Chapter Three

      Remember, image is everything.

      Raising her chin, Tracy dropped the shoe in the middle of Booker’s cherry-wood desk, then claimed his chair, too. When she found the courage to meet Riley’s eyes, she refused to cower. She opened hers wider and said, “My boss is convinced you’re starting a civil engineering company.”

      “I am.”

      She wasn’t completely surprised. She’d always thought Riley would become successful at something. She just wished he wasn’t planning to do it within her range of notice.

      She forced a puff of air through closed lips and claimed a few seconds to collect her thoughts. “Do you know anything about engineering?”

      “I did a two-year stint as associate professor of fluid mechanics and hydrology at the University of California at Berkeley,” Riley said with a confidence bordering on boastfulness. “After that, I worked for a couple of firms before I started my own.”

      “You started your own?” Tracy parroted, studying Riley’s crisp blue shirt. His perfectly tailored and expensive-looking shirt. She couldn’t remember another man filling one quite so well. “Was it successful?”

      He lifted broad shoulders, but she knew the answer.

      “If you’ve already got a firm going, why do you need to hire an organizer?”

      There was that smile again. “You told me I wouldn’t be accepted here,” he said. “So I figured you were just the lady to straighten my image.”

      Tracy studied the helmet he held in his lap. It was glossy, black and spotless. As far as helmets went, it was stunning. But it didn’t fit into the business world.

      She moved her eyes up to hair that was a little too long, then looked back into smoke-gray eyes. There was a trace of wildness in them, always had been, even when he was a child.

      Riley could never be tamed by anyone.

      Least of all her.

      “I wouldn’t know where to start,” she said, searching his face again—this time for the confidant she’d known all those years ago.

      “Sure you do. You’re a gold-star girl.”

      Tracy rolled her eyes. After her first day of kindergarten, Riley had taken it upon himself to walk her home from the bus stop. She’d bragged all the way about the shiny stars she’d found pasted on the crayoned pictures she’d drawn that day. Riley had never let her forget it.

      “Riley, please,” she said, lowering her voice. “Booker’s never offered me a chance at promotion before. If I blow it, he may never again. I can’t risk my job. I have a little girl at home.”

      Riley looked pointedly at the shoe she’d left on the desk between them. “How old did you say you were?”

      She grabbed the shoe. “I’m twenty-nine, as you very well know.”

      His eyes returned to hers. “And you’re a gofer?”

      She sat up straighter. The shoe in her hand dropped to the floor with a clatter. “My title is office manager.”

      “I see,” he said, lifting his eyebrows and nodding as if he was impressed. “You’re a dressed-up gofer.”

      Scowling, she busied herself extending her foot to pull her shoe closer and tip it upright so she could slip it on.

      “Can you afford not to take this chance?” he said next.

      That was her problem—she’d been begging for this chance for more than a year. She wanted and deserved a promotion. The adoption had depleted her savings, and now she was working nonstop to pay her monthly bills. If she or Hannah had any kind of emergency, she’d barely land on her feet.

      But she could not work with Riley Collins.

      She was well versed in Booker’s views of business savvy. He wouldn’t understand an outright refusal. An opportunity was an opportunity, and you didn’t turn down a client because his regard made you uncomfortable.

      And since Tracy couldn’t explain the history of Riley and her sister without sounding like a whiner with a long memory, she’d have to make an appearance of considering the job. Maybe if she got Riley away from this office, she could figure out his game and let him know he wasn’t allowed to make up the rules. It might take a few hours, but the cause was worthwhile. After that, she could work doubly hard to catch up and take a stack of reports home again. If Hannah was allowed to finger paint, she wouldn’t care if her mom spent another evening typing.

      With as much ice as she could muster, Tracy said, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to assess your situation to see whether there’s anything I can do for you.” When she finished speaking, her heart was racing.

      “Great.” Riley put his motorcycle helmet on the floor, stood up and extended his hand across the desk for a shake.

      Tracy looked at his hand, but kept both of hers folded in her lap. She’d taken the same hand in hers often enough in childhood, but that had been a long time ago. Accepting it seemed dangerous now.

      She ignored it and stayed seated. “To be fair, I’ll only take the job if I think I can handle it. If you require more expert assistance, Booker will have to handle your needs.”

      Finally she stood and pressed her hand into Riley’s. Although the handshake was firm, Tracy knew they were solemnizing a deceptive agreement. And not only on Riley’s end. She was planning to use the loophole she’d just announced to her full advantage.

      Booker may have his sights on the bottom line, but taking the job was her choice. Now that Tracy’s toenails were wedged inside the door, she’d find an excuse to send Riley packing and take the next opportunity for promotion.

      “I think you’ll find you and I are a perfect fit,” Riley said with a warm squeeze.

      Tracy’s eyes flew to his face, wondering if the double entendre was intentional. But his expression made a grand appearance of innocence.

      Grand and obviously false.

      One look at the upward curl at one corner of his mouth gave that away. She didn’t believe the man had any moments of actual innocence. She tugged her hand away. “Shall we do the initial consult at your office, so I can look around?”

      “Absolutely.” Riley patted his shirt pocket, then both pants pockets. Finally he reached across the desk and snatched Booker’s favorite gold-filigree pen and a business card from their holders.

      Typical. Hadn’t Riley always taken what he wanted, regardless of the consequences?

      He slapped the card blank side up on the desk and