out her tablet to catch up on the latest financial news. Until she’d been interrupted. Nice to know this was going to be a good day.
She studied the man across from her. He was older than the boys, she thought. The three men she worked with—Jack, Sam and Kenny, aka “the boys”—were all in their early to mid-thirties. Her guest was nearer to forty. Just old enough to have the experience to make things intriguing, she thought.
“We’ve never been introduced,” she said.
“You know who I am.”
A statement, not a question. “Do I?”
One dark eyebrow rose. “Angel Whittaker. I work at CDS.”
Otherwise known as the bodyguard school, she reminded herself. For a small town, Fool’s Gold had its share of unusual businesses.
“Taryn Crawford.”
She waited, but he didn’t make a move.
“We’re not shaking hands?” she asked, then picked up her latte with both hers. Just to be difficult, because being difficult would make things more fun.
“I figured we’d save the touching for later. I find it’s better when that sort of thing happens in private.”
Taryn had opened Score, her PR firm, eight years ago. She’d had to deal with unwelcome passes, assumptions she was an idiot, being asked who the boss was, pats on her butt and people presuming that if she worked with three ex-football players, she must have gotten her job by sleeping with them. She was used to staying calm, keeping her opinions to herself and gaining victory through the unanticipated side run.
This time Angel had been the one to put the first points on the board. He was good, she thought, intrigued and only slightly miffed.
“Are you coming on to me, Mr. Whittaker? Because it’s still a little early in the morning for that sort of thing.”
“You’ll know when I’m making my move,” he informed her. “Right now I’m simply telling you how things are.”
“Which takes us back to your comment that we both know where this is going. I’ll admit to being confused. Perhaps you have me mixed up with someone else.”
She uncrossed, then recrossed her long legs. She wasn’t trying to be provocative, but if Angel got distracted, it was hardly her fault.
For a second she allowed herself to wonder how she would have been different if she’d been able to grow up in a more traditional home. One with the requisite 2.5 children and somewhat normal parents. She certainly wouldn’t be as driven. Or as tough. Sometimes she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
He leaned toward her. “I hadn’t taken you for the type to play games.”
“We all play games,” she told him.
“Fair enough. Then I’ll be blunt.”
She sipped her coffee, then swallowed. “Please.”
“I saw you last fall.”
“How nice,” she murmured.
When she’d been scouting locations. Moving a company required time and effort. They’d only truly settled in Fool’s Gold a couple of months ago. But she had been in town the previous fall, and yes, she’d seen Angel, as well. Found out who he was and had wondered about...possibilities. Not that she was going to admit that to him.
“I watched you,” he continued.
“Should I be concerned you’re a stalker?”
“Not when you were watching me right back.”
He’d noticed? Damn. She’d tried to be subtle. She thought about lying but decided to simply stay silent. After a second, he continued.
“So we’ve finished sizing each other up,” he said. “Now it’s time to move on to the next phase of the game.”
“There are phases?” Which was an actual question. No point in mentioning the game. She knew what they were doing. Still, it was entertaining to pretend she didn’t.
“Several.”
“Do you provide instructions or a scorecard?”
His cool gray eyes stayed focused on her face. “You don’t play that way.”
“Be careful with your assumptions.”
“I’m not assuming.”
He had an appealing voice. Low with a hint of... Not the Deep South, she thought. But there was a cadence. Virginia? West Virginia?
She put down her mug. “If I buy in to your assertion—which I’m not admitting I do.”
“Of course not.”
She ignored the words and the amusement tugging at his lips. “Where do you see this going?”
He leaned back in his chair. “This is a mating game, Taryn. Or didn’t you know?”
Ah, his first mistake. She kept her eyes locked with his and didn’t let her triumph show. “You want to marry me?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Not that kind of mating.”
“If you’re not precise, it’s difficult to be sure. So you want to sleep with me.”
“Yes, but it’s about more than that.”
She let her gaze drift down his chest, then moved to his arms. Despite the cool late-April temperatures, he wore a T-shirt and no jacket. She could see a tattoo of a rose, along with several scars on his arms. His hands were strong and equally battered.
She returned her attention to the scar on his neck and decided to ask the obvious. “What happened to the other guy?”
He touched the side of his throat, then shrugged. “He had a very bad day.”
Taryn lived in the world of business. She could talk finance and sales projections, but her real gift was designing public relationship campaigns that were innovative and successful. At Score the work was divided among the four partners. Kenny and Jack were the rainmakers. They found prospective clients and reeled them in. Sam handled the money. But Taryn was the creative engine that steered the ship.
She was used to executives, graphic artists, bankers and everything in between. In her sphere, she was a power player and no one crossed her. But Angel was from a different sphere altogether. His clout didn’t come from a boardroom or the right suit. He carried it in his body. It was part of who he was.
She knew a few odds and ends about him. People she respected and trusted liked him. But the details? They were still a mystery. One she would like to solve.
“What makes you think I’m the least bit interested?” she asked.
“You’re still here.”
A good point. She didn’t want another executive—he would be too much like her. As for sports heroes, she worked with three and they exhausted her. Angel was different. Right now different sounded like exactly what she needed.
“Effort will be required,” she told him.
“Ditto.”
She laughed at the unexpected statement.
“You didn’t think I’d be easy, did you?” he asked.
“Apparently not.”
He stood. “Don’t worry. I’m good at planning the right op for the right mission and then seeing it through.” He crossed to the door, then turned back to her. “And I’m good at waiting.”
He walked out, leaving her with her rapidly cooling coffee and an article on consumer confidence that had just gotten a whole lot less interesting than her encounter with an intriguing man named Angel.
*