Nobody Knows Read Online Free

they were for places I didn’t want to work. I had no idea what it was that I actually wanted to do, but I knew I didn’t want to be a receptionist at a panel beaters or a shop assistant at the local Athlete’s Foot.
    It seemed that while I was just lazing around the apartment, taking myself out to lunch and shopping, I was also fielding a million and one questions from property managers about various tenants and maintenance issues with the other properties my parents had left me. It was on the third straight day of complaints, while I was having a pedicure, when the property manager decided to inform me that the tenants hadn’t paid rent in nine weeks and had smashed holes in the wall, that I had enough.
    As soon as my feet were dry—I didn’t even wait for the nail polish—I stormed down the road and ducked into the first real estate agency I found, Max Meredith & Sons. The tiny redhead behind the reception desk stood up meekly and without a word handed me a rental list.
    “I’m sorry, I don’t need this,” I informed her casually.
    “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t do property management here, just sales.” She smiled sweetly. She looked like she was barely fourteen, her wide innocent eyes staring at me apologetically.
    Feeling sorry for her, I smiled back. “No troubles. I was wondering if you have a sales agent here that I could speak to. I have a few properties to sell,” I offered.
    With her eyebrows raised, she whispered, “I’ll see who I can find,” jumping up from her chair and walking out the back.
    I could hear the sounds of a busy office. The photocopier was churning paper out rapidly. Someone not far away was typing as though their life depended on it. And the phones. Office phones, mobile phones, and people squashing keys incessantly. The talking was animated. From where I was standing I could see an arm waving about wildly as laughter filled the air.
    A short man, in a very fat, very pink tie, ducked past me, smelling of cigarette smoke and coffee. “You all right?” he asked, almost as if it was an afterthought.
    I just nodded, having already decided I did not want to deal with him. The longer I was left standing at the counter, the more time I had to think about the decision I had made. Was I doing the right thing selling the properties? Maybe if I just stuck it out a bit longer, things would get easier. Maybe they were just teething problems.
    When the redhead appeared again, she mumbled, “Joel will be with you shortly.” Without even a smile or a hesitation, she sat back down in her high-backed leather chair, pulled the telephone headset back over her ears, and dialed away.
    I sat down in the cold, sterile waiting area and flipped through the various magazines. They weren’t what I thought they would be. There were no house magazines, no Better Homes and Gardens , no DIY books. Only a couple of car magazines and old issues of Rolling Stone . I could hear the redheaded receptionist making her weekend plans with what could only have been her girlfriend on the other end of the line.
    Above her head, lined up on the wall, was a long line of framed awards. It seemed as though there was one there from every year. I had obviously picked a half-decent agency to stumble into, although I had never heard of them beforehand.
    Just as I was thinking of leaving, the most beautiful man I had ever seen walked around the corner and smiled at me. He had spiky brown hair, gelled into a perfect position. His aqua eyes penetrated my soul as soon as he looked at me. His black suit and white shirt were immaculately tailored and pressed, and his smile melted me in moments.
    “Sorry to have kept you waiting.” He reached out and shook my hand professionally. “I’m Joel Matthews. How can I be of assistance?”
    “I-I’m…Gillian,” I stuttered pathetically. “I need to sell some houses.”
    “Well, why don’t you come through into the conference room, and we can figure out what we need to do