Then he was gone, leaving Claudine to sit and stare at the phone. This wasn’t going to work. She had to find a way to stand out. Sifting through a stack of everyone else’s purchase and sales agreements, she was quick to realize these were not going to be her clients. Poseurs. Riffraff overextending their credit lines, barely scraping together minimum down payments, needing private mortgage insurance. No, her clients would be different. She stayed in Aspen for one reason: the luxury market, the endless supply of money and the rich’s desperate need to spend it. Those were the kind of clients Steve dealt with. Clients like that weird husband and wife, her with the plastic surgery and him wearing that captain’s hat. The Tigglemans. If she wanted that business, she would have to learn more than what was on her real estate exam. She would have to learn his secrets and methods. And she would have to give him a reason to teach them to her.

Pushing Henry as far from her thoughts as possible, she picked up the phone and made a reservation at Ajax Tavern. A table in the back, please. Later, after she and Steve had polished off a perfect coq au vin with a bottle of pink champagne, she suggested a nightcap at J Bar. She knew it was one of his favorite spots. They sat close on leather stools and Steve told her stories until closing. Dry cabernet after dry cabernet, she asked question after question. He was dizzy, drunk on the sound of his own voice. Going on and on about how Aspen had changed over the years and where he saw new opportunity cropping up everywhere. It was like a master class in real estate theory, and there wasn’t a bit of information she didn’t file away. God, the man loved to talk about himself. She was learning more about the business in one evening than most would in their first few years.