Page 27 of Crash Course
"What’d he say?"
Cilla stopped twirling her pen, shoved a stack of folders aside and tapped the pen on her desk pad.Tap, tap, tap.
Discussing her father with an outsider felt odd. Maybe because she simply didn’t do it. Ever. According to Dad, outsiders couldn’t be trusted. He had taught her from an early age not to share their business with anyone.
As if her thirteen-year-old friends were corporate spies.
She stopped tapping and dropped the pen. "He didn’t know about the toxicology report and said he’d speak with Paul, the executive who left it on the plane. Last night, he told me that Paul said the report was wrong. They have two others that say the PFOA levels are within EPA guidelines."
"That’s reasonable."
"For most people, yes. But my father is a micromanager. He knows everything that goes on in his company."
A squeaking noise sounded from Cruz’s end. He’d said he hadn’t made it to the office yet. Could he still be in his suite? Maybe getting ready for the workday.
Visions of beefcake Cruz wrapped in a towel filled her mind. Having never seen him without a shirt, all she could do was imagine it. Luckily for her, she had a healthy imagination.
"So," Cruz said, "you don’t believe he didn’t know about the report?"
"I don’t know what I believe. He claims they need room to expand their landfill. Only problem is that the existing landfill is two miles away on the other side of the road. If he wanted to expand, why didn’t he buy property closer? There’s plenty there."
"How do you know he’s not? Would he tell you?"
"If he needs legal advice, yes. He asks for thata lot."
Catching herself, Cilla lightly smacked her head. Too much information. She liked this guy. What she didn’t want to do was scare him off before she figured out where those feelings might go.
"Cilla? You there?"
"I’m here. Just . . . thinking."
About you, Mr. Delicioso.A welcome distraction any day.
"I’m hoping," Cilla said, "y’all can help me with research, but I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for. All I know is my father is about to buy toxic land and I have to stop him."
At 3:00on the nose—he loved punctual people—Cruz met Cilla at the Annex’s vestibule and held the door for her. The woman came dressed to kill in a black, slim-cut pantsuit with a white tank top underneath.
The shoes, though? They were enough to drive a man to his knees. Sky-high with a sexy ankle strap he suddenly had fantasies of slow-oh-oh-ly inching off.
With his tongue.
Oh, man.
He held his hand to the pad at the inner door, holding it open for her. She paused in front of the stone wall—complete with BARS logo—that separated the entryway from what they jokingly referred to as the Theater. The place where all the drama happened.
As of two minutes ago, Rohan and Phin had been at the conference table, debating the logistics of an upcoming recovery. Now the room had fallen silent. Either the boys had reached an impasse or one of them had to take a piss.
Again, his gaze drifted to Cilla's shoes.
She peered down at her feet, then came back to him. "Are my shoes dirty or something?"
They’re dirty all right.Shaking his head, he cracked up. "No. I like them."
"For what they cost, you should."
He waggled his eyebrows and leaned in, keeping his voice low in case any of the one million people inhabiting his home were in earshot. "Would it be inappropriate for me to say they give me naughty thoughts?"
For that, she offered an eye roll. "Men," she whispered. "You’re all idiots. Yes, it would be inappropriate. However, I like you and I had similar naughty thoughts this morning."
