Straddling the Line - By Sarah M. Anderson Page 0,2
Eagles had been right—Crazy Horse Choppers was a crazy idea. Josey put on her best smile as she thanked Cassie for helping out, hoping the smile would hide the panic hammering at her stomach.
Ben—Benjamin Bolton? Robert was the only member of the Bolton family who had joined the twenty-first century and had an online presence. Aside from a fuzzy group photo of the entire Crazy Horse staff and a generic-sounding history that traced how Bruce Bolton had founded the company forty years ago, she hadn’t found anything usable about any other Bolton. She knew next to nothing about Ben. She thought he was the chief financial officer, and Robert’s older brother. That was all she had to go on.
Before she’d made up her mind to stand her ground or take off, the glass door flew open. Ben Bolton filled the door frame, anger rolling off him in waves so palpable Josey fought to keep her balance. Should have run, she thought as Mr. Bolton roared, “What the hell—”
Then he caught sight of Josey. For a split second, he froze as he stared at her. Then everything about him changed. His jaw—solid enough to have been carved from granite—set as his eyes flashed with something that might have been anger, but Josey chose to interpret as desire.
Maybe that was just wishful thinking—in all likelihood, he was still angry—but without a doubt, Ben Bolton was the most handsome man she’d seen in a long time. Maybe ever. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she couldn’t tell if that was attraction or just nerves.
He straightened up and puffed out his chest. Okay. This situation was salvageable. Brothers often liked the same things—music, games—why should women be any different? She didn’t have enough time left to start over. She batted her eyelashes at him—a move she’d learned a long time ago worked despite being clichéd.
“Mr. Bolton? Josette White Plume,” she said, advancing on him with a hand outstretched. His palm swallowed hers. He could have crushed her hand, but he didn’t. His grip was firm without being dominating. She felt her cheeks get even warmer. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me today.” They both knew that he’d taken no such time, but a gentleman wouldn’t contradict a lady. His reaction would tell her exactly what kind of man she was dealing with here. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
Bolton’s nostrils flared as the muscles along his jaw tensed. “How can I help you, Ms. White…Plume?” He said her name like he was afraid of it.
Lovely. Hopefully he wouldn’t start spouting all that PC nonsense about how she was an indigenous American of Native descent. As long as no one called her an Injun, the world could keep turning. She tightened her grip on his hand enough that one of his eyebrows notched up. She couldn’t tell if his hair was black or brown in the dim light of the waiting room, but he’d look plenty good either way. “Perhaps we could discuss the particulars elsewhere?”
Suddenly, Bolton dropped her hand so fast that it bordered on pushing her away. “Why don’t you come up to my office?” he asked, that flash of anger growing a little stronger.
Behind her, Cass snorted. Bolton shot her a look of pure warning, a look so hot Josey might have melted if it had been aimed square at her. But the dangerous look went right over her shoulder. By the time Ben Bolton turned those baby blues back to her, he was back to that no-man’s-land between danger and desire. He stared down at her with an intensity she didn’t normally encounter. He was waiting for her answer, she realized after a silent moment had passed. That was unusual. Most men just expected her to follow.
“That would be fine. I wouldn’t want to keep Cass from her work.”
Bolton narrowed those blue eyes in challenge, then turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. Josey barely had time to grab her briefcase before he’d disappeared out of sight.
“Good luck with that,” Cass called out behind her in a cackling laugh.
In these shoes, Josey had to hurry to keep up with Bolton’s long strides. He took the metal stairs two at a time, putting his bottom somewhere between hand and eye level. She shouldn’t be openly gaping—not in public, anyway—but she couldn’t help it. The whole back end was a sight to behold. Ben Bolton had wide shoulders packing the kind of muscle that