours spent studying, of course. And while some people might get to the finish line and slow down, I saw this as an opportunity to gear up, to meet my next challenge head on.

  Oh, I was going to get the job at Birmingham Realty – no matter what I had to do.

  I had come too far and worked too hard to settle for anything less.

  Chapter 3

  Kris

  My stomach was cramping I was so hungry, but I ignored it as I looked over the numbers Lucy had sent me earlier today. While meticulous to a fault, the rows and columns of were still overwhelming. There were set budgets, budget proposals, expenditures, requests from directors for a bump in their budgets, costs of the maintenance and so forth. It seemed to never end.

  The screen swam in front of my eyes as my stomach rumbled.

  “Hey, Kris, what on earth are you still doing here?” Max was at my elbow giving me a hard look, a backpack slung over his shoulder. “Please tell me you’re not working.”

  “I’m not,” I said. “I’d call this something along the lines of staring at this screen, hoping it will magically tell me everything I need to know. I want to continue Bold’s current success track record, if not a more success-ier success.” I rubbed my eyes. “I will say this: no wonder why Lucy is such a hard-ass. This is gnarly stuff.”

  Max chuckled. “You should tell her that.”

  “I already did. She sent this over, and I called her office, and I was like, Lucy, you’re a gem, you’re a pearl, you’re clearly not paid enough – which in retrospect may have not been the slickest thing to say to the Finance VP, but she took it in stride.” I drummed my hands on the desk. “Max, you don’t have to stay, I promise I’m leaving soon. Besides, aren’t you off to a softball game?

  His lips quirked up. “Maya’s game doesn’t start for an hour. You’re welcome to come, you know. Simone and Perry would love to see you.”

  Maya and Perry were Max’s adorable kids, who treated me like an honorary uncle, while Simone was his fiery, gorgeous wife. Any other time, I would have loved to spend a warm May evening out at the ballpark, eating peanuts and watching Maya strut to home plate.

  But the numbers were doing acrobatics across the screen again, and I shook my head. “Tell Maya I’ll be there another time. I’m sorry.”

  “Kris, you’re only two days in.” Max shook his head at me, then reaching behind him, grabbed his backpack and opened it. He pulled out a chunky stack of paper, bound on one side with a plastic spiral. “I was going to wait to give you this, since I was afraid when I did, you’d stay up all night reading it. I have a feeling that’s going to happen in any case, so here.”

  I took it and flipped it open. It was a handbook for the company, detailing everything I needed to know, or could want to know. Speechless for once, I flipped through it, shaking my head. Finally, I said, “Max, my man, if Simone hadn’t put a ring on it, I would.”

  Throwing back his head, he laughed and then hit my shoulder. “Kid, you gotta ease back; you’re getting your feet wet. It’s gonna come to you in time, okay?” Max’s eyes became distant. “When I started workin’ here, th
at whole first week, I was so nervous. I kept feeling like someone was going to come up to me and be like, ‘what the fuck do you think you’re doin’ here, punk?’ But no one did. No one knows what you know, although sometimes they can figure out what you don’t.”

  I laughed at that, then I asked, “Hey, isn’t your fifteen-year anniversary coming up in a month or so?”

  His face crinkling up, Max nodded. “Yes, it is. And just think, I got fifteen years in this business, Kris. You got me, you got Luce, and you even got Hans, though he won’t admit it. We’re the OGs, and there’s no way we’re gonna let Lukas’s boy do anything but what he’s meant to – succeed.”

  I nodded, thinking back on how Lucy, Hans, and Max had been the adults I’d always looked up to throughout my childhood. Now we were more or less equals. Now I was their boss.

  Hans was a little older, pushing forty, while Lucy was in her late thirties, and Max was thirty-four. But Max had an old soul, and my dad had a young soul, so even at forty-seven, my dad and Max had been good friends. He’d even been a groomsman at Max’s wedding.

