LITMIR.BIZ

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‘Get your pen out. You need your own hook. You need to bat those baby blues. Flirt a little. Be supremely confident. A good-looking girl doing this job because she believes in the product. She don’t have no other job, not because she can’t get one, but because this is a good one. A good product. I tell you young lady, you have got a serious advantage here.’

      Over the next hour, gorgeous Gareth as she renamed him in her head, shared every last scrap of wile and guile that he had with her and by the end of it, she felt she knew what she was doing.

      Alan came to check up on their progress.

      ‘So Siena, with one ‘n’. Pretend you’re knocking on my front door.’

      Gareth winked at her. ‘You go girl.’

      ‘Hi, sorry to disturb you, can I say this is a lovely house. I love what you’ve done with the garden. Have you ever thought of selling?’

      ‘No,’ said Alan with a smug smile on his face.

      ‘See, there’s that close down the question, the one I told you about,’ piped up Gareth. ‘Now remember what you do.’

      ‘And I don’t blame you,’ Siena was enjoying herself, blossoming under Gareth’s paternal gaze, ‘this is a lovely house. Although, if you don’t mind me saying so, you could make it even more appealing. I see next door is looking a bit tired. Their front door could do with a lick of paint, don’t you think?’

      ‘No, Siena remember. Open questions. Don’t ever give them the chance to say no.’

      ‘Sorry.’

      ‘And don’t apologise. You’re in charge here, if they don’t choose to buy your product, it’s their loss.’

      Siena nodded, thinking fast.

      ‘Their front door could do with a lick of paint. If you were going to paint yours, what colour would you go for?’

      ‘Much better,’ said Gareth nodding at Alan, encouraging him to join in.

      ‘A door says such a lot about you. Creates first impressions. Says the people who live here care. Now if you paint your door, you’ve got to maintain it. Johnson’s Doors are virtually maintenance free. Guaranteed for twenty-five years. Now I think you could probably do a lot more with this lovely house. Show people in the neighbourhood that you care, unlike the neighbours who don’t or maybe they can’t afford to invest in what’s important. Now with a bit of TLC, you could really show your neighbours, friends, that you’ve got pride, dignity and money. People respect that.’

      Alan straightened. ‘Hell yeah. Where do I sign on the dotted line?’

      Gareth held up a hand and Siena high-fived him.

      ‘You go girl. You are ready to go out on the road.’

      Alan nodded. ‘Yeah, I think you are. Do you know what, I think I can see a very long and successful relationship with Johnson Home Improvements for you, Siena.’

      Jason returned as Siena was grating cheese, dancing around the kitchen and melting butter in the frying pan.

      ‘What the fu—’ Jason stumbled to a halt in the kitchen doorway.

      ‘Hi,’ Siena turned, pushing unruly hair away from her face.

      Jason looked pained.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ She followed his eyes as he scanned the table, the kitchen counters and the sink which was piled high with saucepans.

      ‘It looks like Armageddon in here. What are you cooking?’

      ‘Omelette. I’m celebrating.’ Now she had a job, she’d been food shopping and treated herself to a bottle of wine.

      ‘Omelette? For five thousand? You must have used every utensil in the kitchen.’

      Siena looked around. Surely he was exaggerating. She’d used a few plates, a couple of bowls, two chopping boards, several knives and one cast iron pan. ‘It’s not so bad.’

      He came closer. ‘Have you ever cooked an omelette before?’

      ‘Yes.’ Typical English man, no clue about cooking.

      ‘Really? I’ve never seen it cooked like that before.’

      Of course he hadn’t. Judging from the contents of the kitchen, he didn’t know one end of a frying pan from the other. He was used to eating meals from plastic trays in sleeves of cardboard. He was no judge.

      ‘Wait until you taste it. Have you eaten?’

      He hesitated.

      ‘Go on, try it. What have you got to lose?’

      He still looked reluctant, until she tossed the pancetta into a Le Creuset frying pan with a sizzle, the scent quickly filing the air. She saw his hesitancy fade as the red peppers and slices of new potatoes went in. She let them cook for a minute. Much as she loved to cook, she didn’t get the chance very much. A lot of what she did was trial and error but she certainly wasn’t going to admit that to Mr Superior. It would have been nice to impress him but a basic dish like this was hardly going to hit the mark.

      Even though she did think that perhaps he might be coming around, when she saw his nose lifting in appreciation of the warm cooking smells.

      As the vegetables and bacon softened in the butter, she folded in frothy whipped egg whites into beaten egg yolks.

      Jason frowned. ‘Do you know you can beat the eggs and put them in? I’ve never heard of anyone separating them and then putting back together.’

      Siena shrugged. ‘Your loss then.’ She winked at him. ‘I suggest you withhold judgement until you’ve tried it. Would you like a glass of wine?’

      She asked him to pour as she concentrated on pouring the omelette batter into the pan. The trick was to cook the bottom and then slide it under the grill to cook the top.

      When she whisked the fluffy omelettes onto warm plates with a side salad of leaves and popped one in front of Jason, she smiled at the look of pleasure on his face when he tasted them.

      ‘Wow, this is amazing.’

      She smiled and took a happy slug of red wine. ‘Told you I knew what I was doing.’

      ‘I take it all back.’ There was a silence between them and then as if he’d suddenly remembered his manners, Jason asked, ‘So how did you get on today?’

      ‘It was great. I met some really nice people,’ she pulled a face, ‘and some not so nice people. But I’m all trained and ready to go out on the road.’

      ‘Trained?’

      ‘Yes.’ Siena felt rather pleased with herself. ‘Apparently I’m an active seller.’

      ‘And what’s one of those when they’re at home?’

      She ignored his scepticism. What did he know? He hadn’t been there today. She was looking forward to going out, helping people improve their homes. Help them reduce and eradicate unnecessary maintenance.

      ‘An active seller is proactive. Forward thinking. Takes charge. We make the best sellers.’

      ‘You mean you’re pushy and don’t take no for an answer.’

      ‘No,’ Siena drew herself up. ‘We develop empathy with the customer and build a relationship.’

      ‘Good luck with that, you’re going to need it.’

      Siena rolled her eyes. What did he know?

      ‘How’s the red wine?’

      ‘Good. No, great. I guess if you’re French you know a bit about wines.’

      Siena shrugged. She knew what she knew. She’d never really thought about it before. ‘I’m not really French. I’m English. I just grew up there.’ Neither one thing nor the other.

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