butt off on every case that comes into that office. Ninety percent of the time I'm doing what he and the paralegals are supposed to take care of."
"You must be pretty sharp if your boss trusts you to handle the work of lawyers and paralegals," he said, staring at her in admiration.
"Me?" she asked in surprise. "No, really I'm not. I'm just the only one there to do it. If he didn't have me, he would probably find a willing office boy or window washer to do his work." She took a sip of coffee. "In fact, he would probably give a window washer an occasional raise for the extra work— which is why I'm looking into a new career."
"But why real estate?" he asked with genuine interest. "Why don't you go for a law degree?"
"Because I would make a terrible lawyer," she said frankly. "I get too involved."
"That would certainly be different. How did you hit on real estate?"
She set down her coffee cup. "I recently bought an
old Victorian house just outside town. The broker who sold it to me loved to talk about her work, and as I listened to her complain about what a pain the older houses were, I suddenly knew real estate was where I belonged."
"How do you figure that?"
"Because of my passion for old houses. The idea of working with them every day, finding people like myself to live in them ..." She shrugged. "It was just too right. At least I had to give it a try." She leaned forward, excitement shining in her sable-brown eyes. "I want to deal specifically with old houses. No, not just old—really beautiful pieces of architecture."
"You mean those things with ten-foot-high ceilings that never heat properly? They always have mouse-gray carpets, and furniture that you're afraid to sit on."
She glared indignantly. "I suppose you like the ones that have shiny red miniature swimming pools for bathtubs and skinny blinds that match the carpet and the paintings."
He nodded seriously. "And kitchens that have every modern convenience crammed into two square feet."
She drew in a deep breath, then eyed him suspicously. "You're teasing me again, aren't you?"
"A little," he admitted, his eyes laughing. "You're very teasable. But as a matter of fact, I like older homes. I like the modern ones too."
"How wishy-washy. Don't you have a preference?"
He shrugged. "I take each house individually and let it talk to me. Old or new, if it's a warm, loving house, it'll tell me so."
She stared at him for a moment in bewilderment. "Your father's right. You're weird."
He laughed outright this time. "Maybe so, but I think anything different is a plus in this business. I'll never wear a gold jacket or speak in real-estate-ese. I figure enthusiasm will take you a long way in any business."
"You're right," she said, laughing with him. "I can't wait to get started. My stint in the law office won't hurt either. I intend to have an office in the back of my home. That way, since I'm going to specialize, potential clients won't mind making the trip out."
"You'll make it," he said softly; then he smiled. "I'm going to specialize too. I intend to deal in expensive houses." When she gave a sputter of startled laughter, he said, "No, I mean it. No matter what the economy is doing or how the market fluctuates, the rich are always with us. That may not be an original thought, but it's true. There are always people who want something bigger and more expensive. I intend to be the one who sells it to them."
She smiled slightly. "And you will probably be very successful. I imagine you could sell just about anything."
"You think so?" he asked, the crooked smile appearing again. "I'd like to sell you something right now."
"Me? You picked the wrong customer. It took every spare penny I had to make the down payment on my house."
"It wouldn't cost you a thing. I'm selling me." He picked up her hand, and his thumb traced the lines in her palm in what seemed a shockingly erotic caress. "How about having dinner with me tomorrow night?"
Sara was taken aback. She
"You must be pretty sharp if your boss trusts you to handle the work of lawyers and paralegals," he said, staring at her in admiration.
"Me?" she asked in surprise. "No, really I'm not. I'm just the only one there to do it. If he didn't have me, he would probably find a willing office boy or window washer to do his work." She took a sip of coffee. "In fact, he would probably give a window washer an occasional raise for the extra work— which is why I'm looking into a new career."
"But why real estate?" he asked with genuine interest. "Why don't you go for a law degree?"
"Because I would make a terrible lawyer," she said frankly. "I get too involved."
"That would certainly be different. How did you hit on real estate?"
She set down her coffee cup. "I recently bought an
old Victorian house just outside town. The broker who sold it to me loved to talk about her work, and as I listened to her complain about what a pain the older houses were, I suddenly knew real estate was where I belonged."
"How do you figure that?"
"Because of my passion for old houses. The idea of working with them every day, finding people like myself to live in them ..." She shrugged. "It was just too right. At least I had to give it a try." She leaned forward, excitement shining in her sable-brown eyes. "I want to deal specifically with old houses. No, not just old—really beautiful pieces of architecture."
"You mean those things with ten-foot-high ceilings that never heat properly? They always have mouse-gray carpets, and furniture that you're afraid to sit on."
She glared indignantly. "I suppose you like the ones that have shiny red miniature swimming pools for bathtubs and skinny blinds that match the carpet and the paintings."
He nodded seriously. "And kitchens that have every modern convenience crammed into two square feet."
She drew in a deep breath, then eyed him suspicously. "You're teasing me again, aren't you?"
"A little," he admitted, his eyes laughing. "You're very teasable. But as a matter of fact, I like older homes. I like the modern ones too."
"How wishy-washy. Don't you have a preference?"
He shrugged. "I take each house individually and let it talk to me. Old or new, if it's a warm, loving house, it'll tell me so."
She stared at him for a moment in bewilderment. "Your father's right. You're weird."
He laughed outright this time. "Maybe so, but I think anything different is a plus in this business. I'll never wear a gold jacket or speak in real-estate-ese. I figure enthusiasm will take you a long way in any business."
"You're right," she said, laughing with him. "I can't wait to get started. My stint in the law office won't hurt either. I intend to have an office in the back of my home. That way, since I'm going to specialize, potential clients won't mind making the trip out."
"You'll make it," he said softly; then he smiled. "I'm going to specialize too. I intend to deal in expensive houses." When she gave a sputter of startled laughter, he said, "No, I mean it. No matter what the economy is doing or how the market fluctuates, the rich are always with us. That may not be an original thought, but it's true. There are always people who want something bigger and more expensive. I intend to be the one who sells it to them."
She smiled slightly. "And you will probably be very successful. I imagine you could sell just about anything."
"You think so?" he asked, the crooked smile appearing again. "I'd like to sell you something right now."
"Me? You picked the wrong customer. It took every spare penny I had to make the down payment on my house."
"It wouldn't cost you a thing. I'm selling me." He picked up her hand, and his thumb traced the lines in her palm in what seemed a shockingly erotic caress. "How about having dinner with me tomorrow night?"
Sara was taken aback. She
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