  To think Max almost interviewed at an auto-body shop instead of Bold Pictures. Yikes.

  At that moment, a chime announced an email had come through, and I clicked over to it, saying, “Max, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that, really. Thank you. Have a good night.” Then I froze as I saw the sender. Dad’s lawyers.

  “You okay, Kris?” Max asked in a quiet voice.

  “Yeah.” I swallowed hard, almost whispering, “Got a message from the lawyers. It-It’s the inheritance.”

  Letting out a long whistle, Max clapped my shoulder. “Damn, I thought they already got that to you weeks ago. Sure Lukas would love to see your face when you open it. He was always hinting that it would blow your mind.”

  I shook my head, hand shaking a little as I opened a new tab and logged into my bank account. The deposit had come through. A zap went up my spine, and my mouth went dry.

  That can’t be right.

  I’d never seen so many digits in my bank account. Again, I had that sensation of numbers swimming across the screen.

  For an instant, all I wanted to do was shut off the computer and go to Maya’s softball game. I didn’t want to think about any of this. It didn’t even feel like my money.

  “Know what you’re going to do with it yet?” Max asked, his voice gentle.

  “Honestly, I wish I could trade it for my father,” I said quietly, as a heaviness settled in my chest and I exited the page. Leaning back in the chair, I looked over at Max, who was leaning against the window. “But, yeah. I was thinking about getting a house in the area. I need one. Can’t keep my apartment – it’s basically empty at this point. And I need to take care of Dad’s house.”

  Max’s face creased with sympathy. “You know, me and Simone were seriously overwhelmed with the whole house-buying process. She grew up in apartments, and my daddy bought that old house with cash.” He shook his head. “We went through Birmingham Realty. They were great, Kris. Honestly, I don’t think we’d have made it through that hellish process without them.”

  I nodded. “I’ve heard of them. They’re like the crème de la crème of Birmingham realty.”

  “Listen, they have that reputation for good reason. They know what they’re doing. Not only did they find us our dream house, but they also made everything simple. And they were so nice.” Max frowned. “I think the realtor we used retired though: Samantha Cole. But I’m sure the other realtors are just as qualified. Check ‘em out.”

  “Alright, thanks, Max, I’ll look into it. Now get out of here before you bring down the wrath of Simone on my head. And tell Maya to smash that ball into the stratosphere.”

  Max nodded, saying, “Take it easy. And don’t stay too late.”

  Waving at him, I watched as he left, then found myself opening the bank’s website again, my fingers still shaking as I logged in. Again, I gaped as the numbers popped up on the screen.

  “Damn, Dad. I guess you weren’t kidding when you said for once in my life I wouldn’t have a comeback.” Then I paused. “Except maybe, who do you think you are, Scrooge McDuck? Shit, that’s a serious amount of dough. I could buy an island and have enough left over to retire.”

  Sitting there, I rested my chin on my hands and stared at those numbers. I thought I should feel something more. Maybe excitement or ideas about how to spend it. Or just something.

  But all I felt was a burning, aching kind of regret, along with a desperate desire to pick up my phone, call my dad, and have him answer.

  Chapter 4

  Cammie

  Slipping into a pair of black kitten heels, I tossed my curls back, still warm from the dryer, and assessed myself one more time. I was wearing the one power outfit I had.

  Black tailored blazer, plain white blouse, and a neat black pencil skirt. Minimal makeup, in neutral pink shades, and a dab of mascara.

  Placing my hands on my hips, I tilted my chin up and looked in the mirror. It was an old trick I had taught myself a long time before the buzz words “power posing” blew up all over the internet. It worked every time.

  You will get this job. You are a broker. You will shine in this interview.

  But behind my Wonder Woman stance and wordplay, nerves were bouncing through my veins. Today was the longest of long shots. Most realtor blogs warned to not even think about applying to “Big B.R.” until you had at least five years of experience under your belt and over a hundred deals closed. Birmingham Realty was the promised land, and they knew it.

