Page 3 of Kissed By The Lumberjack
"Who's asking?"
She doesn't flinch. "Rowan Cafferty. Environmental Compliance Office." She extends her hand. Her grip is firm. Professional. Her palm is soft. Not a callus in sight. "I'm here to conduct the audit of your timber operations."
"You're early."
"I'm on time. Your letter said four o'clock."
"My letter said this week. I was expecting more notice."
"The county doesn't give notice." She flips open her clipboard, scanning something I can't see. "It allows for manipulation of records."
I feel my jaw tighten. "Are you accusing me of something?"
"I'm following protocol, Mr. Cole." She looks up at me with those hazel eyes, and I realize two things simultaneously. One,she's not intimidated by me. At all. And two, my body doesn't care that she just implied I'm a criminal. It's too busy noticing the curve of her mouth, the flush on her cheeks from the afternoon heat, the way her throat moves when she swallows.
Goddamn it.
"I'll need access to your sales records for the past five years," she says. "Timber harvest plans, environmental impact assessments, and any correspondence with the state forestry department."
"I can get you the last three years. The older files are in storage."
"Then I'll need access to storage."
"It's at my cabin."
One eyebrow lifts. "Convenient."
"It's where my father kept everything. He ran the operation for thirty years before me. Forgive him for not anticipating that some city girl in fresh boots would need to rifle through his filing cabinets."
The flush on her cheeks deepens. "I'm not a city girl."
"Portland?"
Her mouth tightens. "Oregon, yes. But?—"
"Concrete jungle."
"It's not—" She stops. Takes a breath. The clipboard creaks in her grip. "Mr. Cole. I'm here to do a job. You can make this easy, or you can make this difficult. But either way, the audit is happening."
I should back down. I know I should. This woman has the power to make my life hell. To drag Cole Timber through months of reviews and paperwork and legal fees. To find some technicality in my father's sloppy records and use it as a noose.
But she's standing there with her chin lifted and her eyes blazing, looking at me like I'm the villain in her story, and something in my chest catches fire.
"How long are you here for?" I ask.
"As long as it takes."
"Where are you staying?"
She hesitates. Just a flicker. "That's not your concern."
"It's a small town. Everything's my concern." I take a step closer. She holds her ground, but I see her breath catch. See the way her eyes drop to my chest for just a second before snapping back to my face. "Festival's got every room in the county booked solid. So where exactly are you planning to sleep, Ms. Cafferty?"
Her jaw sets. "I'll figure it out."
"You haven't figured it out."
"I said?—"
