When Marjorie was dealing with a prospective buyer, she usually approached them with an angle. This involved asking a few subtle but pertinent questions and discovering their individual concerns. Some potential buyers were looking at a Mercedes for performance—the German-made automobile was built to cruise at twice the speed of U.S. freeways. Marjorie realized, though, that Sam wasn’t interested in traveling over a hundred miles an hour. From what she knew about him, he wasn’t the type who cared a great deal about prestige, either. The safety issue would evoke a response in him.

“The Mercedes-Benz is one of the safest cars in the world.” She handed him a brochure from her desk drawer and took her seat.

As a saleswoman, she was as slick as frost on mossy rocks, Sam thought. Yes, she was a beautiful woman, but once she had a customer’s attention, it was cars she was there to sell.

“I like to tell prospective buyers that purchasing a Mercedes-Benz is another form of life insurance,” she continued. “As a physician, I’m sure you can appreciate our cars’ many safety features.”

Sam flipped through the pages of the glossy pamphlet and nodded. She knew her stuff, he had to give her credit for that. “You’re very good.”

Marjorie paused. “How do you mean?”

“As a salesperson. I don’t think many men would be able to turn you down.”

A couple of the salesmen had protested that very point when Marjorie was first hired, claiming she had an unfair advantage over the rest of them. They claimed that, sitting across the table from a good-looking female, a man would have a difficult time negotiating a price. The men might have convinced a few of the others that they had a point, but Bud, the manager, was behind Marjorie. Her sales record spoke for itself. She sold cars, and that was the purpose of the dealership. If she possessed an unfair advantage, the manager didn’t care, as long as cars moved off the lot. But Marjorie knew that she didn’t need to use her feminine wiles; the cars sold because she was a good salesperson.

“I get turned down plenty of times,” she responded, her smile fading.

Sam turned the page of the brochure and read over the information on the E350. “I’ll take this one.”

“Pardon.” Marjorie wasn’t completely sure she had heard him right.

“This sedan—in a light blue, if you have it.”

“You mean you want to buy one now?”

“Is that a problem?” He withdrew his checkbook from inside his coat pocket.

Marjorie had sold plenty of cars, but never any quite this way. “Don’t you want to drive one? Negotiate the price?”

“Not particularly. I know you aren’t going to cheat me.”