Eighteen
CHAPTER ONE
“WE BOTH KNOW where this is going.”
Taryn Crawford glanced up at the man standing by her table and ignored the rush of anticipation when she saw who he was. He was tall, with broad shoulders and gray eyes. But the most compelling feature—the one she would guess people pretended didn’t exist—was the scar on his neck. As if someone had once tried to slit his throat. Taryn idly wondered what had happened to the person who failed.
She supposed there were plenty of women who would be intimidated by the man in front of her. The sheer volume of muscle he had might make someone apprehensive. Not her, of course. When in doubt she put on a power suit and killer heels. If those failed her, she would simply work harder than anyone else. Whatever it took to win. Sure, there was a price, but she was okay with that.
Which was why she was able to stare coolly back and ask, “Do we?”
One corner of his mouth curved slightly in a sort of half smile. “Sure, but if you’re more comfortable pretending we don’t, I can make that work, too.”
“A challenge. Intriguing. You don’t expect that to be enough to make me defensive so I start saying more than I had planned, do you?” She made sure she was plenty relaxed in her chair. She would guess the man was paying as much attention to her body language as her words. Maybe more. She hoped he wouldn’t make things easy. She was tired of easy.
“I would hate for you to be disappointed,” she murmured.
The smile turned genuine. “I’d hate that, too.” He pulled out the chair opposite hers. “May I?”
She nodded. He sat.
It was barely after ten on a Tuesday morning. Brew-haha, the local coffee place she’d escaped to for a few minutes of solitude before she returned to the current chaos at her office, was relatively quiet. She’d ordered a latte and had pulled out her tablet to catch up on the latest financial news. Until she’d been interrupted. Nice to know this was going to be a good day.
She studied the man across from her. He was older than the boys, she thought. The three men she worked with—Jack, Sam and Kenny, aka “the boys”—were all in their early to mid-thirties. Her guest was nearer to forty. Just old enough to have the experience to make things intriguing, she thought.
“We’ve never been introduced,” she said.
“You know who I am.”
A statement, not a question. “Do I?”
One dark eyebrow rose. “Angel Whittaker. I work at CDS.”
Otherwise known as the bodyguard school, she reminded herself. For a small town, Fool’s Gold had its share of unusual businesses.
“Taryn Crawford.”
She waited, but he didn’t make a move.
“We’re not shaking hands?” she asked, then picked up her latte with both hers. Just to be difficult, because being difficult would make things more fun.
“I figured we’d save the touching for later. I find it’s better when that sort of thing happens in private.”
Taryn had opened Score, her PR firm, eight years ago. She’d had to deal with unwelcome passes, assumptions she was an idiot, being asked who the boss was, pats on her butt and people presuming that if she worked with three ex-football players, she must have gotten her job by sleeping with them. She was used to staying calm, keeping her opinions to herself and gaining victory through the unanticipated side run.
This time Angel had been the one to put the first points on the board. He was good, she thought, intrigued and only slightly miffed.
“Are you coming on to me, Mr. Whittaker? Because it’s still a little early in the morning for that sort of thing.”
“You’ll know when I’m making my move,” he informed her. “Right now I’m simply telling you how things are.”
“Which takes us back to your comment that we both know where this is going. I’ll admit to being confused. Perhaps you have me mixed up with someone else.”
She uncrossed, then recrossed her long legs. She wasn’t trying to be provocative, but if Angel got distracted, it was hardly her fault.
For a second she allowed herself to wonder how she would have been different if she’d been able to grow up in a more traditional home. One with the requisite 2.5 children and somewhat normal parents. She certainly wouldn’t be as driven. Or as tough. Sometimes she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
He leaned toward her. “I hadn’t taken you for the type to play games.”
“We all play games,” she told him.
“Fair enough. Then I’ll be blunt.”
She sipped her coffee, then swallowed. “Please.”
“I saw you last fall.”
“How nice,” she murmured.
When she’d been scouting locations. Moving a company required time and effort. They’d only truly settled in Fool’s Gold a couple of months ago. But she had been in town the previous fall, and yes, she’d seen Angel, as well. Found out who he was and had wondered about...possibilities. Not that she was going to admit that to him.
“I watched you,” he continued.
“Should I be concerned you’re a stalker?”
“Not when you were watching me right back.”
He’d noticed? Damn. She’d tried to be subtle. She thought about lying but decided to simply stay silent. After a second, he continued.
“So we’ve finished sizing each other up,” he said. “Now it’s time to move on to the next phase of the game.”
“There are phases?” Which was an actual question. No point in mentioning the game. She knew what they were doing. Still, it was entertaining to pretend she didn’t.
“Several.”
“Do you provide instructions or a scorecard?”
His cool gray eyes stayed focused on her face. “You don’t play that way.”
“Be careful with your assumptions.”
“I’m not assuming.”
He had an appealing voice. Low with a hint of... Not the Deep South, she thought. But