  Tilting my chin higher, I met my gaze without flinching. I didn’t have five years of experience, but I did have an internship with them. That had to give me an edge. It had been a highly coveted spot, requiring two essays, rounds of interviews, and a trial period. In my mind, I’d already made it through the Big B.R. boot camp.

  So I could make it through an interview for the real deal.

  A smile spread across my face, and I applied one last dash of lip gloss before heading out the door. Walking to my car, I silently thanked God that today was a relatively cooler day for Alabama and not too humid. I didn’t want my hair to frizz.

  My car was one of the few nicer concessions I’d made in regards to my savings. A newer Camry, it was a nice blue and exactly the kind of car a realtor should have. In leasing it last year, my mind had already skipped ahead to the days when I’d be meeting clients at houses or even driving them there. I couldn’t show up in that rattler of a ten-year-old Jeep on its last leg.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was swooping into a parking lot off 6th Avenue and checked the time. I had almost twenty minutes to kill, so I quickly glanced over my resume again, as well as all the answers to potential interview questions I typed up. Then I glanced in the mirror and practiced my nicest smile and checked my teeth for lipstick.

  Hopping out of my car, I then headed for Birmingham Realty, the skyline of the city sitting squarely in front of me. Their building was located on a street off 6th Ave, shaded by trees and somewhat sequestered from the busy streets and city around it.

  In my head, I started wondering about property tax values and write-offs, then stopped myself. Save it for the interview.

  Once inside, I was asked to wait by a secretary I’d never met before. I tried not to show any disappointment, but I’d been hoping Babs, a roly-poly southern woman with a poof of blonde curls, would have been there to distract me while I waited.

  This woman did not look inclined to chat. She was slim, aloof and appraised me with a cool glance. Hands sweating a little, I ignored her and breathed in the familiar clean scent of this building. It was a mix of lemon mixed with air-conditioner and crisp paper.

  Then suddenly I was sitting down in the manager’s office, shaking his hand, hoping mine didn’t seem unusually clammy and gazing at him in awe. Eli Westfall.

  I’m interviewing with the owner of Birmingham Realty.

  While I’d seen him during my internship, I’d never in
teracted with him. He was a shorter man, slightly stooped and thin. His hair and goatee were a tuft of white. For one absurd moment, I almost laughed, thinking he looked like the Colonel of Kentucky Fried Chicken.

  Then, as he sat back down, smiling at me, I hastily arranged my face into a pleasant smile and banished those crazy thoughts from my head.

  “Well, now, Ms. Book, I must say it was a pleasure to get word of your call the other day.” Mr. Westfall had a slight ooziness to his voice. “I recall when you worked here. My secretary Babs always spoke very highly of you. And as you know, we’ve been looking to expand our team – especially with the Birmingham getting praised as one of the country’s top affordable cities.”

  “Oh, yes. Well, thank you so much for having me here today, Mr. Westfall. And I know – there are a lot of young families moving into the city, but the prices have stayed about the same. It’s an exciting time to sell homes – especially to someone just starting out.”

  His eyes lit with curiosity. “Is that what you’d like to do? Sell homes to young families?”

  I laughed a little. “Well, to just about anyone, really. I’m not picky.”

  Joining in my laughter, the interview proceeded in a far more casual manner than I’d expected at Big B.R. and Mr. Westfall seemed interested in knowing my thoughts on the market, my goals and what I could bring Birmingham Realty. He didn’t seem too fussed about qualifications.

  Nodding, Mr. Westfall summed it up at the end. “I think you’d be a great asset to the team, Ms. Book. You already know the company, the office, where the coffee maker is.” He chuckled. “I can’t imagine a better place for you than Birmingham Realty. In fact, I don’t want you any other place. Me and Babs noticed it in the fall. She even said, ‘Now, Eli, Cammie Book is as sincere as a smile in the summertime and as honest as all get out.”