to be. But now that Rafe Cameron has returned and bought Worth Industries …” She let her voice trail off as she realized how that sounded.
Ward must have keyed in on her tone of voice. “Can I assume you don’t wholly approve of Rafe?”
She ducked away from his appraising stare and studied the conference room. The detritus of their brainstorming session remained scattered throughout the room. She busied herself first with finding the lid to the fruit tray.
“I don’t want to speak badly of him.” She positioned the plastic lid in place and snapped it on with precise movements. “He’s your friend.”
Ward obviously didn’t share her sudden need for busyness. Instead, he lowered himself to the conference chair at the head of the table and stretched his legs out in front of him. “He’s also your boss.” There was a subtle edge to Ward’s voice. A word of warning, perhaps.
Okay. So that’s where the line was drawn. Good to know.
She nodded brusquely, ready to turn her attention to the muffin tray. There was only one muffin left. Banana nut chocolate. Her favorite. She left it out on the tray. She might need a healthy dose of chocolate later.
“Don’t get me wrong, I certainly appreciate all he’s doing with Hannah’s Hope.”
“Glad you appreciate the millions of dollars he’s committed to pouring into the community,” Ward said wryly.
Ostensibly, Rafe was head of the board of directors for Hannah’s Hope. But as far as she could tell, he wasn’t very invested in its success. He’d plopped Ward onto the board to be the face of the charity and then added in Emma, at Ronald Worth’s request. Plus, Emma was universally loved. So having her on the board buttered up the local community. Emma, who’d long been involved in other charities, certainly had the experience and the town’s goodwill, but Ana couldn’t shake the feeling that Rafe had included Emma solely to give the illusion of continuity between the Worth Industries that had been and the new regime to come.
Still, people in town were nervous. People who’d been at Worth Industries for years had been let go or were taking early retirement. Rumor had it, Rafe was bringing in his PR expert, Max Preston. Ana couldn’t help feeling suspicious about why a PR expert was needed.
She ignored Ward’s subtle dig and continued talking. “Since I’ve been back, I’ve noticed the whole feel of the town has changed. People are nervous. Worried. If Rafe closes down the factory, it would be disastrous for Vista del Mar.”
“I’m aware of that. But none of that has anything to do with Hannah’s Hope.”
“Of course it does. I could be more efficient at my job if Rafe were more involved.”
Ward frowned, not in an annoyed way, but more as if he was figuring out if he could help. “Involved how?”
“Just more involved.” She cleared away the last of the snack plates and grabbed a napkin with which to wipe down the table. “I’ve met the man precisely once and only for a handful of minutes when Emma brought me down for my official interview.” She resisted making air quotes around the word interview, but was unable to keep the disdain from her voice. Instead, she swiped the last of the crumbs into her waiting palm.
Her entire interview had consisted of waiting for over an hour, only to be led into his office, have him give her the once-over and return his attention to the laptop open in front of him. “Emma thinks you’ll do a good job. Don’t disappoint her.”
That had been the entire interview.
She dusted the crumbs off her palm and into the trash. There. That was better.
“You should be careful what you wish for,” Ward chided her. “Rafe can be an extremely demanding boss.”
She looked up to find him studying her with that intensity she found so unnerving. Funny, she’d thought it was the proximity that made him so nerve-racking. But it turned out he was disconcerting no matter how big the room.
“True though that may be, I would still appreciate a smidge more involvement from him.” She crossed to the chairs where the whiteboards were still propped. An eraser sat on one of the chair cushions, still in its plastic wrapper. “Other than the one time we’ve met, he’s only communicated via email. Every time I’ve sent him a question, he’s responded the same way.” She ripped the plastic off the eraser as she lowered her voice to mimic the way she imagined Rafe would sound if he were to take the time to actually pick up the phone and call her. “‘I trust your judgment.’ That’s all he says.” She rubbed the eraser across the slick surface of the whiteboard. It was oddly satisfying to strip away the evidence of the brainstorming session. If only all of her problems were that easily dealt with. “I’ve started to think he’s just copying and pasting from previous emails.”
“Or, he trusts Emma’s recommendation.”
While she’d been busy taking out her frustration on the whiteboard, Ward had stood and crossed to her side. She glanced up to find him standing far too close. Close enough for her to see the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes. How had he moved so silently?
She sucked in a deep breath and was once again struck by the scent of him. So clean and crisp. When she spoke, her words came out almost as a whisper. “He barely knows Emma.”
She cleared her throat, annoyed with herself for being distracted. Ward’s gold-flecked eyes were the least of her worries. But … what were her worries again?
Right. The fact that Rafe didn’t know Emma well enough to trust her opinion. And he knew Ana even less well. Given her scanty qualifications, how could she view Rafe’s trust as anything other than negligence?
“But he’s known Chase for years. If his brother trusts Emma, then Rafe does, too.” Ward reached out a hand to her arm.
Obviously, he meant it to comfort her, but instead it sent tiny fissures of awareness coursing through her. And then she looked down at it. His hand was large. Strong and powerful. His fingertips rough against her skin. And just so … capable.
Her breath rushed out of her lungs. It hit her then. This wasn’t just the strong and masculine hand of an attractive man. This was Ward Miller’s hand. The hand he used to do all that fret work for which his songs were so famous.
Something giddy and girlish stirred within her. Something deeply feminine. She felt her breath coming in short bursts as warmth flowed over her.
She forced her gaze from that spot on her arm where his skin touched hers, only to find herself looking up into his eyes, again. Dang it. Those were some dangerous eyes. They were eyes she could lose herself in.
Which was so not good, seeing as how lost she already felt.
She shook her head to clear it and tried to remember what she’d been saying. Hannah’s Hope. Right. How overwhelmed she felt. “I just … could use a little guidance. More involvement. More hands-on.”
“Well, then. You’re going to love me,” he murmured.
Then her gaze darted once again to where his hand still rested on her arm. Why hadn’t he moved it yet? Why hadn’t she simply stepped away? She felt heat flood her cheeks and she jerked her arm away.
She
