of the sales office, the third-best salesman in the building, and he had stopped counting anything except units.
Today the number was two.
He needed two more units by midnight Sunday to hit the monthly target, and if he hit the monthly target he would hit the quarterly bonus, and if he hit the quarterly bonus he would have enough, finally, to put down a real deposit on the house on Larkspur Drive that his girlfriend, Kayla, had been sending him listings for since Christmas. If he did not hit it, he would not. It was that simple. Two cars. Two signatures. Fifty-four hours.