Page 7 of Only the Wicked
“Something like that. Tendonitis. Extends into the forearm.”
“Do you play tennis? Golf?”
“Not enough to get injured. I climb.” I have a rock wall in my penthouse. Memberships at multiple climbing gyms. But the reason I climb is for the chance to push myself outdoors, in the elements. I love the challenge.
“I love to climb, too.” My gaze falls to her hands.
Short, unpainted nails. I reach for the hand that’s not clutching my arm and run a finger along the underside, confirming callouses.
“Didn’t believe me?” She grins. “That’s a reason I climb.”
“What is?”
“The look on men’s faces when I outclimb them.”
There are plenty of women who climb, but I understand what she means. I get why she’d be proud of excelling in an area dominated by men.
“So you’re a badass,” I say with all due respect. “Too bad we can’t go climbing together on this trip.”
“We can find other things to do.”
Is that innuendo? No. It’s just the way you want to read it, Rhodes.
And why not? She’s attractive. For once, she’s not someone I work with. And we’re far from San Francisco and Silicon Valley. She has no idea who I am. She’s not a journalist or a photographer.
“What’s your name?”
“Sydney.” Her left leg slides on loose gravel and I grip her arm, bending my legs to help her until she regains her balance. “What’s your name?”
“Rhodes.”
She didn’t give her last name, so I won’t give mine. Excellent. She can’t Google me.
“Nice to meet you, Rhodes. I do appreciate your help.”
I grunt, instead of stating the obvious that she needed my help. “Where are you staying?”
“Old Edwards Inn.”
“You don’t say. Me too.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “It’s got the best ratings in the area. It’s cute, right? I love it. Wish I was staying longer than a week.”
It’s my favorite place in the Highlands. I love the history and the connection to a small, enduring mountain town. But it’s not cheap.
What does this woman do that she can afford to stay there while between jobs?
Does it matter? All that really says is she’s done well, or maybe she’s got a trust fund. If you ask, you risk falling into a line of questions you don’t want to answer.
“And you said you return home at the end of the week?”
“I didn’t say that.” Her coy smile confuses me, something she must pick up on, because she adds, “You said you’re going back at the end of the week.”
“Oh. Then what are your plans?”
“I haven’t decided. I’m taking it day by day, remember?”
That’s right. What must it be like to have an empty calendar? No investors tracking your every move. Or board members questioning every decision.
