is part of my identity.”
After looking him over for a moment, she answered in a quiet but steely voice, “You have a bad-boy image. One that has to be softened up a little bit.”
“And just how do you plan to do that?”
“A haircut here, some clothes there.”
This was going too far. “Not going to happen. I don’t do makeovers. You can talk to Nelson all you want but that’s stepping over the line.”
She slipped the now organized papers into her folder. “After this campaign, you can go back to your slouchy, unkempt look, but you will look sharp and reliable for the media. You think about it. From what I understand, this is all sanctioned by the board. I’m not telling you your business but can you really afford to go against them?”
He hated this. Everything about it brought back memories he’d thought he had gotten beyond. “Again, where do I find time for this makeover to happen?”
“Don’t you have a day off?” She sounded as if it wasn’t a big deal for him to get away.
Yeah, but not one he wanted to spend her way. “Tomorrow, in fact.”
“Perfect. I’ll make an appointment with my hairdresser for tomorrow afternoon. First we’ll do a little shopping. So, I’ll be on my way. Goodnight.” She stood, put her bag over her shoulder and turned toward the door.
“Hey, wait a minute. You don’t need to be going to your car alone at this time of night.” Rex picked up his jacket.
She had stopped and was looking back at him. “I’ll be fine. I’m in the main parking lot up front.”
“I’m still going to walk you out.”
She shrugged and walked away. He followed. They said nothing to each other as they went down in the elevator and stepped out into the parking lot. The silence wasn’t so much uncomfortable as it was mutual.
“This is it,” she said when they reached a white compact car. With a click, she unlocked it with her fob. “Why don’t you get in? I’ll take you to your car.”
Rex wavered a moment, fearing that if he managed to get his long body in he might not be able to get it out. “My bike is in the back. I don’t mind walking.”
“You ride a motorcycle?” The unusual high note in her voice irritated him.
“Yes. You mean that wasn’t in your notes?”
Her perplexed demeanor was almost comical. Had she really thought that everything there was to know about him was in black and white in her folder? “Actually, it wasn’t, but it should have been.”
He was tired of being under the microscope. First the malpractice suit and now this. He liked his motorcycle. Liked the freedom. The lack of restriction. The fact that he was snubbing people like the ones in his past social circle made it even more fun. “Is me riding a bike a problem?”
“It could be,” she said, as if pondering the issue, climbing in and closing her car door, leaving him with the unfortunate feeling he had just become the dog in her dog-and-pony show.
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