Indie shrugged. “Well, I can help you search for an apartment at least.”
“If I get the job. It’s not a done deal.”
Don’t show any fear. People like confidence. You have this. You can do this.
“Lacey? You okay?” Indie’s hand on her shoulder startled her, and she dropped the skirt she’d been holding. She quickly picked it up, brushing off imaginary dirt. Not that she really cared. She had three other skirts just like this one already hanging up. Each just as boring and sensible as the next.
There were still times she wished she had the guts to run off to Hawaii.
Maybe work on a tan . . . and get skin cancer.
Go kite-surfing . . . and get eaten by a shark.
Try some cocktails . . . and have her drink spiked.
Let’s face it, she didn’t have the guts to do anything crazy. Her job at the FBI had been conducted behind a desk. Nice and secure. She’d gone through basic training at Quantico, but because she’d been recruited by the FBI, she’d never worked as a field agent. Counseling inmates had held some risk, but she’d always had a safety net—someone to call on for help.
Moving to Dallas to take this job was slightly crazy. Normally, she wouldn’t make such a move without careful consideration. But she was desperate to get away from her old life. Plus, Travis was vouching for these guys, and her cousin would never do anything to put her at risk.
“Sorry, I’m fine. Just a million miles away.”
Indie gave her a suspicious look, but Lacey just turned away and hung up a shirt.
“Gray is still your favorite color, huh?” Indie asked her, standing up to search through her wardrobe. “At least you don’t have to worry about me borrowing anything. Gray is not my color.”
“It’s business attire.” Lacey bumped her out of the way with her hip.
“Do you know anything about this company?”
“I know a little. But I’ve been so busy packing I haven’t had the time to do much research on them.” Which was completely unlike her. She went into everything fully prepared.
Well, it was time to start doing things differently.
“Are you nervous?” Indie asked.
“A little,” she admitted, feeling her stomach jump. She’d been trying not to think about it too much, knowing she might back out.
You can do this. Just don’t fuck it up.
She wouldn’t. Not again.
Chapter Three
Was it possible for a man to be this perfect?
He sat across the table from her in a beautifully tailored suit. There wasn’t a hair out of place on his head.
He probably dyed it. Or maybe his hair was just naturally that gorgeous shade of black. And perhaps it just sat that way on his head all by itself.
Because some people were just built that way.
His gaze shifted to her, as though he could sense her staring at him. Then he smiled. Yep, and of course, he had perfect damn teeth.
Could life get any shittier?
Okay. Take a deep breath, Lacey. You’re blowing this out of proportion.
So what if he looks like he should be in the middle of a scene from a James Bond movie. That has nothing to do with who he is or your relationship to him.