door, Tracy wasn’t surprised when he pulled that door open. He stepped out of the way but kept his arm stretched over the doorway so she’d have to enter beneath his arm.
Was he toying with her? Ignoring the notion, she stepped under his arm into a long room that smelled like sandalwood. This must have been the previous occupant’s storeroom.
Riley scooped a pile of folders off a computer chair and tossed them on the floor. “Have a seat,” he said.
With her mind on making a professional appearance, Tracy sat down and crossed her legs at the ankles, then slammed both feet flat on the floor when the chair began to roll across the smooth tile. She’d scarcely regained her equilibrium, when she remembered she’d left her briefcase around front, on the light table.
Yesterday she’d given up six months’ clothing budget and her entire lunch hour to shop for the case. She’d wanted to appear credible when she turned down the job.
But Booker had dubbed her Ms. Superefficient for a reason. She’d take mental notes. Folding her hands in her lap, Tracy waited while Riley turned a metal trash can on its open end and sat down on top. Even at thirty-one, he was too restless to sit on a normal chair, like a normal person.
She pulled her eyes away from his flexed thighs and peeked through the door at the accumulation of boxes and furniture in the front-office space. “Typically, I would spend this time looking around your office,” she announced with a frown. “Then I would write a proposal.”
“You can do that after I clear a pathway,” he said. “Why don’t you start with my image. What would you advise me to do to appear more respectable and professional.”
Of course, his image was the bigger challenge.
“Are you sure you want to open a business here?” Tracy asked, studying his ear stud. When she remembered Nellie’s comment, she added, “You are Otto’s son. People are wondering if you’re hiding out. Or running from something.”
Riley kept his narrowed eyes adhered to hers. “I haven’t seen my father in thirteen years,” he said. And shrugged. “I came back because this is home.”
Tracy knew he’d read her expression when he added, “I know this town hasn’t forgiven my misspent youth, nor my biological tie to Otto. That’s why I’m hiring you.”
“If I were to take the job, you’d have to listen to my advice,” Tracy said with a frown.
He swept a hand down his chest. “Advise away.”
She peered at his earlobe. “Lose the earring.”
He fingered the stud. “This? It’s hardly noticeable.”
“I noticed it.”
Shivering at the look he slipped down her body, Tracy said, “This is the Midwest. At least some of the folks who are affluent enough to require an engineer’s services have never caught on to male jewelry.”
She noticed Riley’s smirk and said, “If you won’t listen to my advice, we can forget the whole thing.”
When a grin exploded across his face, Tracy realized she’d sounded shrill. She’d probably reminded him of the young girl who’d once spent an hour trying to convince him that a lemonade stand was a good idea—even though their parents were the only probable customers.
Except this time the tone worked. Riley reached up and removed the stud. “What next?”
That was easy enough, but the removal of his earring hadn’t done the job. Maybe the bandana would do the trick. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “The bandana.”
He swiped it off, and a lock of hair fell across his forehead, only making him seem sexier and more piratelike, if that was possible. Tracy frowned as she watched him fold the cloth. “That’s better,” she lied. “But you need a haircut.”
He shrugged, and lifted a hip to slip the green square into his back pocket. “I was overdue, anyway. What else?”
She almost giggled. The next suggestion was the coup de grâce. “The motorcycle.”
His eyes grew serious. “What about it?”
“It doesn’t mesh with a professional appearance, and it would remind most folks of your renegade tendencies.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “What else?”
She leaned in and spoke softly. “Watch what you do. Word gets around, even in a town the size of Kirkwood. But you know that.”
His eyes bored into hers, and she recognized her friend.
She also recognized the pain of betrayal, but she wasn’t sure whose—his or hers.
She hopped off the chair and started pacing. “Attending a few civic events wouldn’t be a bad idea,” she said. “And start looking for pet charities.”
“Sure,” he said, causing her to stop walking and study his face. He sounded too agreeable. “Is that all?”
Tracy noted the angled grin. The laughing eyes. The rise and fall of that muscled chest. She sighed. Some things, she wouldn’t ask him to change. “For now.”
“I can do every single thing you named, except one,” he said as he stood and tipped the trash upright.
“What’s that?”
“I won’t lose the bike.”
She shrugged. “Is it worth having affluent members of the community avoid your business because they think you’re a member of some biker gang?”
“Absolutely.”
She opened her mouth, prepared to argue, but he didn’t give her time.
“I could show you why I want to ride it,” he said.
She laughed. He’d sounded just like the boy who had been her constant companion through childhood. Until he’d reached puberty and discovered other girls.
And then her sister.
Tracy’s smile tightened until her cheeks hurt. “That’s not necessary,” she said, wincing at her prim tone.
Her place in Riley’s adult life was professional, at best. She couldn’t allow herself to feel close to him.
And she needed to get out of here.
She barely had the brainpower to further her plan, but she knew it’d be wise to continue her show of acceptance. As if it were base in a childhood game of tag, she backed up to the purple door and put her hand on the knob. “I’ll send over a fee schedule,” she said as she scanned the room for her car keys. “And give you the weekend to think about it.”
Procrastinating again, but it was the only option she had. Since the office visit hadn’t provided her with a clue to Riley’s motives, she’d have to exhaust a few sources from home. She’d do an Internet search and make a phone call or two, then on Monday morning she could hand Booker a list of all
