Free Never the Bride by Rene Gutteridge Page B

is smiling and nodding to everyone. If she starts to wave, this may become her Miss America moment.
    “What are their names?” I whisper.
    “Who?”
    “The suits.”
    “From left to right, Mr. Wallace, Mr. Keegan, Mr. Brown. You should shake hands and introduce yourself.”
    “Why? They’ve seen me at other meetings.”
    “Yes, but usually in a corner and looking very bored. They need to know you’re part of the bigger picture.”
    I try to sit up straight like Nicole and smile. “You know I hate this kind of thing.”
    Nicole smiles. “I think Mr. Keegan is single.”
    I glance over. No ring. And no way. He’s a decade older and looks like an expression might kill him. But I decide to take Nicole’s advice. She is savvy in these things. I stand and lean over the table. “Hi, I’m Jessie Stone.”
    They look at me. Blink. Blink. I hold out my hand. They eachshake it. I sit down. Awkward. Nicole shoots me a look. I whisper out the side of my mouth, “It’s them, not me. I smiled.”
    Mr. Coston flies in, carrying folders, juggling his coffee, trying to button his jacket. “Good morning, gentlemen. Coffee, anyone? Soda?”
    Thankfully everyone says no, because that’s my job. Mr. Coston stands at the end of the table near the whiteboard, and I get comfortable, sipping my coffee carefully and trying to swallow without tasting much. I want to close my eyes, think hard about what happened last night. I can only wonder if insane people know they’re insane. I don’t think I’m insane because I’m rationally thinking that I
am
insane, and insane people think they’re sane. Of course it can be argued that sane people don’t see God or have visits from God. Insane people may claim to have visits from God, but I’m willing to bet these visitors don’t look like the God who showed up on my doorstep. All Prince Charming—ish. So I’m not sane or insane. What does that make me?
    Jessie Stone, ladies and gentlemen: the first woman to discover there’s actually a third option.
    “Jessie?”
    I glance up. “I’m sorry…yes? Um…?”
    “You have the report to pass out?”
    “Yes, of course.” I quickly stand and start passing out stapled stacks of paper.
    Mr. Coston continues. “Despite the typical slump for this time of year, not to mention the current housing market, we’ve had a better-than-average showing count. Nicole, outshining us all. Congratulations.”
    Nicole smiles and nods. I give her a congratulatory wink.
    “And I’d like to introduce Jessie Stone to you. She’s been with us for ten years. She is reliable and passionate for what we do here.”
    Grin. Sell it.
Sell it.
    “Jessie, can you update us on listings?”
    “Sure.” I move back to my chair and pick up my notes. I decide to remain standing because that seems more professional. And I am, after all, passionate about real estate. “We have ten new properties—”
    And then
he
appears, walking straight through the door like it’s made of air. He is dressed in slacks and a polo, and has his hands in his pockets. He smiles at me. I don’t smile back.
    “—um, that came in from the God Development Project.”
    “God?” Mr. Coston’s voice shoots through the room.
    “Gabe. Sorry! Yes, Gabe. Not God. How ridiculous of me to—”
    He
speaks. “Jessie, I have to tell you something. Before you give me that pen, you should know a bit of what you’re in for.”
    Suddenly someone kicks my shaking leg. It’s Nicole, staring so wide eyed at me that for a moment I think maybe my pants have dropped. But no, I’m simply making a fool of myself. I try to refocus, though I can’t help watching him move to the other side of the room.
    “Um. And the condo renovations in Montecito—”
    “I said you’d be busy. And I am compulsively true to my word.”
    “Be quiet!
Quite
, I mean. Be quite…lovely The Montecito con-dos, that is. They’ll be ready for showings.”
    “Did you hear me?” my imaginary friend named God asks.
    “You