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Leila was ready for a night at home, fuzzy socks and Chardonnay, when a friend called with an irresistible offer. “I can get you into the Vizcaya event. Raul Reyes is hosting. Interested?”
Reyes was a local real estate mogul. He owned everything. In Leila’s line of work, he was king. Getting on the list was a coup, even for her friend Sofia, an event planner with seemingly endless contacts. Still, Leila hesitated. “I don’t know. Are you going?”
“Can’t,” Sofia said. “But I’m pretty sure you can.”
“And what? Go by myself?”
“Sí, amiguita. You’re old enough. Put your big-girl panties on and go network like a boss.”
Leila sat on the edge of her bed. She fought the urge to crawl under her sheets.
Sofia was relentless. “Do I have to remind you how terrible your last quarter was?”
“No, you don’t.”
Since opening her agency nine months ago, Leila was stuck in the low-rent market, helping college grads find one-bedroom condos and getting newlyweds into starter homes. After a dismal holiday season, during which she’d had to take a cash advance from her AmEx card to give her one employee a bonus, she was at the end of her rope.
“You should be thanking me. What else do you have going on this weekend?”
“What weekend? It’s Thursday.”
“It’s Miami. The weekend started eight hours ago.”
Later, as she stepped from the shower, Leila strategized. She’d get in, canvas the place with business cards and get out. Hit and run. She brushed her coffee-colored hair and swept on lipstick with a sure hand. Her bedroom window let in very little sunlight, but tonight it framed a perfect full moon, the first