stepped into a cube on her right. “I’m sorry it’s so tight in here.” She slid onto a rolling chair at the desk. Using the toe of one tall, neon-yellow high heel, she swiveled to face the two narrow chairs positioned adjacent to her. Her sparkling eyes met his, then danced away. “Sit wherever you like.”
He chuckled and dumped his hat on one of the acrylic-and-steel contraptions, then took the other. It seemed sturdier than the chairs in the reception area, at least. “D’you mind?” He lifted the water glass slightly. She didn’t have anything on her desktop other than a computer screen, a stapled set of papers and a desk pad that looked like clear glass.
He had a desk that he rarely used at the Grayson Gear office. It was nowhere near as neat.
“Not at all.” Her eyes danced to his. “Nasty stuff, if you ask me. I have a drawer full of plain bottled water if you prefer.”
He grinned. “If you’re sure you don’t mind sharing.”
Those eyes danced away again. “I’m sure.” She moistened her soft-looking lips as she leaned over to open the bottom drawer of a short cabinet wedged into the only free corner. Beneath her silky black tank top there was a glimpse of a black bra strap, but what kept drawing his attention was the translucent creaminess of her skin.
It made him almost thirsty enough to drink the cuke crud.
She moved his water glass from the desk to the top of the cabinet, nudging aside several photo frames to make room. Then she held out the slender water bottle.
When he took it, their fingers brushed.
She quickly swiveled back to face her desk and slid her papers squarely in front of her with one hand, touching the computer screen with her other. The blank screen leaped to life, showing the same logo that was on the front door of the office. She glanced at him. “I understand you’re looking for a new home.”
“Yup.” He waited a beat. What the hell? “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“I guess that depends,” she said warily. “Will you answer my questions?”
He spread his palms. “I’m an open book, darlin’.”
As he’d hoped, her expression lightened. “Somehow I doubt that. But what’s the question?”
“How old are you?”
Fortunately, she didn’t look offended. “Twenty-four. I have a college degree and I’ve had my real estate license for several years. I assure you, I am perfectly qualified to represent your interests and—”
He lifted his hand, cutting her off. His mom wouldn’t have sent him to an unqualified agent. “I’m not going anywhere. I just thought I’d ask.” At least she wasn’t quite fresh out of high school. But she was still too young for him to be as attracted to her as he was, even though he appreciated her ambition. “So, let’s get on with your questions.”
Her lips twitched faintly. “How old are you?”
He couldn’t help grinning. “Thirty-seven and feeling every minute of ’em, darlin’.”
Her eyes twinkled. Then she looked past him for a millisecond and sat straighter in front of her computer. “All right.” She slid her fingers on the glass desk pad and the logo on the screen folded away, to be replaced by a form. “Do you have an existing home now?”
“Nope.”
She slid her fingers again. The screen morphed again.
“Fancy desk pad you got there.” The glass clearly acted as a computer mouse pad. “How do you type?” There was no visible keyboard.
“Here.” She leaned back in her chair slightly so he could see her tap the corner of the glass. The faint outline of a keyboard appeared in it. She moved her fingers across it as if she were typing on the keys, and a line of gibberish streamed across the screen. “It’s cool, but it took me quite a while to get used to it.” Her smile stretched, looking more than a little impish again. “Nothing but the best and cutting edge here at Austin Elite.”
He shifted on the chair, staring for a second at his water bottle. Damn. She was prettier than a spring filly. He took a healthy swig from the bottle, took his time capping it, and focused on the computer screen once more. “That’s what my mom said when she made the appointment here. You were the best.”
“Your mother?” She’d turned her attention to the screen, as well. “Will she be living with you also?”
Not unless he could change her mind. “I doubt it. She’s my business manager.” He waited for Billie to ask what his business was, because she’d given no sign that she knew who he was.
“Is there anyone else you’ll be consulting with on your choice of a home?”
“Like who? A wife?”
“Or a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Psychic?”
He laughed silently. “Only one I’ve gotta please is me.”
For a second, she looked disbelieving, but she moved on. “Are you working already with a lender, by any chance? I can give you a list of excellent choices if you’re not.”
Outside the clear cubicle, a steady parade of people kept going past, most sneaking a look their way. “No need. It’ll be a cash purchase.”
She was obviously accustomed to hearing that particular answer. “That makes things very simple. Is there some area of Austin that particularly interests you?”
“No, ma’am.” Grayson Gear had claimed its headquarters in Austin since the start, though most of his involvement was conducted from wherever he was on the road. He’d competed in plenty of rodeos in the area, though he knew only certain parts of town, and generally liked what he knew. “My personal knowledge of the city is limited, actually. I’m not from here.”
Her gaze slid his way again. “Is your relocation for business purposes?”
“Mostly.”
She looked back at her computer. “And where are you coming from?”
“All over.” That was true enough. His actual home was Paseo, Texas. But few people had heard of the minuscule town, much less knew where it was. Ever since news had gotten out that Gerald Robinson aka Jerome Fortune was his and his triplet brothers’ absentee biological father, though, the journalists and the Grayson groupies had been getting too damn close to ruining the peace there that he was determined to protect. His employees at Grayson Gear had been operating just fine for years despite his frequent absences, but they could always be counted on to keep interlopers away from his door when he was there. Especially Gerald Robinson, despite him being a fixture on the Austin landscape.
Grayson’s lack of a precise answer didn’t seem to bother Billie. Her finger continued sliding on the glass as the form on the screen slowly filled. “Then you haven’t looked at any houses already?”
“Nope.” He shifted and hitched one boot on top of his knee. They were brand-new Castletons, and as fine as the custom boots were, he preferred the ones he tramped around
