The Fallen Salesgirl - Chapter 12: Chapter 12
You are reading The Fallen Salesgirl, Chapter 12: Chapter 12. Read more chapters of The Fallen Salesgirl.
I shut the door softly behind me, my pulse racing like a trapped bird.
After seeing Vivian in action tonight, it hit me—how stiff, how painfully ungraceful I'd been all this time.
I drew a shaky breath and retreated to the bathroom, letting icy water shock me back to clarity.
For three days, Leonard whisked Vivian and me along the coast—wining, dining, laughing. The salt air and endless cocktails dulled the edges of my unease.
Then, on the fourth day, I caught them arguing.
"So you only brought me here to butter up Natalie for your damn property deal?" Vivian's laugh was razor-sharp. "Typical. Women in sales—just disposable props to you, huh?"
I stepped into the living room to find Leonard palms-up, placating. "...It's her choice. I'm not forcing anything."
Vivian folded her arms, lips pursed.
Leonard turned, all polished charm, and handed me a water glass. "Natalie, I need a favor."
He leaned in. "The market's brutal right now. You know how it is."
"But this client?" A slow exhale. "If he signs off, he's buying two full floors—a hotel-apartment hybrid. Game-changing."
My stomach dropped. Two floors?
Our development's units were massive—eight per floor, 8,000+ square feet.
That meant… $3.5 million.
No wonder he was sweating.
"Thing is," Leonard continued, "this guy's jaded. Glamour girls? He'll see right through them. But you—" His gaze flicked over me. "You've got… subtlety."
"No pressure," he added smoothly, sliding a brick of cash across the table. "Ten grand just for trying. Three now, the rest after. Plus commission if we close."
The money glowed under the lamplight. My resolve crumbled.
I dipped my chin, cheeks burning. "You have a plan, don't you?"
Leonard stashed me in a beachfront villa. A stylist arrived, molding me into something out of a Tang Dynasty scroll—hair pinned into delicate loops, draped in crimson silk that clung and whispered. The bustier tied with nothing but two scarlet ribbons; the robe sheer enough to tease.
For days, I practiced walking like smoke, pouring tea like a courtesan, bowing just so.
Then, the morning came.
"Nathan's on his way," Leonard warned by phone.
I perched on the sofa, back straight, fingers trembling in my lap.
The door swung open.
"Make yourself at home," Leonard's voice carried. "I'll fetch you at sunset for dinner."
Nathan strode in—broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed. Our eyes met.
On cue, I gasped, curtsied, and fled barefoot upstairs.
Footsteps followed.
I reappeared minutes later, demure in an added layer, playing the perfect hostess: tea poured, luggage stowed, Wi-Fi connected.
I massaged his shoulders, fed him lychees, hovered like a ghost.
At 4:30 PM, Leonard's call came. "Dinner's on."
Nathan stood, amused. "You're… quiet. Hungry? Join us."
I shook my head, lingering by the door as he left.
Leonard's text buzzed later: He's hooked. Keep going.
But Nathan didn't return.
By 10 PM, exhaustion won. I collapsed onto the bed.
Then—whiskey fumes, rough hands.
I woke to his mouth crushing mine.
After seeing Vivian in action tonight, it hit me—how stiff, how painfully ungraceful I'd been all this time.
I drew a shaky breath and retreated to the bathroom, letting icy water shock me back to clarity.
For three days, Leonard whisked Vivian and me along the coast—wining, dining, laughing. The salt air and endless cocktails dulled the edges of my unease.
Then, on the fourth day, I caught them arguing.
"So you only brought me here to butter up Natalie for your damn property deal?" Vivian's laugh was razor-sharp. "Typical. Women in sales—just disposable props to you, huh?"
I stepped into the living room to find Leonard palms-up, placating. "...It's her choice. I'm not forcing anything."
Vivian folded her arms, lips pursed.
Leonard turned, all polished charm, and handed me a water glass. "Natalie, I need a favor."
He leaned in. "The market's brutal right now. You know how it is."
"But this client?" A slow exhale. "If he signs off, he's buying two full floors—a hotel-apartment hybrid. Game-changing."
My stomach dropped. Two floors?
Our development's units were massive—eight per floor, 8,000+ square feet.
That meant… $3.5 million.
No wonder he was sweating.
"Thing is," Leonard continued, "this guy's jaded. Glamour girls? He'll see right through them. But you—" His gaze flicked over me. "You've got… subtlety."
"No pressure," he added smoothly, sliding a brick of cash across the table. "Ten grand just for trying. Three now, the rest after. Plus commission if we close."
The money glowed under the lamplight. My resolve crumbled.
I dipped my chin, cheeks burning. "You have a plan, don't you?"
Leonard stashed me in a beachfront villa. A stylist arrived, molding me into something out of a Tang Dynasty scroll—hair pinned into delicate loops, draped in crimson silk that clung and whispered. The bustier tied with nothing but two scarlet ribbons; the robe sheer enough to tease.
For days, I practiced walking like smoke, pouring tea like a courtesan, bowing just so.
Then, the morning came.
"Nathan's on his way," Leonard warned by phone.
I perched on the sofa, back straight, fingers trembling in my lap.
The door swung open.
"Make yourself at home," Leonard's voice carried. "I'll fetch you at sunset for dinner."
Nathan strode in—broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed. Our eyes met.
On cue, I gasped, curtsied, and fled barefoot upstairs.
Footsteps followed.
I reappeared minutes later, demure in an added layer, playing the perfect hostess: tea poured, luggage stowed, Wi-Fi connected.
I massaged his shoulders, fed him lychees, hovered like a ghost.
At 4:30 PM, Leonard's call came. "Dinner's on."
Nathan stood, amused. "You're… quiet. Hungry? Join us."
I shook my head, lingering by the door as he left.
Leonard's text buzzed later: He's hooked. Keep going.
But Nathan didn't return.
By 10 PM, exhaustion won. I collapsed onto the bed.
Then—whiskey fumes, rough hands.
I woke to his mouth crushing mine.
End of The Fallen Salesgirl Chapter 12. Continue reading Chapter 13 or return to The Fallen Salesgirl book page.