She dragged her attention down to her son and squatted. It was her personal rule. Leighton rarely sought attention these days, so when he did she gave it unquestioningly. So different to her own upbringing.
She tried to ignore the intense stare pounding onto her like a waterfall. ‘Are they real?’
‘Yeah. The frogs walked on the ink first, then the card. Non-toxic,’ he said importantly, ‘on account of the frog’s sensitive skin, Clint says.’
Romy’s hand faltered as it stroked her son’s shoulder. She bit the inside of her cheek. Clint? Lord, even the name was sexy. And somehow he’d gotten more out of her son in two minutes than she had all day.
She flipped the card over and looked at the price tag. Inflated, but not completely out of the question, particularly if she could nail this job interview. She straightened. ‘Tell you what, L, why don’t you take your frog print and my postcard to the lady at the counter and we’ll head out.’
‘Is it time for your meeting?’
Romy winced. She didn’t want Mr Military knowing her business. She handed her son the postcard and twenty dollars. ‘Go ahead, honey. I’ll be right there.’
The moment Leighton was outside hearing range, Clint spoke, suspicion narrowing his eyes even further. ‘You have an appointment?’
Not that it’s any of your business. ‘Yes, and I need to be—’
‘What kind of appointment?’
Every part of her tightened like a slingshot. Oh, you really don’t want to push that button, mister. She’d spent a lifetime being cut off by an overbearing bully. She didn’t need it today of all days. She took a shaky breath.
‘I’ve interrupted your shopping,’ she said, all courtesy. Verbal Judo 101. ‘And I must be going. Excuse me.’
She was sure it was no accident he’d positioned himself between her and the exit. She squeezed past his bulk in the narrow aisle, tucking her coat to the side so the objects hidden within didn’t clank against him. As she passed, she caught a whiff of something divine. Sandalwood, earth and…man. He might look as though he lived on the streets but he smelled heavenly. And all that bulk was hard as a rock, too, as she slid past him towards the counter, willing her heartbeat to settle.
So he hadn’t let himself go, entirely.
‘Perhaps I’ll see you around?’ He had the chest for such a cavernous voice. His words easily found her ears even though she’d moved halfway across the room. In her periphery, she saw him drift to the rear of the store and continue his browsing.
Lord, I hope not.
‘Is that all?’ the cashier politely asked.
Romy smiled at the girl, her heart beating loud enough to hear, conscious of the four stolen items hidden in her pockets and that the innocent cashier was likely to wear the temporary blame for their loss.
The angels will forgive me, she told herself.
It’s necessary.
‘You want to take the interviews?’ Justin Long stared at his brother, bemused. With good reason. Clint knew he hadn’t involved himself in the running of WildSprings for months. Years.
‘Not all of them, Justin. Only this last one.’ He tapped the lone female name on the list for the park security vacancy. It had to be her. The irony was perfect; he couldn’t pin it, but the dark-haired beauty in the gift shop was up to something. She was too tense roaming those aisles. How many women got uptight shopping?
Justin’s assistant stared at Clint as if he’d just hauled himself out of a sewer. Technically speaking, Simone was his assistant but she’d only ever worked with his brother so Clint forgave her confusion. It wasn’t her fault he’d appeared out of nowhere, after all this time, looking like a feral animal.
He stared right back. Simone nearly stumbled in her haste to pick up something to do. Clint turned back to Justin.
‘What time is this guy coming in?’ He tapped the second to last name on the list.
‘He’s not, he withdrew this morning.’
‘Can we bump Ms Carvell up?’
‘I’m not even sure if she’s—’
‘She’s here. Let’s bring her over in ten minutes.’ He’d rather see her right now, throw her off her game, but he needed the time to sharpen up or Simone wouldn’t be the only one thinking he’d stumbled in off the streets.
Justin glared at him. ‘Where am I supposed to go while you use my office?’
‘Where did you used to go before you had an office?’ He deserved the filthy look Justin threw him; he didn’t play the big-brother card very often, the boss card even less. But he wasn’t moving on this one.
Eight minutes and a field shave later, Clint stretched back in Justin’s chair and flipped open Romy Carvell’s file. His eyes flicked unconsciously to her marriage status. She was a single mother. And trying out for a security coordinator role, despite her youth.
Interesting.
The assistant’s voice interrupted him. ‘Ms Carvell to see you, Mr, uh, sir.’
Clint snapped the file shut and pulled himself to his feet in an automatic at-ease. Romy Carvell may be up to no good but she was still a female and, in his world, a man stood for a woman. Romy smiled politely at Simone and passed her in the doorway, then stopped in her tracks when she saw who waited for her in the office.
You? She didn’t speak but her body said it for her.
‘Welcome to WildSprings officially, Ms Carvell. I’m Clint McLeish.’
She recovered her composure in seconds, sliding calmly into the vacant seat opposite his and pinning him with those amazing eyes. Battle-ash grey.
‘Do you always scope out potential staff before interviews?’ she asked, referring to their earlier encounter.
‘Purely opportunistic.’ He sank into Justin’s chair and studied the woman in front of him. Nervous, but hiding it. She wanted this job badly enough not to turn and walk out when she realised she was set up. Maybe she needed it? Clint thought about the young boy in the gift shop.
‘How old are you?’ He blurted it out before thinking.
Her lips thinned. ‘My résumé doesn’t include that for a reason, Mr McLeish.’
‘You think you’ll be judged by your age?’
‘You’re judging me now. Wondering how someone my age accrued the experience I have.’
Her darkened eyes flashed and his body matched it, deep inside. The angry flush did amazing things to her bone structure. ‘Actually, I was contemplating how you could possibly have a son Leighton’s age. You must have been virtually a child yourself?’
She gasped and shot to her feet. Clint knew he deserved the outraged expression on her face. Man, he really had been away from people too long. He stood as well.
‘Please, sit, Ms Carvell. I apologise, that was unnecessary.’ He sank back into the chair as she reluctantly did, too. ‘The point I’m trying to make—rather badly—is you appear very young for someone in the security industry.’
He did the math; she had to be no more than twenty-six.
She glared for a moment. ‘I learned a long time ago to turn my appearance to my advantage,’ she said. ‘It often gives me an edge over others. They underestimate me.’
I’ll bet they do.