slide.
She crossed the scuffed wooden floor and opened the wooden shutters so that more natural light filled the living area. “The house was built in 1910, and has undergone a few renovations since. The kitchen has been modernized and two bedrooms were added on in the 1980s.”
His expression was unreadable as he wandered around. But at least he didn’t look entirely disinterested, as he had with the last house they’d toured. While he headed down the hall toward the bedrooms, she went to the kitchen to leave her business card on the counter. She gave him some time to explore on his own, then slowly followed.
She found him in the master bedroom.
“This one of the modernizations you mentioned?” He pointed his thumb upward toward the ceiling mirror positioned directly over the enormous bed.
Billie felt her cheeks heat. How she could have forgotten about that detail was beyond her. “Actually, the mirror dates back to the original house.”
His lips twitched. “Interesting design choice.”
“Better or worse than a purple horse?”
He slid his sunglasses down until his brown eyes met hers. “Now, darlin’, do you really want me to answer that?”
She straightened her shoulders and channeled her mom’s sternest expression. “Perhaps not.”
He laughed softly. Which made mincemeat out of all of her channeling and straightening. Didn’t matter in the least that he was a client and completely off-limits. Not to mention completely out of her league. He ruffled her.
She edged her way out of the bedroom. “Would you like to see the outbuildings?”
He seemed to consider it for half a minute. Then nodded slowly. “Yeah. I would.”
It was more than she’d expected. And her enthusiasm for the morning came back brighter than ever. “All right, then. If you’d like to follow me...”
“Nothing I’d rather do, darlin’.”
“Come on. You can tell Uncle Grayson.”
Billie rolled her eyes. “You’re not my uncle.”
His smile flashed and warmth filled her.
They’d seen two more houses after the one with the mirrored master bedroom and now they were sitting on the grass in a park not far from where she’d grown up.
All because Grayson had seen the circle of food trucks parked there and had decided he was starving.
Which was why she had her legs tucked to one side of her, with a huge paper napkin draped over her thighs to protect herself from the poutine she was eating. Because, evidently, she didn’t know how to say no to him very convincingly.
“Okay, so I’m not your uncle. But you can still tell me.”
She sighed around another bite of gravy-covered french fry. “This stuff ought to be illegal,” she murmured, licking her finger. More to the point, Grayson ought to be illegal. “Why are you even interested?”
He pointed over her shoulder at the school field behind them. “You just told me you went to high school right there. That you ran track on that very field. You got me curious. So why not tell me what kind of student you were?”
“I told you I ran track. That’s not enough?”
“I can imagine it, too. All long legs and big eyes and hair flying in the breeze.”
She rolled her eyes, determined not to let his flirtatious words get to her. How he’d already gotten her to talk about herself was beyond her.
One minute they’d been discussing the merits of the sixth property they’d visited—namely, the accessibility of the acreage where he’d be keeping his livestock. The next thing she knew, he was buying her poutine—overriding her insistence that she pay for her own lunch—and getting her to talk about what it had been like growing up in Austin.
“I was an average student,” she finally said, feeling more than a little exasperated. Mostly at herself. Because whether he was offering ridiculously flirtatious statements or not, the man definitely got to her. “Average in every single way.”
“I find that hard to believe.” He’d polished off his own double serving of poutine—which had come with a heart attack–sized serving of bacon atop the cheese curds and gravy—and was sucking down his chocolate milkshake. “There’s nothing average about you. Tell me the real truth.”
“That is the truth. I graduated smack-dab in the middle of my class from that high school over there.”
“Then you ended up with a degree in economics from Rice and are now working at the most prestigious real estate firm in the city.”
She flushed. “How do you know I graduated from Rice?”
He tipped down his sunglasses and his warm brown eyes glided over her face. “I looked at your profile on the company’s website.”
Of course. Silly of her. She was glad that the newness of her college degree wasn’t available online. The truth was, she’d gotten her real estate license well before she’d managed to finish her college degree. Mostly because she’d seen the kind of money to be made when she’d worked as a receptionist at Fortunado Real Estate in Houston, helping to pay her way through school.
“From what I saw on the site, you’ve got some hefty credentials.”
“And I’m still the new kid on the block where my boss at Austin Elite is concerned.” Then she wanted to kick herself. What good did it do to tell her client that? Why couldn’t she tell Grayson about the deals she had closed? The kind of deals—Rhonda Dickinson aside—that were the reason DeForest Allen had hired her in the first place. “Speaking of my boss, he’s going to ask how today went in terms of finding you the perfect property.”
“Your boss with his strict code of ethics. What does that mean, exactly?”
If Grayson were anyone else, she wouldn’t have even thought to mention Mr. Allen’s rules that first day. But she had, so answering as if it was no big deal was the only course she could think to take.
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