Tori had looked up, and her eyes were glossy with unshed tears. I could handle anger. I was used to dealing with angry women, but tears? Dammit.
Swallowing the impulse to either go back outside and not deal with this, or pull her into my arms, I approached her and took her hand, but she snatched it away as she stood. “Tori, wait a minute before you get all upset, please? Nick is the only person I’ve told, and he’ll keep it to himself. The guys were looking at you like that because… I mean, have you seen you? It’s not at all what you’re thinking.”
She lifted her eyes to meet mine. “You’re sure?” My emphatic nod calmed her considerably. “I’m sorry for freaking out, but I’m embarrassed enough knowing for myself that I did something so reckless. The thought of everybody knowing, and thinking I’m a…”
“A what? Grown ass woman?”
She shook her head. “It’s not about that. I can’t have a reputation as someone who sleeps around, not in my industry. If my female clients think I’m miss loose-booty, why would they trust that I’m not sleeping with the men? If my male clients think that, what keeps them from trying to approach me about it? It’s… all bad, and I want to keep it as private as possible. Please?”
“Tori, I don’t go around bragging about the women I’ve slept with. Are you trying to get me to believe you didn’t tell anybody what happened that night?”
The sudden drop of her eyes back to the floor answered that question. “It was a good friend, who I know will keep it to herself.”
“Ditto,” I said, turning on my computer to pull up the inventory database. “So… are we good?”
She pushed out a heavy sigh before nodding. “We’re fine.”
“Good. Now, what’s the make and model of your car?”
— &—
“This… isn’t what I was expecting, but somehow it makes sense.” We’d pulled up to a large yellow craftsman-style home in a neighborhood that looked like it belonged in a magazine. Every house had a unique facade, with quirky landscaping, and on Tori’s street, I didn’t see any two that were the same color.
“What were you expecting?” she asked as she climbed out of the car and pressed a button on her keys to let up the garage.
“Loft apartment, no plants, no maintenance. Definitely not ‘Wisteria Lane’.”
She frowned, confused. “That’s not the name of my street.”
“I know, it’s the name of the— never mind. This is the car?” I asked, stepping into the garage to look at the midnight blue luxury vehicle.
“Yep, this is my sick baby.”
After tossing me her keys, she sat down on the steps to the garage while I tried to get it to start. Sure enough, it was sputtering, trying to connect, but not quite making it.
“Why did you think I’d be somewhere uptown in a loft?” she asked, just as I was pulling out the code reader to connect to her car.
I shrugged. “You look like that type. Spotless apartment, where the landlord comes to change your light bulbs for you. Maid service, so you don’t have to touch dirty dishes, all of that. Order in, or go out to have dinner because you don’t cook.”
“You’re kidding, right? That’s not me at all,” she giggled.
“Okay. Tell me about you then.” Frowning at what I saw on the screen of the code reader, I looked up at her before popping the hood on her car. Why was she so damned cute? Sitting on the steps as she was put her in the perfect position to rest her chin on her hands, with her elbows propped up on her knees. She had her head turned to the side, contemplating what she was going to say, and when she turned back, connecting her hazel eyes with mine, it gave me a strange sensation in my chest.
What the hell is going on with me?
“I’m very low-maintenance. I don’t like to have a fuss made over me. I change my own light bulbs, and air filters, and I cut my grass most of the time. I clean the house myself, and if I didn’t cook, Mel and I would probably have blood pressure through the roof from eating sushi or Japanese take out every night.”