the subtle muscles in her calves and each curve that led up to the tightly wound bun, fastened at the nape of her neck. I had a perfect view of her creamy throat, and my gaze couldn’t help but rest there. I pictured myself tracing the line of it, working my fingers into that vanilla-scented hair, pulling it free and surrounding myself with it. I imagined it was rich and soft—the kind of hair that would look stunning splayed out across a crisp, white pillow.
What would she do when she spotted me? Would a pretty blush creep up those cheeks?
I hoped to God it would.
My appreciative stare worked to her lips, and I wondered what it would be like to taste them. Would they have the same rich texture of her hair, the same airiness of her scent?
Her mouth. Her neck. Her—my runaway imagination came to a halt as I saw her soft expression change from guarded determination to complete devastation.
My heart sunk, flowing downward with the tilt of her lips, and I watched all the color drain from her face. For one second I thought that the sorrow there was directed at me, but she was staring right at the wannabe stuffed shirt.
Mark, I heard someone say.
Her intent gaze was so focused, it seemed like the object of her interest was the only thing in the room. I didn’t like that she was looking at him like that. I didn’t like that he made those deep brown eyes darken with pain. And as selfish as it was, I really didn’t like that it meant she hadn’t noticed me.
A dangerous rush of emotions coursed through me, and I realized my hands were balled so tightly that white had formed along the ridges of my fingers.
Focus.
A pretty face had never stopped me from doing my job before. I made myself concentrate on Keith Bomner’s words.
“I’d like to point out that the media tends to look favorably on the underdog,” he stated. “And rarely seeks to laud those who seek to crush him. Or her, as the case may be.”
I mentally rolled my eyes. If scare tactics were all he was working with, he didn’t stand much of a chance against my dad. But he quickly switched topics, and after a few minutes, I found myself paying attention. The proposal they were making—she was making—involved saving a run-down community center. I wondered why it was so important to her.
Bomner talked about the youth center and its various programs, and appealed to the councilmen’s sense of community. He gave all the credit to the girl standing silently beside him, and I had to admit, it really sounded like the redhead had done a lot of work. She was running the project from behind some kind of nonprofit organization. I was impressed. Which meant that my dad wouldn’t be.
I needed to concentrate on making a list of what I would have to do to put a stop to her plans. I glanced down at my notepad. All I’d done was scribble a question mark beside the word name. Somehow, I’d missed it.
I looked back in her direction, wondering what it was about the other man that was making her stare down at her hands in such a defeated manner. I couldn’t decide what I wanted more—to comfort her or to punish him.
“So,” the lawyer said as he closed up. “We’ll have half the funds ready within the designated time. There will be no need to consider other options.”
The city officials looked convinced, and one of them went so far as to nod his head enthusiastically. My father wasn’t going to be happy with the way things were looking.
And you can forget about having anything to do with the redhead on a personal level.
“Thank you, gentlemen.” Bomner snapped his briefcase shut, nodded his head at us, and ushered the girl out.
I jumped up, automatically inclined to follow the redhead out. One of the older men coughed emphatically. I paused in my pursuit, released a breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding, and turned to face the table. The man named Mark was staring at me curiously.
“Did you get the information you needed?” he asked.
I nodded dumbly, because I didn’t trust myself to answer him in a calm manner. I hated him, even though I didn’t know him.
“Do you have any questions?” This came from one of the grey-haired, suit-wearing men.
I glanced at the door, then shook my head. The only real question I wanted an answer to was what the girl’s name was, and it would look as if I hadn’t been paying attention if I asked.
I wondered if Mark knew it.
He must.
I resisted a desire to demand that he tell me what it was.
“Excuse me,” I choked out, and exited the room, knowing they were all staring after me, and not really caring.
* * *
I caught up to her in the stairwell.
“Hey!”
She spun my way and stopped, like she was startled to see another human being, then looked guiltily at her hands, which clasped her shoes tightly. I suppressed a grin. Her gaze came up again, and for a breathless moment, they held me fixed to the spot.
Then her eyes narrowed in recognition.
“Are you going to trip me again?” she asked.
“I didn’t trip you. You came running at me.”
“You were sleeping in the hallway. At my house.”
She started to turn on her bare heel.
“Wait!”
“Dammit,” she muttered. “What?”
“I’m with the school paper,” I lied.
She stared at me blankly, and I shoved down irritation that she hadn’t noticed me in the meeting.
“I sat in on your meeting with the city just now,” I clarified. “I was hoping we could do an interview? An exclusive, maybe?”
Her pretty mouth tightened up. “Press inquiries go through my lawyer.”
“I’m not real press.”
“Please?” I turned on my sexiest grin. “It’s mean a lot to me, Miss—”
Crap. What was her name?
She rolled her eyes. “You’re kidding, right? You work for the paper and you sat in on the meeting and you didn’t even catch my name? That doesn’t bode well for your career in journalism.”
“I just started. And it’s more of a hobby than a career.”
“Find a new hobby,” she suggested.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and in the brief second I glanced down, the redhead
