Reese

My phone beeps and the light indicating a call from reception flashes. 

"I have Tia White here for your two o'clock appointment," the receptionist says when I pick up.

"Thanks, Layla. You can send her back.” 

I hang up and stand, adjusting the hem of my black shift dress. After checking my hair and makeup in the mirror on one wall, I cross over to my office door, swinging it open in anticipation of my client. 

Sixty seconds later, a beautiful brunette breezes across my threshold, the scent of jasmine floating behind her. 

She's about my height, and super tiny. I'm not big by anyone's standards, but this chick is probably a size zero and no more than one hundred pounds soaking wet. She's ethnically ambiguous, but I assume, by her olive coloring and her facial features, that she's at least part Latina or Asian. I can't tell exactly how old she is, but I figure we're around the same age. 

"Ms. White,” I say extending my hand to hers. “I'm Reese Adams.”

She shakes my hand and smiles warmly, showing straight white teeth and perfect dimples in both cheeks. "Please, call me Tia.”

“Nice to meet you, Tia. Please have a seat.” I gesture to one of the two chairs in front of my desk and walk around to sit behind it after closing my office door. I offer her something from the assortment of beverages we have, and she declines politely. 

"Do you mind waiting for my boyfriend?” she asks. “He's just finishing up a phone call.”

"Sure, no problem. I'll have Layla send him straight back." I relay the message to reception before turning my attention back to my new client. 

I hand her a glossy black folder with Gibbons Realty embossed in silver. "I compiled a preliminary list of neighborhoods and properties I think you may be interested in, just based on what you filled out on our website. We'll wait for your boyfriend, but you can begin to look through that if you'd like.”

She takes the folder with thanks, and begins to flip through the paper inside. While her attention is focused elsewhere, I appraise her. With the average price point that my agency operates at, we get a fair amount of trophy wives and girlfriends here--women who are considerably younger than the wealthy men they're involved with. I wonder if Tia is one of these.

She's well dressed in a pair of pleated high-waisted trousers in navy, paired with a turquoise colored cashmere sweater with a deep V. Her makeup is light and her long, sleek dark hair frames a face that's so perfect it looks airbrushed. She certainly has the looks to be a wealthy man's younger woman, but she's not wearing any of the telltale expensive jewelry the usual suspects generally sport. She's donning a simple pair of silver hoops, a delicate silver pendant necklace, and no rings on her perfectly manicured fingers. 

Everything about the way she carries herself tells me she's probably been raised with breeding, class, and all of the money that usually accompanies them. There's nothing in her file, however, about her profession so unless she offers the information, I'll continue to speculate. 

She asks me about one of the properties I've listed and I slip back into professional mode. 

As we talk I learn that she's originally from the area, but that she moved to California for college and has been there ever since. She's going to be spending a lot more time back in Chicago to work on establishing her family's charitable foundation. 

I guess she's not a kept woman after all. I was already thinking that I like Tia, and that little factoid makes me sure of it. 

She's friendly, affable, and has an air of subtle self-confidence that stops short of arrogance. Her smile is warm and genuine, and she makes eye contact with me when we're speaking. Most of my clientele is tolerable, but occasionally I get a person with a certain net worth who treats me like the hired help; I appreciate the fact that she doesn't seem to operate that way at all. 

We're talking about the city--places we both know, things we've both done--when there's a knock at the door. I assume it's her boyfriend.

She turns in her seat as the door opens and I stand. 

He's saying something as he walks across the threshold but I can't make sense of what it is. 

My hands grip the edge of my desk and I try not to gape.

Now I understand why he didn't tell me that he wanted to see me again. And I get why he looked so apologetic when he left.  

He's staring at me, beautiful blue eyes almost comically wide. Almost. Because there's nothing fucking funny about him being in my office right now. 

He's as handsome as ever in slim fitting jeans and a simple grey V-neck sweater, under the same leather jacket from the other night. 

And he looks almost as sick as I feel. 

Tia introduces us as he shuffles closer, and though there's mere feet between us, his approach seems to take hours. 

“Um, hi. Nice to meet you,” he stutters out. 

JC is standing in my office and I can't breathe.

JC

I grip the steering wheel like my life depends on it. I had to take a call right as we pulled into the parking garage so Tia went in and I told her I'd be up as soon as I was done. That was fifteen minutes ago, but I'm still here. 

I need to clear my head. The idea of walking into that office, plastering a smile on my face and pretending to care about any of it, feels oppressive. I wish I could pull right out of this spot, go straight to the airport, and hop the first available flight home. 

Instead, I take a deep breath, turn off the engine, and exit the car. A couple of minutes later I'm inside the building and riding the elevator up to the fifth floor. 

The doors open and I round a corner to see a young woman sitting behind a desk. “Hi.” I can tell by the way her eyes widen and her cheeks flush that she recognizes me. “I'm looking for Tia White? She has a two o'clock appointment.”

She nods quickly and clears her throat. “Um, y-yes, of course. You can go straight down this hallway.” She points to her left. “It's the first office on the left.”

I say thanks and follow her directions, sure I can feel her eyes on me. It's a short walk to the first door on the left so I knock twice when I get to it, and then swing it open. 

"Sorry that took…” The words dry up when my eyes lock on the woman now standing at the desk behind Tia. “A while,” I finish stupidly. 

Tia's saying something but I can't even hear her. I'm staring at Reese and she's staring at me and I feel sick to my stomach.

"JC, this is Reese Adams. Reese, JC Chasez."

My feet, seeming to move on their own, carry me forward to her desk. "Um, hi. Nice to meet you."

Her eyes are full; questions, confusion, so much is showing on her face. I want to say something, but I can't. What feels like several excruciatingly uncomfortable hours pass in the span of a split second. In that time she acknowledges the hand I'm holding out to her, and when she takes it there's a visible shift in her demeanor. 

Whatever she was thinking, whatever she was feeling when I walked through the door is completely hidden to me now. Her face, her body language, everything goes completely blank. She's the picture of civil yet detached professionalism. 

For the next forty minutes, Tia and Reese talk about square footage and neighborhoods and floor plans.

For the next forty minutes my mind is reeling and all I can do is nod and mumble 'yeah' occasionally. 

For the next forty minutes, despite the fact that my girlfriend is sitting six inches to my right, I can't stop staring at Reese. 

And for the next forty minutes, she never once looks me in the eye.