Happy mood

A few nights ago, I was at this fancy charity event—high ceilings, expensive wine, everyone pretending to be saints. I was there as a “community-minded realtor,” smiling, networking, pretending I wasn’t bored out of my mind. And then he showed up—one of the donors who loves flirting with me more than he loves writing checks.

The way he looked at me across that table had me forgetting all about property listings and market trends. He kept brushing his hand against my thigh under the tablecloth like it was accidental, and the worst part is… I didn’t stop him. I leaned into it. Every time he whispered in my ear about “closing deals,” I felt my face heat up in a way that had nothing to do with the wine.

By dessert, my composure was basically gone. I was supposed to be convincing him to invest in a community project, but instead I let him talk me into slipping away from the crowd. Let’s just say he ended up getting a very personal, very enthusiastic “private showing.”

I swear—something about dressing up, playing the perfect professional realtor in a room full of donors, and then sneaking off to misbehave like that? It makes the whole night feel twice as dirty. I walked back into that dinner looking like I had absolutely done something I shouldn’t have.

And honestly? I’d list the property of my soul for another night like that.