Selling Grace: A Light Romance Novel (Art of Grace Book 1) by Samantha Westlake Page B
Authors: Samantha Westlake
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everything about you just seems so smooth and polished, like you've always had this much money!"
Carter shrugged, looking a little embarrassed about his wealth. He did the thing where he swept his hand through his hair again, mussing it up and looking even more adorable. "I need to put on this impression for my clients. No one wants to buy or rent a property from someone who doesn't look successful. But I've had to teach myself how to act proper all on my own; I didn't grow up this way."
"So how did you grow up?" I asked, leaning forward and feeling entranced.
His eyes were drawn down for a moment before answering, caught by the almost magnetic pull of my cleavage on display. Normally, I would have quickly sat back to avoid giving him such an unabashed view, but the margarita told me to relax and give him a chance to enjoy the sights. Its voice seemed strangely convincing.
"I grew up pretty normally," Carter admitted after a minute, forcing his gaze back up to meet my eyes. "One older brother, happily married parents, little house in the suburbs. Whole deal, might as well have had the white picket fence and everything. Very solidly middle class, maybe slightly lower than average. I wore a lot of my older brother's hand-me-downs."
"And then you headed off to the big city and set your sights on riches and wealth through commercial real estate?" I guessed.
He laughed. "Not quite. I went off to college, decided that I'd become an engineer, but couldn't handle the math and the devotion. Ended up scraping through classes to earn my degree, but my grades were awful, particularly at the end. I knew that I wasn't going to land a job with that degree, so I started trying to find something to keep me from becoming homeless."
"What did you do?"
"All sorts of odd stuff, at first," he said, leaning back a little in his chair. "Tried my hand at retail, worked in a warehouse for a bit. But I was lazy and had expensive tastes, which is a really dangerous combination." He snorted a little to himself. "Hell, still is."
"So how did you find real estate?"
"Totally by accident," he replied promptly, holding up a hand like he was taking the scout's oath, making me chuckle. "I got a temporary gig setting up a property - it's called 'staging' these days. Making it look perfect and clean and like it's totally ready for someone to move in and rent it. I started asking the agent about why he had to do things like set out a bowl of lemons, and he explained that it's the little touches that instantly add another five percent to his bottom line."
"Really?" I asked skeptically. "Putting out a bowl of lemons makes you thousands more?"
"Not just on its own, but you do that, bleach and clean the carpets, make the walls a shade or two brighter, and add a bit of artwork, and yeah, it basically makes the whole place seem more appealing," he admitted. "It seems like a dirty trick, but it helps potential renters to see the property in its best light, rather than just looking at it as an empty room with no real possibility."
Carter drained the rest of his beer and set the glass down on top of the wooden table with a thunk. "But I can't go giving away all of the secrets of being a successful real estate agent to you - not on the first date, at least!" he exclaimed. "At least, if you want to drag these secrets out of me, you'll need to cover the next round!"
I grinned back at him, strangely not feeling pressure or worry about this. I was just out to have fun, not thinking about where this might lead. Focus on the moment, Becca, I told myself. "I can definitely handle getting the next round."
"Perfect." Carter pointed to the bar, not moving from his seat. "I'll take another of the same, if you would be so kind!"
I started to get up, but then paused. "You just want to check out my ass in this too-small black dress, don't you?" the margarita in me asked, temporarily seizing control of my vocal cords.
Carter just grinned back at me. "I'm admitting
Carter shrugged, looking a little embarrassed about his wealth. He did the thing where he swept his hand through his hair again, mussing it up and looking even more adorable. "I need to put on this impression for my clients. No one wants to buy or rent a property from someone who doesn't look successful. But I've had to teach myself how to act proper all on my own; I didn't grow up this way."
"So how did you grow up?" I asked, leaning forward and feeling entranced.
His eyes were drawn down for a moment before answering, caught by the almost magnetic pull of my cleavage on display. Normally, I would have quickly sat back to avoid giving him such an unabashed view, but the margarita told me to relax and give him a chance to enjoy the sights. Its voice seemed strangely convincing.
"I grew up pretty normally," Carter admitted after a minute, forcing his gaze back up to meet my eyes. "One older brother, happily married parents, little house in the suburbs. Whole deal, might as well have had the white picket fence and everything. Very solidly middle class, maybe slightly lower than average. I wore a lot of my older brother's hand-me-downs."
"And then you headed off to the big city and set your sights on riches and wealth through commercial real estate?" I guessed.
He laughed. "Not quite. I went off to college, decided that I'd become an engineer, but couldn't handle the math and the devotion. Ended up scraping through classes to earn my degree, but my grades were awful, particularly at the end. I knew that I wasn't going to land a job with that degree, so I started trying to find something to keep me from becoming homeless."
"What did you do?"
"All sorts of odd stuff, at first," he said, leaning back a little in his chair. "Tried my hand at retail, worked in a warehouse for a bit. But I was lazy and had expensive tastes, which is a really dangerous combination." He snorted a little to himself. "Hell, still is."
"So how did you find real estate?"
"Totally by accident," he replied promptly, holding up a hand like he was taking the scout's oath, making me chuckle. "I got a temporary gig setting up a property - it's called 'staging' these days. Making it look perfect and clean and like it's totally ready for someone to move in and rent it. I started asking the agent about why he had to do things like set out a bowl of lemons, and he explained that it's the little touches that instantly add another five percent to his bottom line."
"Really?" I asked skeptically. "Putting out a bowl of lemons makes you thousands more?"
"Not just on its own, but you do that, bleach and clean the carpets, make the walls a shade or two brighter, and add a bit of artwork, and yeah, it basically makes the whole place seem more appealing," he admitted. "It seems like a dirty trick, but it helps potential renters to see the property in its best light, rather than just looking at it as an empty room with no real possibility."
Carter drained the rest of his beer and set the glass down on top of the wooden table with a thunk. "But I can't go giving away all of the secrets of being a successful real estate agent to you - not on the first date, at least!" he exclaimed. "At least, if you want to drag these secrets out of me, you'll need to cover the next round!"
I grinned back at him, strangely not feeling pressure or worry about this. I was just out to have fun, not thinking about where this might lead. Focus on the moment, Becca, I told myself. "I can definitely handle getting the next round."
"Perfect." Carter pointed to the bar, not moving from his seat. "I'll take another of the same, if you would be so kind!"
I started to get up, but then paused. "You just want to check out my ass in this too-small black dress, don't you?" the margarita in me asked, temporarily seizing control of my vocal cords.
Carter just grinned back at me. "I'm admitting
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