Renegade. Kaitlyn Rice
opening a civil engineering firm, and he wants help getting things going,” Booker said before he dropped to his knees, pulled back her chair and said, “Aha!”
Tracy had never seen her boss from this angle. The bald spot peeking out of his tidy brown hairstyle was disturbing.
Or maybe it was what he’d just said—Riley, starting a business in Kirkwood. Oh, no!
“Office setup, demographics, personal coaching—the works,” Booker said from beneath her desk. He held both of her shoes in one hand and used the seat of her chair to pull himself up.
“But I’ve never done a full consulting job,” Tracy said as she accepted a shoe and bent down to slip it on. “You said it could take another year to work up to that.”
“He said that he wants you, and that he’d pay a full month’s fees up front if you accept the job.”
Tracy stared at the wrinkles in her boss’s herringbone jacket. “You’d let me do it?”
“Let’s put it this way—if you take on the job and handle it well, you’ve got your toenails in the door.” He handed her the second shoe. “But you’d be wise to keep your shoes on at all times, got it?”
Tracy slumped down in her chair with the leftover shoe still in her hand. “Uh-huh.” She peered toward the corner office, oblivious now to the foul taste as she clicked her thumbnail between her teeth. Riley had tucked a leg back beside the chair and was beating his heel against the floor.
Impatiently. Powerfully.
Oh, Lord.
“Tracy, he’s waiting.”
She knew he was.
She slid out of the seat and walked slowly across the room, dangling one brown pump from her wet fingertip. Up and down all the way she glided, as fluidly as a carousel horse. As she stepped inside Booker’s office again, she turned back to her boss and said calmly, “Excuse us, Booker.”
And closed his door behind her.
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