“What’s your budget?” The silver-haired man with the posh British accent, Vincent, asked me.

I smiled at him confidently. “No budget. I’d like to pay cash for whatever car I end up choosing.”

I saw surprise register faintly in his eyes. He held eye contact, unblinkingly, and I noticed how much his pupils had constricted in the middle of his pale blue eyes. They were like tiny, watery-black pinpricks looking back at me.

“You are aware that…” he paused, a hesitation small and polite, “…some of our cars can run as high as one hundred twenty thousand dollars?”

I smiled again. “Yes. I’m interested in trying quite a few.”