Ryan turned slightly to the side, straightening one of the perfectly aligned stacks of paper on his desk, and Wes was grateful to him. The woman watched intently. He wondered for a second if she was Trish Jones, but she was much too young.
The mayor was still waiting.
The woman crossed her arms.
“You want to take the hat off?” he tried.
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble. Just go ahead and sign it on the brim.”
Because signing a hat while it’s on another man’s head isn’t awkward and uncomfortable at all.
He made the mistake of looking at the woman again. She stared right back, waiting to see what he would do. She knew how idiotic this was.
It was a stroke of freaking amazing luck that Jay had followed Wes’s college career and what he needed to do was to capitalize on that connection regardless of how it made him feel. For Deacon.
Wes uncapped the Sharpie and pinched the brim of the hat between his fingers to hold it steady. He felt Jay’s breath on his hand as he rushed an illegible scrawl across the brim. When he was finished, he tapped Jay on the head with the pen. And if he wasn’t so careful about tapping lightly, well, maybe the mayor would remember to take his hat off the next time he asked someone for an autograph. “Done.”
“I have to say, I’m thrilled you’re here!” Jay clapped his hands. “Your brother must be pleased you’re available.”
When he realized what he’d said, Jay flushed right to his hairline, the color on his face matching his bright red neck. “Not that anyone would be pleased about your injury or your—”
“It’s okay, Jay. I’m happy to be in Kirkland. Deacon and I are both looking forward to the possibilities.”
The woman stepped into the office. Her legs were a mile long in tight blue jeans and Wes was distracted by an entirely different set of possibilities.
Ryan noticed her and waved her forward. “Mayor Meacham, we have another visitor.”
The mayor didn’t seem to hear him. “Did Ryan tell you about our lunchtime basketball league on Wednesdays? I told him to tell you.” Jay punched him lightly on the biceps. “We’ll help you keep in shape now that you’re a civilian.”
Based on how tight the muscle in his jaw looked, Wes was pretty sure Ryan was suppressing the urge to punch the mayor.
“I’d love to join,” he said. “Send me the details.”
Wes Fallon, small-town rec-league guy. Fabi would have a field day if she knew.
Ryan stepped around the mayor and said to the woman, “Can I help you?”
“I’m Posy Jones. I have an appointment with Mr. Fallon.”
Posy Jones. Her voice was rich and throaty in a way that made Wes think of late nights in dark bars. He tried not to notice how long her dark eyelashes were or the way her eyes seemed lit with humor.
“Posy,” Jay said. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Did you come with your mother?”
“My mother isn’t available today.” But she didn’t offer any additional details.
Not available? Where exactly was Trish Jones and the Fallon Foundation’s sixty-eight thousand dollars?
An awkward silence fell over the room. Everyone seemed to be waiting for someone else to ask that exact question.
A weak person would have leaped to fill the silence, but Posy kept her mouth shut and her expression blank. As if she’d just informed them that the special of the day was apple pie but she really didn’t care one way or the other if they ordered it.
If something was up with the money, he would find out, but he didn’t want the mayor, or worse yet, his eager and überprofessional assistant to hear.
His brother had built the next phase of plans for his Fallon Foundation Centers around the Hand-to-Hand programs. Nothing mattered more to him than this venture. If there was something fishy with Trish’s unofficial fundraiser, it had the potential to ruin the goodwill of the town of Kirkland.
He owed Deacon a debt he could never repay, but he would keep trying. Whatever was going on with Posy Jones, her mom and this fundraiser, he’d put it straight.
* * *
P OSY WAS AT an enormous disadvantage and she knew it even before she walked into that office and got her first glimpse of Wes Fallon in the flesh. As it were.
Seeing the mayor suck up to Wes made her sweat. There’d be no hometown advantage here for her mother.
Her only option was to bluff...hard...until her mom came back with the cash.
She knew Jay Meacham mostly by reputation, but she had met him a few times at downtown business-booster events she’d attended with her mom. He wasn’t exactly a thought leader, but he got the job done and kept people happy. In a town like Kirkland where the citizens were involved and motivated, the mayor needed to be better at making friends than he was at making policy.
It had been bad enough that Chloe Chastain would be thrilled to expose Trish as a swindler. On top of that, her mom had stolen from a charity that actually seemed to do good work. Watching Wes sign a hat for the mayor brought it home that he and his brother were both minor celebrities. Her mom didn’t stand a chance if she got caught.
“I think Posy and I should head to my office,” Wes said. “Nice to meet you, guys. See you on the courts.”
He seemed to remember the T-shirt in his hand. “I brought you a shirt, Jay. Almost forgot to give it to you.”
Jay thanked him much more sincerely than was necessary for a white T-shirt that wasn’t even autographed.
Then Wes was right up close to her and she registered just how tall he was. At least six-six. She’d known the number, feet and inches, from her internet...research...but pictures and a few statistics had done a terrible job of preparing her for Wes in real life. His shoulders alone, broad and straight, deserved their own section in Google. She was used to looking down at people or looking even tall men in the eye, but Wes was a good six inches taller than her and built on a large scale. The dark stubble on his jaw and a military-style buzz cut made him look older and more commanding than the long, thick dark hair he’d had in his photos.
She swallowed.
Puppy Pete would have dropped to his belly if Wes loomed over him like this, but Posy straightened her shoulders, happy for once that they made her look even bigger.
Bluff. Hard. Game time.
“I don’t mean to interrupt. If you and the mayor want to talk about basketball, I can wait in your office.” She smiled her professional helpless-lady smile, all teeth and bright eyes with a deferential tilt to her head. When she went incognito on quality control visits for her job, that smile came in handy for assessing concierge service. Some men fell right into that particular smile and never noticed that she was grading them on everything from their attitude to their knowledge of the local hot spots.
“I think we’re about finished,” Wes said easily. “But thanks.”
He had not fallen for the clueless smile.
He motioned for her to go first and then followed her out and down the hall.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring a hat,” she said, switching tactics on the chance his ego was big enough to let her distract him. “I didn’t realize you’d be signing merchandise.”
He glanced down at her. “It’s probably better you didn’t have one.”
“Really?”