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“We can skip that one,” I say. “Moving on, moving on… I just need enough to set you up with women I think you’d enjoy spending time with.”
“I’m not picky,” he responds. “They need to be able to hold up their side of a conversation. Some humor.”
I’ve never met a single person who said they weren’t picky and actually meant it. People who claim to have no demands inevitably have the most.
But I can’t tell him that.
So I smile and make a note of it in his application. “Humor’s important for you, then. How about I ask you a few easy questions? These are some fun prompts we use to get a sense of a client’s personality.”
He sighs again, like I’m imposing on him. “Sure.”
“What’s your favorite holiday?”
“My favorite holiday?”
“Yes.”
“Michaelmas.”
“Really?”
His lips twitch. “No,” he says. “I shouldn’t mock you.”
“Not if we’re going to do this bet properly.”
“Christmas, then. Put me down for Christmas.”
I write down a great deal more than simply “Christmas.”Sarcastic, dry sense of humor. Dislikes pretense. Needs a patient hand.
“That’s a great choice,” I say.
“Is this the part where you praise me for my responses again?”
I tilt my head in acknowledgement. “Right, you didn’t enjoy that. I’ll refrain. Now, here’s another prompt… What’s the best part of your day?”
He taps his hands along the armrest, gaze turning to Ace. My dog has sprawled out beside Anthony’s chair like he’s never been more relaxed in his life.
“My morning cup of coffee,” he replies.
I note it down, and I know I shouldn’t comment, but… “Yet you didn’t want a coffee when you came here yesterday.”
“I doubt your machine is very good.”
I glance up at him, but there’s a wryness to his features. He knows he’s being provocative.
I give a one-shouldered shrug. “Compared to whatever fancy one you have at home, it’s likely not, no.”
He nods. Looks past me again.
I clear my throat and return to my prompts. They’re fun, easy ways to establish rapport with a client. To tease out things about their personality you’d never get from asking people to describe themselves.
I’ll establish rapport with Anthony Winter, even if I have to be the one doing eighty percent of the work.
“Have you ever broken any bones?”
His eyebrows rise, but he responds. “A collarbone. Left wrist.”
“You’re not left-handed?”
