Read a sample from Second Nature
"What are you, a yacht broker or an MD?"
Allison Walker tilted her head back and sniffed the air as she stepped into the dimly lit salon. Just the usual boat smells: oiled woods, a little salt, the mildest hints of styrene and diesel. She checked her watch. It was 7:15 and, as always, she had arrived a little before the agreed time to set things up. Her prospect would be along soon.
Allison sometimes showed yachts early in the morning before typical work hours, but only when she knew enough about the potential buyer to feel safe being alone in a marina with little or no activity. This guy seemed fine, at least from his online corporate profile and the two short phone conversations they’d had. A little odd maybe, but no threat.
Allison opened the blinds along the starboard side of the salon and glanced out. Still gray and drizzly. She walked forward and up to the pilothouse to bring the vessel to life. Warmly glowing electronics always seemed to encourage buyers, she felt, and her own live-aboard experience reinforced this. Unless she was trying to sleep, Allison found a dark, quiet vessel a bit unnerving, even ominous at times. Dead in the water.
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