“No,” he said, snagging her fingers in his before she got away. “You aren’t changing for Calista. And there is no if. You don’t want to do this, then don’t do it.”
“It’s a pretty ritzy country club. I have to change. It’s part of the requirements for a place like that.”
“Screw the requirements,” he said. “We’ll pop by the country club. You tell her no to whatever it is she maybe wants you to do. Then I’ll call Marco and confirm your interview.”
“You don’t have to go with me,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her. “I can take care of myself.”
He tugged her into his arms. “Of that, I have no doubt. But I got you into this. I owe it to you to make sure you get out of it. And call me self-serving, but I don’t want you in the spotlight either. You’ll never let yourself have any fun then.” He grabbed the cell phone on the counter and eyed the time. “But you might have to help me look at a couple of houses. I stood the real estate agent up yesterday. I don’t want to do it again today. He says there are a couple of foreclosures that will go fast.”
“You’re buying a house?” she said, hands on her slender hips, where he’d like to put his.
He laughed. “That’s right, I’m never going to convince Bobby and Caleb I’m here to stay if I don’t put down some roots.” He motioned with his chin. “What about you? This is a great place. Did you buy it?”
“Renting with the option to buy,” she said, shoving her hands in her back pockets and looking a bit uncomfortable. “I need to be sure I can carve out a readership for my new pen name minus the political connections.” She leaned a hip on the counter. “If I end up penning the same political stories I did back home, then ultimately that will expose my identity, and this has all been for naught.”
“And you think Marco can help you carve out that readership?”
“I have an idea I think could really be great,” she said. “Different. Something that will make me stand out.”
“Tell me about this idea you have for Marco’s interview on the drive to the country club,” he suggested.
Ryan had a feeling no matter how much she stood out, she wouldn’t be staying. Her father was headed for a run to the White House, and she’d go with him. This visit to Texas was a last chance to find herself before the microscope of her father’s career honed in on her life. And Ryan was all about helping her do a little self-discovery and then letting her go. He was, after all, a master of short-term relationships, his life having allowed for nothing more. He’d honed the skill of saying goodbye with one foster family after another, and then one mission, one woman, one undercover identity at a time. This time would be no different…no matter how many nights Sabrina kept him awake dreaming about her.
***
RYAN MADE HER reach beyond her comfort zone, and that both scared and excited her. Walking into a ritzy country club in jeans and a Harley T-shirt, with a Harley-worthy man on her arm, was definitely outside of her comfort zone. It was something she never would have done back in New York. But entering the elegant restaurant inside the club, where elaborate flower arrangements hung from ceiling rafters and orchestra music drifted through the air, she was surprised to get not so much as a blink from the young hostess dressed in a cream-colored suit. And to her further surprise, a scattering of jeans-clad customers dotted the room.
“Welcome to Texas,” Ryan whispered by her side, his hand touching her elbow as he guided her through the clusters of elegant white-and-cream decorated tables, in pursuit of the hostess. The touch shimmered up her arm, and spread warmth across her chest.
“I think I could get used to this,” she said, the intimacy of his understanding her private insecurities and what she was thinking not escaping her.
The hostess waved them forward, her gaze slipping appreciatively over Ryan as she departed; if he noticed he didn’t react. Ryan and Sabrina were greeted by an attractive thirty something blonde who quickly stood, displaying a slim figure dressed in a silk blouse and black jeans.
“Ryan, hi,” she said. “Glad you came along.” And though the words rang genuine, she quickly turned to Sabrina. “Sabrina.” She extended her hand. “So very nice to meet you. I’m Calista Montey. And a fan. A huge fan.”
“Thank you,” Sabrina said, shaking Calista’s hand across the table. “I’m always honored to hear someone has enjoyed my work.” Which was true. Her column had been her pride and joy, and it had been hard to walk away from it. The fights with her father were another story—a thought that coiled tension in her stomach.