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CHAPTER 4
Brooks stood in his home office, watching Jo move from one wide window to the next, gazing out at the grounds of Original Sin, the dark sunglasses she wore hiding the expression in her eyes.
“What do you think?” he asked softly.
She stilled, her back to him as she answered. “Exquisite. That’s the word that comes to mind. This place is big enough to comfortably house several families rather than one. Do you have a big family, Mr. Moore?”
“No. It’s just me, although I should include my employees as I view them as family. And it’s Brooks, please.”
“Brooks.” She faced him then, removing her sunglasses, her eyes meeting his. “I’m sorry if I offended you earlier. It wasn’t my intention.”
He tilted his head and took her in. The buffalo plaid shirt and faded jeans she wore had almost swallowed her, the cuffs of the shirt rolled up twice but still hanging to her knuckles, and the hem of her jeans sagging over the tongue and eyelet of the worn tennis shoes she sported. But she stood tall and confident, her long hair down, spilling over her shoulders and back in shiny, disheveled waves as though freshly washed and dried naturally.
Everything about her seemed natural . . . fresh and frank. And the sincerity in her blue eyes only enhanced the air of candidness that surrounded her.
“I wasn’t offended,” he said, holding her gaze. “Just disappointed that you may have been given the wrong impression of me.”
“How so?”
He smiled. “Well, you don’t seem exactly excited to be here, for one. I assume you have reservations about me and what I intend to offer you and your grandfather?”
Her eyes roved over him again slowly. “I said I’d be honest and fair, so I’ll be honest now. I know what you want from me, and I’m not interested. But I’m in a bind and I’ve come to ask something of you. Only, you don’t look like the type of man who would offer something for nothing.”
His jaw tightened but he forced his smile to remain frozen in place. “What type of man do I look like?”
She studied him once more, then turned away and began strolling around his office. “The kind that likes to be in charge.” Her hand lifted as she walked past his wide mahogany desk, her graceful fingertips gliding along its smooth edge. “The kind of man who weighs and measures everything in terms of value and investment.” One finger lifted, tapped a page in the small business planner resting on the edge of the desk. “You’re a busy man. I’m surprised you had time to meet with me.” She’d rounded the desk now, leaned back against it, crossed one ankle over the other and her arms over her chest as she eyed him. “But then again, you wouldn’t have given me your business card if you weren’t willing to make the time. You think, given the chance, you’ll be able to change my mind and persuade me to take up training again. To join your team and hand you a Derby win. And you plan on using my grandfather’s misfortunes as leverage.”
Her tone had changed. The pleasant openness he’d admired moments earlier had slowly shifted into a cool, judgmental quality. An uncomfortable ache spread through his chest at the sound of it.
He returned her stare, remaining silent.
“How did I do?” she asked. “Was that about right?”
Smile still pinned in place, he slid his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Most of it.”
She lifted one dark brow. “Which part did I get wrong?”
He allowed his smile to dissolve as he moved his gaze over her delicate hands, the smooth expanse of her upper chest and graceful curve of her neck, the few inches of bare, creamy skin her oversized shirt revealed. “The part that I always like to be in charge. There are times when letting someone else take the lead provides immeasurable benefits.”
That did it. The cold, calculating tone she’d adopted, the one that belied her natural disposition, melted away in tandem with the warm flush that blossomed along the curve of her cheekbones.
“If you want to have even the remotest chance of doing business with me,” she said softly, “you’ll keep it respectful. I’m no longer willing to sacrifice my dignity for a paycheck.”
His smile returned—this time, sincere. The cynical façade she’d adopted was now gone. “I know what you must think of me. What you assumed driving onto my property, walking into my house”—he jerked his chin toward the window—“staring out at the view. I don’t play games, Jo. And I’d never seek to take advantage of Earl’s misfortune in a way that would harm him, his business, or those he loves. But I do want you on my team. More than that. I need you on my team.”
She uncrossed her arms, pushed away from the desk, and straightened. “Why? What is it you think you know about me?”
“You love your grandfather,” he said. “You returned to him when he needed you, and clearly you’re sticking around to find ways to help him. You used to be a damn good trainer. The best, from what I hear. And in a way, you never truly left training behind. From what I’m told, you left Lone Oaks to teach in a high school and, as I’m sure we both know, training is teaching at its core.”
Her mouth curved. “You got most of it right.”
His smile widened. “Which part did I get wrong?”
“I no longer teach.”
He stilled, his attention zeroing in on the wounded swell of her lower lip. “As of?”
“Yesterday,” she said.
