Never made it that far. They rejected me.”
There, she’d said it. Not many people knew and she held her breath, waited for a crack about the beauty queen wanting to play G-man, or in her case, G-woman.
But Brent watched the road ahead as the tollway entrance drew closer. Shouldn’t have said anything. The man was a US marshal. He’d succeeded where she’d failed. What did she expect him to say? Dumb, Jenna. Heat rose in her cheeks—thank goodness the car was dark—and she rested her head back.
“That’s a shame,” he said. “You’d have made a good agent. You wouldn’t have needed your cleavage to do it, either. Don’t sell yourself short, Jenna. You’re beautiful, but you’re smart, too. Don’t ever forget that.”
The air in her chest stalled and she squeezed her eyes closed. No one, not even her mother who often rolled her eyes at Jenna’s clothing choices, had ever said that. He knew. But she couldn’t get crazy here. He wasn’t offering a glass slipper. All he offered was an opinion.
Still resting her head back, she eased out a breath. “You might be flirting with me, but I don’t care. Thank you for saying that.”
He shrugged. “That time I wasn’t flirting. It’s not complicated. I like you and you’ve got a brain. You don’t need to be half-naked to be good at what you do.”
Suddenly, Jenna wished he’d been flirting, because she might have just fallen a little in love with Brent Thompson.
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