At least that was her theory.
She stepped around him to leave her card among the collection already sitting on the steel counter and led the way back out of the austere house.
Unlike the day before, when he’d walked through the door of the real estate office looking like the poster boy for professional rodeo, today Grayson wore slouchy beige cargo shorts, leather flip-flops and a Dallas Cowboys ball cap. The calves showing below the long shorts were just as tanned and muscular as the arms showing below the short sleeves of his gray T-shirt. His ridiculously handsome jaw was blurred by unshaved whiskers, and his dark eyes—visible in the few minutes when he pulled off his sunglasses—were clearly bloodshot.
He looked like he belonged on the beach sleeping off a bender. And he was still so mouthwateringly handsome that she couldn’t keep herself from blathering on about every detail of the properties she was showing him, as if he couldn’t see for himself the very things she was pointing out.
It was embarrassing. She was supposed to know the value of keeping quiet when she needed to.
They drove to property number three, only a few minutes later than the time she’d arranged with the owners the day before.
She expected them to be gone from the house by the time they got there, but the sight of the van still sitting in front warned her otherwise.
She hated showing properties when the current occupants were present. It never boded well. Nobody relaxed enough to properly give the house fair consideration. And she had high hopes for this particular listing.
She parked behind the van and looked at Grayson.
He was slouched in the passenger seat, cradling the coffee cup that she suspected was empty, the bill of his cap pulled low over his forehead.
“Why don’t I check inside first? I think the owners are still here, and it’s probably better if they don’t realize who is looking at their house. More than once, I’ve had an owner try to drive up the price just because they think they’ve got a big fish on the hook.”
He sent her a faint smile. “You’re the expert.”
That’s what her business cards implied. But driving around “The Grayson” all morning—particularly after his name had been bandied about every fifteen minutes on the local morning news—was leaving her feeling more shaky than confident.
She grabbed her business cards and darted up the front steps to ring the doorbell.
The door opened so immediately, she suspected the owner had been waiting right behind it. “Good morning, Mr. Orchess.” She stuck out her business card. “I’m Billie Pemberton with Austin Elite Real Estate. We spoke on the phone yesterday?”
The gray-haired owner smiled. “Come on in, little lady. Can’t wait to show off my place here to you and your client.” He made no secret that he was trying to see who was in her car parked behind the van, and she was glad for the tinted windows that gave no hint whether anyone was inside the vehicle or not.
“Actually, Mr. Orchess, my schedule has gotten out of hand this morning.” It hadn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. “Is there another time I can bring my client back to see your lovely home?”
The man wrinkled his nose in thought. “Well, the missus and I have to be outta town for the next week or so, so that’s out.”
Drat, drat, drat. Mr. Orchess was clearly of the mind that he needed to be present, even though she knew very well he had a listing agent representing his multimillion-dollar property. “I don’t mind showing your place to my client in your absence if you don’t.”
“But if I’m not here, I can’t tell you all about the special details I’ve put in myself.”
She nodded. “I understand your concern. What if I went through your home now with you and took careful notes? Then I could bring my client back another time and do my best to share all of the special details.”
“I s’pose that’d be okay,” he said, after giving it some thought.
It took twenty minutes before Billie was able to gracefully leave Mr. Orchess.
Inside, the house was a masterpiece. It also sat on a beautiful piece of property that she thought would be perfect for Grayson.
When she returned to the car Grayson was slouched in the front seat.
Snoring softly.
She almost wished, then, that she hadn’t rushed Mr. Orchess quite so much.
She hovered outside the car for a few minutes, sighing. Grayson wasn’t the first client to fall asleep on her. Rhonda Dickinson used to fall asleep regularly.
She sincerely hoped that was the only similarity between her new client and Rhonda.
Billie finally climbed behind the wheel of the car, closed the door softly and backed away from the house. Hopefully, he would awaken on his own before they reached the fourth property.
He did not.
Determination filled her. “You are not going to be another Rhonda,” she murmured and opened her door. Then pulled it shut again with a loud slam.
Grayson sat up with a start. “What?”
She looked at him innocently. “Property number four is the smallest house we’ll be seeing today, but has the most acreage. What do you think so far?”
He pulled off his sunglasses and blinked blearily at her. “I fell asleep.”
“Did you? I hadn’t noticed.”
“I fell asleep with you driving.”
She wasn’t sure what to make of that, except to know that it wasn’t meant as a compliment. “Actually, you fell asleep while I was taking notes about the previous house.”
“Thought you didn’t notice.”
She gave him a look that was hopefully far more congenial than she actually felt, before opening her car door again. “Nearly seventeen acres,” she said, as she climbed out. “According to the map, there’s a private lake in the middle of it. Do you like boating?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” He grabbed a water bottle and seemed to stumble a little as he got out of the car. He swore softly.
She pretended not to see. “I’ve never been on a boat, myself.” She headed for the front door of the house. She’d been through it once already with another client, so didn’t have to hunt for the location of the lockbox.
“You’ve never been on a boat?”
“Nope.” She crouched down and entered her access code. The box popped open and she pulled out the house key. “I don’t swim.” She straightened and smoothed down her skirt. “It doesn’t make me a freak.”
“Did I say it did?”
“No, but you’d be one of the few who didn’t.” Max was always riding her about it. She unlocked the door and led the way inside. “Mind the step down when you come in,” she warned.
“I see it.” He sounded grouchy.
Maybe because he’d just woken up.
Maybe because he was obviously still hungover.
Considering the high hopes she’d had for the morning, things felt on a downhill 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