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real.

I passed my real estate exam three weeks later, on the first try, thanks to Rae, real estate drill sergeant to the stars. In an hour, she was throwing me a celebratory party at a house that was to become my first listing. Following the tour, we were to hit up Vegas’s newest hot spot, a nightclub called Rapture. I’d purchased a special outfit for the occasion, a backless, navy cocktail dress and sparkly, five-inch heels, designed to take all five foot four inches of me to a whole new level. 
    Taking in the sheer grandeur of the house as I drove inside the iron gates, I had to admit, I was surprised Rae had trusted me with such a high-end listing for my debut. I figured she’d throw me a bone, toss a few dead-in-the-water unsold condos my way to get me going, but the spectacle in front of me was unexpected and pricey.
    I parked on the cobblestone driveway, tapped my phone to life, and glanced at the time. I was fourteen minutes late, which, for me, was right on time. Problem was—I was the only non-punctual female in our group, and yet I appeared to be the only one there. No other cars were parked outside. I fumbled around in my bag, pulled out a yellow slip of paper, and checked the address I’d been given again. Yep, this was it all right. So where was everyone?
    I walked to the front door, pausing when I heard a voice on the other side, someone whistling the tune of a Frank Sinatra song.
    I knocked.
    The door opened to an unexpected surprise.
    Gideon?
    I took one rather large, scissor-step back. “What are you doing here?”
    “Celebrating. Would you like to come in?”
    He swung the door all the way open, bracing it with his hand.
    I craned my neck, glanced inside. He was the only one here. “I don’t understand. Where’s everyone else?”
    He grinned. “It’s just us.”
    “What about my friends? I thought we were meeting here?”
    “They’re not coming.”
    “Rae said we’d meet here to celebrate my first listing.”
    “You are celebrating your first listing.”
    “But I thought she was throwing me some kind of party.”
    “Is that what she told you?”
    It was what she’d told me. Clearly something was off. 
    “If this is my listing, and Rae isn’t here, why are you here?”
    “This is my house.”
    “ You’re the seller?” No wonder I’d been granted such a sublime listing. It must have been Gideon’s way of getting me to pay up. “Did you request me because I owe you money?”
    I felt like a jerk for asking, but it was the only logical explanation.
    “I wasn’t aware you owed me anything,” he said.
    “I haven’t received your bill yet. I meant to call you. I’ve been wondering when it would come.”
    “It won’t be coming.”
    “Why not?” I asked. “Do you want to work it out in trade?”
    He stared at me for a moment before offering a response. “I took your case pro bono. You owe me nothing.”
    “Why?”
     “Are you coming in, or are you planning on standing on my porch all night?”
    I guessed he was avoiding the question.
    I sized up his attire: a thin, V-neck shirt that accentuated his athletic, freckled body, and a pair of cargo shorts. His biceps were tight, so tight I wanted to press my fingers against them and squeeze. I looked down, suddenly reminded of what I was wearing—nightclub attire. “I don’t usually dress like—”
    “You’re dining in a five-star restaurant?”
    Or working my sexual frustration out in the club later, if that part was even happening. At least he hadn’t said high-class hooker, because I had to admit, I looked a wee bit trashy.
    He visually took me in from top to bottom. “I like it, the dress. It’s very nice.
    “Umm ... thanks.”
    “Turn around.”
    “What?”
    “Turn. Around.”
    My backless dress had a slit that extended almost all the way to the top of my bum. Bottom line: I wasn’t wearing any panties. An hour earlier, this fact had no bearing on my clothing selection. Aside from my girlfriends, the packed