do. Clint turned back to Justin.
‘What time is this guy coming in?’ He tapped the second to last name on the list.
‘He’s not, he withdrew this morning.’
‘Can we bump Ms Carvell up?’
‘I’m not even sure if she’s—’
‘She’s here. Let’s bring her over in ten minutes.’ He’d rather see her right now, throw her off her game, but he needed the time to sharpen up or Simone wouldn’t be the only one thinking he’d stumbled in off the streets.
Justin glared at him. ‘Where am I supposed to go while you use my office?’
‘Where did you used to go before you had an office?’ He deserved the filthy look Justin threw him; he didn’t play the big-brother card very often, the boss card even less. But he wasn’t moving on this one.
Eight minutes and a field shave later, Clint stretched back in Justin’s chair and flipped open Romy Carvell’s file. His eyes flicked unconsciously to her marriage status. She was a single mother. And trying out for a security coordinator role, despite her youth.
Interesting.
The assistant’s voice interrupted him. ‘Ms Carvell to see you, Mr, uh, sir.’
Clint snapped the file shut and pulled himself to his feet in an automatic at-ease. Romy Carvell may be up to no good but she was still a female and, in his world, a man stood for a woman. Romy smiled politely at Simone and passed her in the doorway, then stopped in her tracks when she saw who waited for her in the office.
You? She didn’t speak but her body said it for her.
‘Welcome to WildSprings officially, Ms Carvell. I’m Clint McLeish.’
She recovered her composure in seconds, sliding calmly into the vacant seat opposite his and pinning him with those amazing eyes. Battle-ash grey.
‘Do you always scope out potential staff before interviews?’ she asked, referring to their earlier encounter.
‘Purely opportunistic.’ He sank into Justin’s chair and studied the woman in front of him. Nervous, but hiding it. She wanted this job badly enough not to turn and walk out when she realised she was set up. Maybe she needed it? Clint thought about the young boy in the gift shop.
‘How old are you?’ He blurted it out before thinking.
Her lips thinned. ‘My résumé doesn’t include that for a reason, Mr McLeish.’
‘You think you’ll be judged by your age?’
‘You’re judging me now. Wondering how someone my age accrued the experience I have.’
Her darkened eyes flashed and his body matched it, deep inside. The angry flush did amazing things to her bone structure. ‘Actually, I was contemplating how you could possibly have a son Leighton’s age. You must have been virtually a child yourself?’
She gasped and shot to her feet. Clint knew he deserved the outraged expression on her face. Man, he really had been away from people too long. He stood as well.
‘Please, sit, Ms Carvell. I apologise, that was unnecessary.’ He sank back into the chair as she reluctantly did, too. ‘The point I’m trying to make—rather badly—is you appear very young for someone in the security industry.’
He did the math; she had to be no more than twenty-six.
She glared for a moment. ‘I learned a long time ago to turn my appearance to my advantage,’ she said. ‘It often gives me an edge over others. They underestimate me.’
I’ll bet they do. He looked at those doe eyes set in smooth skin over knockout bone structure. The mouth, which would be full if it wasn’t pulled tight with displeasure. Focus, McLeish. He forced his mind onto the task at hand, ignoring the daggers Little Miss Fierce stared at him.
‘Uh, can you give me a recent example, please?’ It was textbook interview protocol and he loathed that it was coming out of his mouth. But this wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something he hated based on a hunch.
She regarded him for a moment, seemed to weigh something in her mind and then reached to unbutton her coat. ‘I can give you a very recent example.’
Idiot, you didn’t ask for her coat. He mentally shook his head. Maybe his Grizzly Adams days were catching up with him.
Bottomless grey steel looked hard at him. ‘Why were you watching me in the gift shop?’
There was no good answer to that question, so he went for a half-truth. ‘You looked shifty.’
Her lips quirked, taking all the ice out of those eyes, turning them from storm-grey to kitten-grey in a blink. ‘Shifty? How?’
‘Like you were up to no good.’
‘I was up to no good. I was stealing you blind.’ She reached into her pockets and pulled out an array of items he recognised. Stock from his shop. When she placed a clunky brooch on the desk, he knew exactly when she’d nabbed it. And under whose nose. Heat flared up his throat.
Bloody hell. He’d just been scammed by a rookie.
‘You stopped me on instinct,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you take it further?’
Because I was too busy wondering what was beneath that coat of yours, and not of the stolen variety. He glared at her and realised with some pain exactly how far the mighty had fallen. He used to specialise in hostage extraction on foreign soil, now he couldn’t even spot a shoplifter at six paces. He fought the stiffening of his body, knowing she wouldn’t miss it. Not wanting to give her the satisfaction. ‘Point taken, Ms Carvell.’
‘This is hideous, by the way.’ She pointed to the brooch. ‘Why do you stock it?’
He had no idea; someone else did the stock selection for him. Yet another thing he’d relinquished control of since coming home. ‘Because it sells?’
She shook her dark auburn hair, just like her son’s but heavier and longer, and when she smiled a tiny dimple formed on her left cheek. ‘It’s still a crime against taste.’
Clint’s brows shot up. When was the last time someone had spoken to him with frankness and honesty rather than fear and suspicion? Or pity? God, it felt good!
‘Stealing from me was a risk, Ms Carvell. What if I’d thrown you out?’
‘A calculated risk. And I figure if you’re recruiting for security you wouldn’t have anyone to throw me out.’
That dimple again. Ouch. ‘You doubt I could manage that on my own?’ He had at least twelve inches and one hundred pounds on her.
‘I figured you wouldn’t have chosen to interview me yourself only to throw me out.’ She nodded at his surprise. ‘I did my research. I was supposed to be meeting a Mr Long.’
His reassessment was immediate.
