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THREE
Oakley fought to keep her eyes open as she transcribed information from the millionth file of the day and added it to the new thirteen-page government form that Bluebonnet Place needed to keep on every child. She polished off the rest of her coffee and glanced at the clock. Only half an hour before she got to take a break from the office work and go have her session with the kids. She could make it without a refill. Maybe.
She traced her finger down the convoluted form, trying to figure out where this information should go. “If yes then go to line 7B. If no, go to line 10A. If neither, rip up this frigging form and forfeit any remnants of your sanity.”
“You know, I’ve always wondered if the people who create government forms spend their free time tying people up and torturing them.”
Oakley’s skin prickled at the low, smooth voice, the melodic sound like a soft stroke to the back of her neck. She spun in her office chair, poised to say Excuse me?, but nothing came out when her gaze collided with her visitor. At least six feet of lean, tattooed, blond bad boy was lounging against the counter and looking straight at her.
The guy gave her a conspiratorial smile and leaned a little closer, cocking his head toward her pile of papers, his eyebrow ring glinting underneath the lights. “I mean, only a sadist would make anyone try to fit letters into those little boxes.”
He was talking about documents, but he may as well have asked her if she’d like to go out back and get naked for the way her body responded to the comment. Oakley swallowed past the dryness in her throat, trying to regain her professional composure despite her rogue hormonal reaction to the man’s presence. This guy clearly was in the wrong place. Who walked into a children’s charity and started making jokes about tying people up? Maybe he wanted the tattoo shop down the street. Though there didn’t seem to be any spare spots on his arms to fill with ink. “Can I help you, sir?”
Yes. Good. That sounded calm and professional. Go her.
“No need for the sir.” His lips tilted, mischief sparking in gold-green eyes. “I didn’t say I was a sadist. But yes, I bet you can help me.”
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Yes, she could. Right out of that tight T-shirt.
No, no, no. Stop. What the hell was wrong with her? Hello, libido, meet Mr. Not My Type.
The man kept close, like this was some secret conversation. “I’m here to talk to the leggy blonde who runs this place. She here?”
The words snapped Oakley out of her lust haze. Leggy blonde? Oakley straightened, affronted on behalf of her boss. “If you mean Mrs. Vandergriff, she has a parent in her office right now. Name, please.”
He tilted his head at her cool tone. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Name, please.”
He rose to his full height and hooked his thumbs in his pockets, vague amusement on his face. “Pike.”
She was about to ask his last name, but with a name like Pike, she doubted it was needed. “You can take a seat, and I’ll let her know you’re here when she’s done.”
He glanced at the row of chairs in the small lobby. “Or you could take a break from the torture and give me a tour of the place. I’d like to know what I’m signing up for.”
She lifted a brow.
No way did he have a kid who qualified for services here. She’d taken a good long look at him now that he’d given her some breathing room. His worn jeans and vintage Dead Kennedys T-shirt may look thrown together, but she recognized expensive threads when she saw them. She’d taken that course in looking artfully casual once upon a time. Plus, imagining him with a kid just didn’t compute. He looked like the guy you’d try to keep your kids away from.
“You do realize that you or your child have to be under eighteen to sign up for anything? And we don’t give tours. We protect children’s privacy here.”
He grinned, undeterred. “I can see why Tessa puts you at the front.”
Oakley straightened the file on her desk and gave him a tight smile back. “Because I’m so welcoming and warm?”
“Exactly.” He eased forward again, challenge dancing in eyes framed by sooty lashes. “What’s your name, o’ powerful gatekeeper? Something about you seems so familiar.”
Her fingers tightened around the file, his nearness and evaluating look making her heart skip a few beats, but she kept her reaction off her face. It was near impossible that anyone could recognize her these days. She’d changed her hair color from blue back to the natural dark brown, was a decade older, and at least fifteen pounds heavier since she’d been anyone worth recognizing. “Oakley Easton.”
His eyes narrowed as if trying to place her. The name wouldn’t be familiar to him even if he were close to the mark. But he gave up soon enough. “Guess we haven’t met.”
“I just have one of those faces.”
“No, you don’t,” he said, his gaze drifting over every inch of her features. “I’d remember your face. I think it might be your voice. There’s something about it.”
Oh. Shit. She swallowed hard. No way Pike could be one of her callers. She didn’t know much about him, but she had all the information she needed by looking at him. Tall. Confident. Sporting a body that made her want to stand up and hang over the desk so she could get a better look. He could walk into any bar or club and make panties drop with a smirk and a head nod. This would not be a guy who’d pay per minute for phone sex.
