Page 46 of The Housekeeper

“That would be wealth management,” he said.

“Something every little boy dreams of.”

A sly grin spread across his face. “Actually, when I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut.”

“And what changedyourmind?”

“The whole zero gravity thing,” he said. “I absolutely loathe throwing up. Plus, I’m a little claustrophobic, so the idea of being stuck in a capsule orbiting the earth with no way out for months on end didn’t exactly thrill.”

“And managing other people’s money does?”

“It does,” he said. “More wine?”

I looked down at my glass, and was surprised to see that it was empty. “I probably shouldn’t,” I said as he poured more into my glass. “Okay, just a bit.”

“So, okay. How did we get from interior design to real estate?” he asked.

“You really want to know?”

“I really do.”

I told him about my father’s company, how I’d started working there as his assistant one summer, and how after graduating university with a more or less useless general arts degree, I’d opted to get my real estate license, then joined my father’s agency.

“Hoping to finally get Daddy’s seal of approval,” Roger stated more than asked.

I opened my mouth to respond, but no sound emerged. Was I really that transparent? So much for my deep thoughts.

“And do you enjoy selling real estate?”

“I’m good at it,” I answered.

“Not quite what I asked.”

I said nothing.

“What is it you like best about it?” he pressed.

I took another long sip of wine, feeling almost giddy. I wasn’t used to anyone showing so much interest in what I did. Harrison had never questioned me with such intensity. Oh, he’d tried on occasion to feign curiosity in what I did, but I could tell by the glaze that overtook his eyes after a few minutes of shop talk that his heart wasn’t in it. The fact was that my husband had never been terribly interested in my work. Our conversations, even when we first started dating, usually centered onhiswork,histhoughts,hisopinions.

And for a long time, I’d been okay with that.

“What do I like best about what I do?” I repeated, wondering when that had changed. “Like I said, I think I just discovered something I was actually good at,” I said simply.

“Don’t do that,” Roger said.

“Do what?”

“Underestimate yourself.”

“I don’t…”

“You do,” he said. “You want to know what I think?”

“I’m not sure,” I said honestly, more than a little taken aback.

“I think you’d be good at whatever you set your mind to.”

“You haven’t seen me dance,” I said, hoping for a laugh. I was finding it increasingly disconcerting that a man I barely knew seemed to know me so well.