Fortune's Homecoming. Allison Leigh
Chapter Thirteen
“Holy cow. Is that who I think it is?”
Grayson Fortune heard the whispers start the second he walked into the office of Austin Elite Real Estate. He should have known better than to head straight there after the press conference. But going back to the hotel to change would have made him even later than he already was.
He hated being late. It was a product of his early years hustling from one rodeo to another, when being late could mean missing the event altogether. Wasted miles. Worse, wasted money.
“Ohmygawd. Is that Grayson? I just saw him on the news at noon. He’s taller than I expected.”
He didn’t bother trying to locate where in the office the whispers came from. He just pulled off his black Grayson Gear cowboy hat and strode toward the stylish woman seated behind the reception desk. He’d had lots of practice ignoring whispers, and gave the receptionist his usual grin.
She was probably about his mom’s age, and if she recognized him when she looked up at him with a friendly smile, there was nothing in her expression to say it.
“Welcome to Austin Elite.” Her eyes were bright behind her black-framed glasses. “How can I help you?”
He heard another muffled laugh that might have been inaudible had the modern office possessed actual walls instead of a sea of glass partitions. “I know how I’d like to help him.”
He’d asked his mother to find a real estate agent for him, and she’d set up the appointment. Otherwise he’d turn around and leave. He was used to public attention, but it was often a pain in the caboose.
“Do you suppose he’s as good in the sack as the saddle? Imagine him tossing you down on the bed like—”
He focused harder on the friendly receptionist. “I have an appointment with Billy Pemberton. Sorry I’m late.”
The receptionist consulted her computer, tapping a few keys. “Ah. There you are, Mr. Smith.” She pressed a button on her phone. “Billy, your client is here.” She looked up at him again with another smile. “Would you like something to drink while you wait?”
“Water would be great, ma’am.”
“My pleasure.” She came around the desk. “Make yourself comfortable.” She gestured at the white chairs situated around an enormous world globe that sat right on the floor. Since the chairs looked like they came from outer space, he figured it made a weird sort of sense.
Two of the chairs were occupied and he took the one farthest away, nodding when the other people gave him sideways looks. Because they recognized him? Or because they’d heard the chair groan when he sat on it?
More than comfort, right now he just hoped he wouldn’t end up on the floor.
He also hoped the real estate agent wouldn’t keep him waiting long. But considering Grayson’s tardiness, he didn’t have much of a leg to stand on if the guy left him cooling his heels.
He’d expected a bottle of water, but when the receptionist returned, it was with a real glass filled with water, several sliced rounds of cucumber, some narrow ribbons of green stuff threaded on a wooden swizzle stick, all topped with a curl of lemon rind. A little overdone, but a nice touch, he supposed.
If you happened to like cucumber and unidentifiable green stuff. He did not.
He took the glass. “That’s real kind of you, ma’am. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” She started to turn back to her desk. “Oh, there’s Billy now.”
He wished the globe were a coffee table, so he could have set aside the water. Instead, he stood, turning in the same direction.
The real estate agent smiled at him, approaching with a hand outstretched. “Mr. Smith, I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting.”
Not a Billy.
But a Billie.
And what a Billie she was. From the top of her gleaming hair to the shine on her shoes, every inch was...amazing.
He juggled the glass and his hat, and stuck out his hand, anticipating the feel of her palm against his.
Bam.
No disappointment there. No, ma’am. Her skin was as soft and smooth as kid leather.
“Darlin’, you weren’t the one making someone wait. That’s all on me.”
Her rosy smile looked a little nervous and she tugged her hand free. “Don’t be silly. I’m Billie Pemberton.”
He wondered if his mom had chosen the attractive real estate agent deliberately.
Considering Deborah Fortune’s lament lately that he needed a good woman in his life? Probably.
“Let’s go back to my office, shall we?” Billie’s straight hair was long and deep brown, and she tucked one side of the sleek strands behind her ear. No earrings on her earlobe. Just a tiny sparkling stud high inside her ear and two equally tiny gold rings around the top edge.
He realized he was staring, as if he’d never seen an ear before. “Yeah.” He gestured with the upturned brim of his hat. “Let’s get on it.”
She smiled again. Definitely a hint of shyness in those appealing eyes.
Too bad she also looked like she was young enough to still be in high school. She was a real estate agent, so he knew she couldn’t be that young, but still...
Grayson liked women. Young women. Old women. Anything-in-between women. He liked the way they thought and the way they smiled and the way they smelled.
But he didn’t mess with girls. Especially ones who looked like they came complete with starry-eyed visions of picket fences and babies.
So no matter what his mom was thinking when she’d set this up, if she’d set this up, she was on the wrong track.
Despite all that, he told himself there was no law against appreciating how the fat silver zipper running the entire length of the back of her short white skirt worked its way up from the hem an inch as she walked ahead of him.
“He looks older than I thought he was.”
The whispers started up again as the two of them made their way along a glossy hall between glass panes. Or maybe they’d never stopped. He’d quit noticing anything when Billie had smiled at him. The whispers floating in the air. The aches and pains left over from his run a few days ago in Silver City, when he’d earned nothing but a bruised rib and a face full of dirt.
Billie 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