keep a twinge from pinching her chest. Twinging that shouldn’t happen. She didn’t care if not-Maxwell was interested in her. She did care about his family’s painting.
If he didn’t soften up soon, she’d have to suck up her pride and fake an injury.
“My father founded David Industries.”
“The factory in town?”
“Yes.”
He ran faster. She matched his speed, breathing harder. A lawnmower buzzed in the distance.
“That place is huge. And you work there?”
That place is huge. God, she sounded inane. David Industries wasn’t just huge. It was the town’s main artery. It employed three-quarters of the population, keeping quaint Whichway thriving. Jack was the current CFO, the brains behind their lens-tech-invention-thingy that allowed cameras and phones to autofocus. She knew all these details, hated pretending like she didn’t, but men loved talking about their work accomplishments.
Jack wasn’t behaving like most men.
Feet pounding the gravel, he said, “I manage the finances and run R and D.”
“R and D?” There she went, sounding simple again.
“Research and development.”
“So what do you develop?”
He stopped abruptly, his chest heaving as he planted his hands on his hips. His blue eyes, the same shade as his aquamarine shirt, danced around, never quite settling on her. “Why’d you give Jasmine a false name?”
Ah. There it was. The root of his stonewalling. A niggle of guilt poked her ribs. Or maybe it was just her overworked lungs. She walked a small circle, catching her breath as she mentally reviewed her backstory. “I’m sorry about that, but it’s my job.”
“Lying is your job?”
Oh man, if he only knew. “I produce music. I’m not a big shot with platinum records to my name, but my brand’s growing and I have connections, which comes with complications.”
“Complications?” He had a thing for repeating her, but it was hard to focus on that when color splotched his cheekbones. The rosiness dramatized his bone structure and made his lips look impossibly kissable.
It was her turn to glance down sharply. She continued pacing. “When people learn what I do, they can get invasive. Like with movie producers and literary agents? If people think they can get a second with you, they pounce. Once or twice it got uncomfortable. So I don’t normally do festivals. My clients are all referrals. But this was a favor for a friend, and I thought hiding my name would be easier.” She quit her circle walking and tried to meet his aqua eyes. “I’ve decided to tell Jasmine, though. It was a silly thing to do.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and watched the nearby lawnmower bump along. His focus dragged to her chest, up to her face, then to the grass beside them. “Understandable,” he said quietly. Followed by, “Enjoy your run.”
Brush off number two.
He powered on, leaving her in his rearview mirror, like she’d done to him twice. Flustered, she ran up to him, keeping time. He snuck a look at her out of the corner of his eye.
She smiled. “You’re quick on your feet. You run often?”
“Most days.”
“It’s great to clear the head.”
“When I’m alone, it is.”
Touché, Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome. And since small talk wasn’t paying off, it was time to commence Operation Elvis.
She tried to give her ponytail a flirty flip. The strands slapped her cheek. “My father’s a real Elvis fan, which is one of the reasons I took the gig. I was thinking it would be cool to get candid shots while I’m here, a birthday gift for him, but it’s in a couple days. Do you happen to know any tribute artists in town early? I’d love to arrange something.”
She didn’t insinuate that Jack was one such artist. If she wanted to stay under the radar, he needed to meet her halfway and start showing signs of interest. The cocky grin he’d displayed in that one Elvis photo suggested he’d jump at the chance to strut his stuff.
He, however, did not jump. He ran and pumped his arms. “You should ask Jasmine.”
Really? Ask Jasmine? Was this guy suddenly immune to her charms?
She was going to have to trip after all, sprain her ankle or skin her knee. Or find a way to shake his hand and cast that tingly spell she’d experienced on the highway, even though his large hands were off-limits. She seriously couldn’t catch a break.
The lawnmower buzzing increased, competing with the argument in her head.
“Jack!” The buzzing hissed to a stop. A bald man in overalls waved their way.
Jack slowed and shaded his eyes. “Marvin?”
“Got you crickets. A bucket