Allegiance - Chiah Wilder Page 0,18
laced with urgency and panic.
“I’m coming. We’ll get it all sorted, don’t worry about it,” a deep, gravelly voice said from the back room.
Every cell in her body stood at attention. That voice. It sounds like Tank, but it can’t be. I can’t picture him in a printing store.
“What seems to be the problem?” Tank asked as he crossed over to the clerk.
It’s him. A million butterflies fluttered in her stomach. I have to get out of here. He hasn’t seen me yet. But she didn’t budge from her spot. Just seeing him made her giddy, nervous, and happy all at once.
Straightening her shoulders, she watched as Tank’s tattoos danced along his tanned and oh, so very toned arms while he looked over the kid’s shoulder. She couldn’t help but notice that his jeans fit him perfectly in all the right places, and that the tight-fitting gray T-shirt he wore molded to his chest in the best possible way. Yeah, he fit the part of the sexy bad boy parents warned their daughters about.
“It’s all fixed. Your order will be ready in two days.” Tank walked over to the counter.
“Thanks for your patience, Mr. Rinaldo. Sometimes these machines can be fickle.”
The man in front of her nodded. “It’s no problem, Tank. You always take good care of your customers.”
Silently, she prayed her pulse would go back to normal and her body would cool down. Focus. Glancing behind her, she stared enviously at the door. I have to get out of—
“Lena?” She jerked around and looked at him. “I was wondering when we’d bump into each other. I was ready to give Dawson a call, though. You’ve been on my mind.”
“I’ve been busy. Your shop was recommended to me.” She took the flash drive out of her purse and waved it in the air. “Business. Pure business.”
“That’s what they all say.” He winked, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief as he patted the teenager on the shoulder. “It should work now for the next customer. Do you have any questions, Dylan?”
“Nah, we worked out the bugs. Thanks, sir.” Dylan typed in a series of strokes before making his way toward one of the massive printers to the left.
Tank turned back to her. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Come over here and I’ll get you squared away.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll take real good care of me,” Lena muttered under her breath, hearing her best friend say the exact same thing as she pushed the flash drive toward him.
“I need five hundred of these—white paper, color ink.”
Nodding, he typed something into the computer without diverting his attention from her.
A smile stretched across his lips. “So serious, and all business.”
“That’s me, all the time.”
“Well, let’s do this.”
Lena focused on answering a million and one questions about paper quality, weight, finish, and other printing options she never knew existed.
When he asked if the graphics were Pantone colors, she threw up her hands and laughed. “Are you making up some of these questions so I’ll stay longer?”
“I’m not lame. What kind of pansy-asses have you been hanging around? I don’t make up shit just to talk with a woman.”
Suddenly, she noticed they were the only two people in the lobby. Dylan must have gone to the back room without her noticing. And for some reason, knowing that they were all alone ramped up her adrenaline until she was trembling.
“And I can call” —he looked at the computer screen— “Heath and ask him about the Pantone colors.”
“So there really are Pantone colors?”
“Yeah.”
Heat crept up her neck. “Oh.”
Pulling out the flash drive, he dropped it into a plastic case. “How soon do you need these flyers?”
“Next week’s okay.”
“I can probably have them back to you sooner than that, but I’ll note that in your file.” He tapped something into the computer, then put the plastic case into a large envelope and sealed it. “That’s all done.” He came over to the counter and leaned toward her, scanning her face. “Business is finished. So, how’ve you been?”
She licked her lips. “Good. You?”
“I can’t complain. Is your catering office nearby?”
“Not really. I heard your store did excellent work, but I had no idea you owned it.” Scrunching her nose, she said, “You do own it, right?”
The corners of his mouth turned up. “I do. You’re not the only business owner in town.”
Laughing, she playfully smacked his forearm. “I know that.” His eyes followed her movement. “I never would’ve pictured you owning a printing business.”
“Why not?”
“No reason.”
“So when you tell me