Page 14 of Strictly Pretend

BROOKS

She looks like she’s trying not to hyperventilate. I’m a little damn dazed myself. Mostly because the last person I expected to be confronting was the she-wolf I helped at a wedding last year.

Her lips are parted, her eyes are wide. And my traitorous gaze dips down to take in the smooth skin along her neck, theway her dress clings to every curve. I pull my gaze back up to her face, but that’s no better. The way her lashes are flecked with gold is way too fascinating.

She lets out a long breath as we stare at each other. If my brothers ever find out about this they’re going to laugh their heads off.

Which is precisely why I won’t be telling them.

I remind myself why I’m here. And it’s not to flirt with pretty girls. I tighten my jaw and narrow my eyes until I’m back to being the asshole landlord. Because I have a job to do.

“If you’re E. Robbins, then who is Walter K. Robbins?” I ask her. Because that’s the name on the lease.

She swallows hard. “That’s my grandad. And you? I thought you said your name was Brooks.”

“It is. Brooks Salinger.”

“So youarethe owner of Salinger Estates?” She looks like she’s about to hurl.

“Part owner,” I tell her, pulling a piece of paper from my pocket. As I unfold it she stares at it for a moment and grimaces as she looks at the letter she sent.

“I assume this was from you?” I say.

Her face flushes. “Um, yes. But in my defense I didn’t know you were Mr. Salinger.”

“And if you had?” I ask, my eyes on hers.

“I’d have said please,” she offers.

And fuck if that doesn’t make me want to laugh. Now I’m remembering how she made me laugh by the lake. Damn, I don’t like being attracted to her.

Business and pleasure should never,evermix.

“Is your grandfather here?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. “He isn’t, but I have full authority to speak on his behalf.”

“And the other business owners? I emailed them about this meeting. Are they coming?”

“I have their authority to speak on their behalf, too.” She picks up two letters and shows them to me. They’re signed by the other tenants, saying Emma may speak for them.

“But honestly,” she says. “You’re wasting your time. We have an ironclad lease. And we don’t intend to give it up.”

“Everything’s negotiable,” I tell her.

She shakes her head. “This isn’t. I’m sorry.” Her eyes dip to my neck, and she lets out a breath. Her eyes are dilated.

And for a minute all I can think about is how primal she looked howling at the moon.

“How have you been?” I ask.

She blinks at the abrupt change in direction of conversation, like I’m trying to disarm her.

“I’m fine,” she mutters.

“Did you get home safely after the wedding?” I ask. “I looked for you in the morning but you were gone.”

“There were no buses running on Sunday morning so I hitchhiked,” she admits. “Took a while but I got here.”

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