Page 78 of The Fixer

He uncapped a water bottle, tipped it back for a long drink, and passed it to her. “Can’t say as I’ve been looking at all, though I’m beginning to see opportunity in places I might not have considered before.” This wasn’t his usual brand of flirting, and he had no idea where it was leading him—them—but it felt good. It felt right. Which was a mind bender when he considered how two weeks ago, this woman had been enemy number one. Now he was primed to take her to bed, which would leave him doing a shaky two-step on a weak limb.

“Thatkindof answers the second part of the question.” She flashed that impish smile of hers.

He puffed out a breath. “The women in Fall River and other towns around are all right, but they seem content in stasis.”

“I’m not sure I understand.” Fastening on him, her golden hawk’s eyes glinted in the half light.

He rearranged his body, making the seat squeak. “I like smart women who have their shit together. Problem is, a woman like that sees me and automatically slots me into a category that might be redneck or blue-collar—and always dumb—who’s only good for one or two things, and they both involve muscles of one kind or another. Then they’re off to find themselves a banker or a lawyer.”

Did he detect a sheepish look in her eyes? Apparently not, because she shrugged and said, “Their loss. Bankers and lawyers are overrated.”

“Glad you agree.” He lingered on her comment for a contented beat, then, emboldened, gave voice to his thoughts, hoping they sounded coherent and not the rantings of a crazy man. “I look at you, and you’ve done so much already. You’re killing it in a tough industry, and yet it’s not enough. You want more, and you’re not afraid to go and get it. I don’t always agree with your ideas”—he paused while she snickered on cue—“but you don’t have any shortage of them. Your mind is always searching, looking for new things, new angles.”

The admiration that came through in his tone was genuine, and it surprised him. Hedidadmire her tenaciousness, her bullheadedness, the way she challenged everything—the very same traits that drove him bonkers. He put the discovery aside for examination later.

“The girls around here are happy to do the league minimum. They’re in a holding pattern until their Mr. Right comes along. Usually, he’s Mr. Wrong, but if the guy passes the test, which, from what I’ve seen, has a pretty low bar, they settle. I’m using a broad brush here, which isn’t fair, but it still begs the question: Why don’t they want more for themselves? Why don’t they go out and get it? Why can’t they see theydeservemore?”

The smile slipped from her face. “I think you’re giving me way too much credit. I’m not sure mine was ever a conscious decision. I was simply wired this way and did what came naturally.”

“Yeah, but how did you become wired that way? I have no clue about how you were raised, so I can’t begin to guess whether it was a nurture versus nature thing, but I’d bet money it was very muchyourdecision to take the path you did. Maybe a subconscious one, but yours nonetheless. You made up your mind you wanted this life for yourself, and you went out and got it. That takes guts.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m not that brave. I do one thing, and I do it well. I stay in my lane, where I can predict what will happen and where I’m comfortable staying. And if I’m not doingthat, I retreat to my apartment and hide there.”

“Not sure I buy that. Sounds like there’s some fast-car driving, coffee drinking, and pastry eating that goes on with regularity.” His heart lifted when the attractive blush returned to color her high cheekbones.

“You’ve got the pastry part all wrong. I don’t indulge in Chicago. I’m blaming it on Amy and Hailey.”

“Good strategy,” he chuckled. “But don’t sell yourself short on your courage.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re out here far away from home, in a place you don’t like, and you’re working hard to do the right thing by your mother, who may or may not have deserved your loyalty.”

Sadness crept into her expression, and he wanted to kick himself for bringing up what were obviously bad memories—memories he wanted to understand but had no right to.

The subject quickly shifted, Joy-style. “Tell me about your tattoo. How long did it take? Did it hurt? I promise to sit here like a good girl and behave.”

“Is that even possible for you?” he chortled, trying to bring levity back into their conversation. “I’d say you’re one step away from trouble at all times.”You’re certainly causingmea boatload of trouble.

“That sounds like something my mother would say.” She sat back, and he could practically see her deflate before his eyes. “Except she thought I was nothing but troubleallthe time.”

Distress wound its way through him. He had ruined their fun time by inadvertently stepping in it, but worse, his words had exposed this strong, beautiful woman’s vulnerability. He felt an inexplicable pull to make her world right.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you with my asinine comment.” He crawled a finger across the seat and stroked the back of her hand, though all of him wanted to gather her up in his arms and protect her from the pain that had sucked the life from her being.

She cast a glance his way. Her eyes glimmered with moisture. “It’s not your fault. Anything that reminds me of my mother tends to send me into a downward spiral, so I try to shut it down before it can spin. Plus, I don’t handle kind words well, and though I genuinely appreciate what you said, I think you give me far too much credit. Case in point: this situation with my mother, my family, is something I would have taken on years ago if I’d been as brave as you seem to think I am. But I didn’t. Even with weekly therapy sessions I’ve been paying for to move past it, I’ve been hiding from it instead.”

He pulled in a hesitant breath. “None of my business, but have you considered now might be a good time to slay that dragon? I don’t mean to sound like I’m pushing you, ’cause that’s the last thing I want to do, but if you need to get something off your chest, I can be a good listener.”

She tilted her head and drilled those whiskey eyes into his. “Maybe it is time. Got a few hours?”

He spread his hands wide. “I’m all yours.”

Chapter 22

Backseat Confessions

The night had beenan unexpected thrill ride with the last person Joy had imagined taking her on one. Not only was looking at Charlie causing her stomach to do flips, but dancing with him had taken the flips to the gainers level. Then there was watching him on stage, bending the guitar to his will with electrifying ease. And his voice! Smooth as chocolate silk and positively panty-melting. Sure, they’d been in a dive bar in the middle of nowhere when he’d belted out nineties tunes, but Charlie Hunnicutt’s stage persona had had her checking for drool. He was all swagger and fun and sex appeal rolled into one mighty fine package.

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