Page 3 of Those Who Are Bound

Elliott

Histonereverberatedthroughher, the cleanness of the sound not Midwestern. His voice was rich and low, matching ruggedly handsome looks that made her think he’d prefer to be squatting in front of a campfire than hanging out at an event center. The way he looked at her made her feel naked. It took some self-control not to glance down to ensure she wasn’t.

He was tall, muscular, and looked edgy enough to be a bouncer. She’d assumed he was a disinterested fiancé. Well, uninterested in shopping for wedding venues—becauseshehad sparked his interest, the cad. When he looked at her, the sweeping sensation it caused left her curious and confused. It was like being brushed with seagrass in the ocean: sudden, breath-catching and a little ticklish, and then it was gone.

With a final warning glare—ignoring the thrill shooting up her spine at the intimate humor in his voice—she turned and headed inside, pulling at the Velcro strap of her other glove, the yank giving testimony to her irritation. Out of curiosity, she looked over her shoulder as she crossed the threshold. Yes, he was admiring her ass. Caught, he smiled, unapologetic. Giving him what she hoped was an annoyed look, she slammed the door shut.

Lucy Moore was standing inside, shimmying in her skirt, pulling it up a bit. She’d unbuttoned her blouse a couple of buttons, and it appeared she’d tried to press her small breasts together. She’d even managed to apply fresh makeup.

Looking this chick over, she rolled her eyes and walked by her. What had she done to deserve these two?

“Every little bit helps, right?” Lucy asked, having caught her derisive look. “What a woman has to do…”

She walked behind the bar in the corner and tossed her gloves on the glass top. She leaned over and opened a small refrigerator, withdrawing a Stella Artois beer. Straightening, she informed the blonde, nodding toward her display of meager cleavage. “That won’t work.”

Lucy’s face dropped. “Not big enough? Oh. Is he gay?”

She laughed and shook her head, popping the top off the beer. “No, he’s a woman.I’mElliott Rork.” She took a sip of the beer, watching the blonde, but she only looked puzzled. Elliott could see her internal conversation, arguing that it couldn’t be, and she added, “I’m not the first girl with a boy’s name. My folks had a strong sense of loyalty.”

“Oh,” Lucy said, still looking baffled. Then, “Oh!”

Elliott gave her a bland smile and tipped the bottle to her lips again.

“Oh my god, I’ve started this off all wrong,” Lucy said in horror.

Elliot raised a shoulder. It wasn’t the first time she’d been mistaken for a man. It was probably the first time a woman had unbuttoned her shirt for her, though. She found it somewhat flattering and certainly maddening. Elliott hadn’t had to resort to that type of behavior, of course, because her name preceded her. By the time anyone realized she wasn’t a man,

she’d already had the benefit of being judged by her skills—as itshould be.

Deciding that the endorphins released by hitting her bag had put her into a generous mood and that she owed the little blonde an even footing despite the raised skirt and open shirt, Elliot invited, her tone bordering on sardonic, “So tell me why you’re here, Lucy Moore. Dazzle me.”

Or do something to slightly impress because the last seven people had been vastly disappointing. The worst of them was a woman who wanted to renovate and create a barn-like structure. Then the one who acted like Elliott owed her a favor for showing up. One man had hinted that she should sell the place to him. Another candidate had lied about her experience. The most recent man looked like he was merely casing the joint—she was still nervous about him since he’d realized fairly quickly that she was out here alone. So… the blonde had them to thank for her attention, as well.

Cheeks blazing red, Lucy ducked her head and fastened her blouse. Not speaking for a moment, she looked mournfully around at the bright space as though she’d already lost something. But she answered, “I saw your ad for an event planner. And when I looked at your website, and I saw the facility, I fell in love with it; it’s so beautiful.”

Elliott rested her elbows on the bar and took another sip of her beer. A lot of people loved the space; it didn’t make them qualified to plan events. She included herself in that, hence the open position and why the place was currently closed. She absent-mindedly wiped at a line of sweat that dripped down her hairline.

Lucy forged on, “I’m good at planning stuff; it’s my thing.I like making order out of chaos. The pressure, the stress, the madness. I get hyper-focused when everyone else is freaking out. I first got the bug in college, for my sorority, when we planned events. I was good at it. I usually ended up taking over because those girls could be so… well, just idiots. They couldn’t manage their way out of a paper bag.

“And then I started volunteering at church, helping out for the fall festival, and weddings and such. Oh! I have pictures!” Lucy reached into her purse and pulled out her phone.

Elliott asked suspiciously, “Have you seen the movieThe Wedding Planner?”

Lucy’s head snapped up like she’d found her kindred spirit. “I love that movie!”

Shaking her head, Elliott set her beer down, hard. “This isn’t that, so if that’s what’s dancing around in your head…”

Lucy looked confused. “Well, no, of course not. That was a rom-com.”

That the woman was looking at her likeshewas an idiot made her feel better. There would be no unrealistic expectations of finding Mr. Right on the arm of someone else and trading in Mr. Wrong out there in the parking lot who had a habit of checking out other women behind her back.

Lucy handed over her phone. “Swipe right.”

Elliott took the phone. Curiosity had her swiping left. Yep, Ms. Moore and Mr. Wandering Eyes smiling back at her, looking like the perfect couple sitting at a table, her bright, bubbly persona and his dark, wickedly handsome looks. Those green eyes of his jumped out at her from the photo as though he could see her, making her heart leap. She instinctively glanced out

the window to assess where he may be, and her knees nearly gave out.

He was looking down, kicking a brown mountain boot against the pavement of the drive, obviously bored, a lock of his black hair falling forward. His polo shirt was having a hard time containing the expanse of his torso, and she had a wild moment of wanting to feel how hard his…Damn it, stop.

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