Brent looked him up and down. His gaze lingered on the jacket, the jeans, and the boots. “Do you have any idea how much these cars cost?” “I have a general idea.” “Then you understand this isn’t the kind of place where people come to browse for fun.”
“I’d like to see that black sports car.” Brent moved between Elliot and the vehicle. “Don’t touch that car. Your hands are getting it dirty.”
Elliot looked down at his hands. They were clean, though the skin around his knuckles was rough from years of working on engines before he became an executive. He had a small scar across his left thumb, the result of a slipping wrench when he was nineteen. He had never bothered to hide it. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I only wanted to take a closer look.”
“What’s the point?” Brent replied. “Can you even afford it?” “I haven’t asked you for the price yet.”
Brent gave a humorless smile. “You should be looking at something a lot cheaper. We have used vehicles in the lower lot. I can point you toward the exit if that’s what you’re after.” “I came here to look at cars.”
“And I’ve told you what you need to know.” Elliot studied him carefully. The contempt was not hidden behind a bad choice of words or a moment of frustration. Brent seemed to believe he was performing a useful service by deciding which customers deserved attention. “Could you at least tell me a little about this model?” Elliot asked.
Brent glanced toward the desk, where another customer had just arrived. “I don’t have time for people like you.” He turned away.
For a moment, Elliot remained beside the black car. He could have ended the interaction immediately. He could have called the general manager, asked for the regional director, or revealed his identity and watched Brent’s expression change. He could have done any of those things and received an apology before lunch. But an apology delivered because someone feared the owner was not the answer he had come to find.
He turned toward the exit. “Sir?” The voice came from his left. A woman in a dark blue showroom uniform was walking toward him. She was in her early thirties, with dark hair tied neatly at the back of her head and a small name badge that read SOPHIA REYES. She had been standing near the delivery desk when Brent spoke, and Elliot had seen her watching the exchange with growing discomfort.
“Would you like some water?” she asked. “Or coffee? We have both.” Elliot stopped. “Water would be nice. Thank you.”
“Of course. Please, have a seat wherever you’re comfortable. I’ll be right back.” She did not ask whether he intended to buy anything. She did not inspect his clothes or look toward Brent for permission. She simply brought him a glass of water and set it on a small table beside a pair of leather chairs.
“Is there a particular vehicle you’re interested in?” she asked. “I was looking at the black sports car.” Sophia glanced toward it. “That’s a beautiful model. It’s one of my favorites in the showroom.”
“Would you mind telling me about it?” “Not at all.”