that fell way too short for an apology.
‘My time is valuable to me,’ she asserted vocally for the first time in her life. ‘I don’t like it being wasted.’
Certainly not by a half naked man. Not like this anyway.
Those black, bottomless eyes met hers. The colour rose a little higher on his cheekbones. She wasn’t sure if it was from exertion, embarrassment or anger. She suspected the latter.
‘Of course,’ he said smoothly—too quietly. ‘I won’t do it again.’
Something had kindled in his eyes as he’d added that. Something she didn’t care to define. As it was she felt herself flushing—unable to stop it now—as if she were the one in the wrong. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Stole another quick glance at his torso and then aimed to concentrate on the concrete.
‘You never seen a man sweat before, Sophy?’ His soft question hit her in the gut.
The crisp spring morning suddenly got a whole lot hotter. She tried to say something. Couldn’t. The dry irony in his voice just devastated her.
He turned away from her. ‘Want to play a little one on one?’ he asked. ‘I find it helps me focus. You might find it helps you too.’
Oh, so she needed help with focus? Heaven help her she did.
‘It’s also good for burning excess energy.’
Now that was said with deliberate innuendo. He was trying to tip her balance—as if he weren’t doing it already with his sheer physicality which was on display. With considerable effort she pulled herself together. Well, she could do a little innuendo too. His few words could flame, but her cool delivery would crush. ‘I’m obviously over-dressed.’
His eyes widened fractionally, before he replied calmly, ‘Easily fixed.’ She lifted her brows very slowly, determined to stay cool. ‘You want me to strip?’
He laughed then, his whole face breaking into an absolute charmer of a smile. Sophy lifted her fingers to her mouth to stop her jaw from gaping in surprise. His whole demeanour changed—like quicksilver—from seriously brooding to sparkling good humour. The flash was utterly intriguing and devastatingly attractive.
‘It would be fair, don’t you think?’ he said. ‘I mean, you have me at a disadvantage.’
‘You put yourself at a disadvantage.’ She was even more breathless now. And privately she thought his semi-nudity a huge benefit to him—how to fuzzle the minds of your business opponents in one easy step. She angled away from him—trying to recover her equilibrium. She got a clear view of the fence and saw one section was covered with a huge bit of graffiti. The colours leapt out, almost 3D, in bold blocks. An image of a man—like an ancient statue—with vibrant shades of blue leaping out from behind and an indecipherable word shooting up from one side. She’d never have expected it; the reception area she’d walked through had been incredibly slick—it was only the office upstairs that had been a total mess. Now there was this—what many people would consider an eyesore.
He walked in front of her line of vision and picked up the ball again, spinning it in his hands. ‘We can talk through the details at the same time.’
He was still smiling but there was an edge back now—a deliberate challenge. But it was one she just had to turn down. No way was she playing ball with him. This wouldn’t be like some Hollywood movie where she scored a hoop first shot. She’d miss it by a mile and totally embarrass herself. She hadn’t played in years—to land baskets you needed to practise. She had no hope of relying on muscle memory now.
‘Perhaps it would be best if we reschedule this meeting,’ she ducked it.
The smile tugged harder on one corner of his mouth.
‘You might want to take a shower now,’ she added coldly.
His brows lifted then. ‘You really don’t like sweat?’ He laughed as he looked over her pale blue suit. ‘No. You wouldn’t, would you?’
She went silent—refusing to rise to that one. Truth was, she was feeling utterly human right now and starting to sweat herself just from looking at him. Cara hadn’t mentioned that her boss was completely gorgeous.
She looked at the graffiti again, eyes narrowed as she tried to work out one of the letters in that word.
‘Damn kids.’ He’d followed the direction of her gaze.
‘It could be worse,’ she said. Not wanting to find anything to agree on with him.
‘You think?’
‘Yeah, it could just be a tag—you know, initials, a name or something. But that’s actually quite a cool picture.’
He coughed. It started as a clear-your-throat kind of cough, but rapidly turned into a hacking one that sounded as if he were in danger of losing a lung. Anyone else and she’d ask if he was okay. But she wasn’t going anywhere nearer the personal with him. As it was they’d crossed some polite lines already and she was finding it way too unsettling.
‘It must have taken a while.’ She commented more on the graffiti just to cover the moment until he breathed freely at last. There actually was a lot of depth to the design. It couldn’t possibly be a three-minute spray and run number. ‘But it’s bad to do it to someone else’s property.’
‘You’re so right.’
She gave him a quick look. Was that a touch of laughter in his voice? His expression was back to brooding, even so, she suspected him.
‘So you’re desperate for an administrator, is that right?’ Finally she snapped back on track.
‘For the Whistle Fund, yes.’ He too suddenly went professional. ‘Kat, my receptionist here, has been too busy to be able to help much since Cara left. We’ve got a lot on right now so I need someone who can stay on board for at least a month. I need the mess sorted and then help with training a new recruit. I haven’t even got to advertise yet. Can you commit to it?’ He looked serious. ‘You’ll be paid of course. I wouldn’t expect anyone to take on this level of work voluntarily.’
‘I don’t need to be paid. I like to work voluntarily.’
‘You’ll be paid,’ he clipped. ‘You can donate it back to the charity if you like, but you’ll be paid.’
So he didn’t want to be beholden to her? But she didn’t need the money, the income from her trust fund was more than enough for her to get by. She’d always needed something to give her a sense of dignity—had never sat around doing nothing but shopping and socialising. It wasn’t the way she’d been raised. Yes, they had money, but they still had to do something worthwhile with their time. Only she hadn’t managed to follow in the family footsteps and pursue a law based career. Her mother, brother and sister were all super successful lawyers. All the true save-the-oppressed kind, not corporate massive-fee-billing sharks. Worse was her father, who was a retired judge. He still worked—publishing research, heading reviews of the system. Sophy’s surname was synonymous with excellence in the field. Not one of them had failed or even deviated from that path.
Only Sophy.
So
