Chapter Four #4
After shaking hands with both event coordinators, she’d physically recoiled and tried to keep her distance from them.
It wasn’t hard to do with Shannon Jayne, since the woman had clung to him like a tick during spring thaw.
But the guy was a bit too affable for reality.
Charity had done her best to smile and act interested, but he knew she was suffering.
The pinched skin at the corners of her eyes, the way her smile, usually so quick for anyone but him, took its damn time forming, and when it did looked. ..strained.
Even her posture had changed. One of the first things he’d ever noticed about her was how straight she kept her back, even when working on her computer. She never slouched, or even reclined backward in a chair, always sitting upright like a rod was shoved up her spine.
Now that he knew she studied martial arts, he figured that body alignment was part and parcel of being a devotee to a discipline designed to use the body to its advantage.
But during their tour, her shoulders had crawled up around her ears several times, and she’d taken to threading her fingers together and holding them in front of her. The knuckles were blanched from the killer grip she had on them.
It didn’t take a genius to know she was in some serious pain.
He’d tried to hurry the tour along, but Ridley was a gasbag, going on and on about the place’s history and use as a venue for big social events. Kolby was ridiculously relieved once they could beg off.
“You don’t want to go home and sleep it off?” he asked her now as she unbuckled her seat belt.
Her sigh did something funny to his insides.
“What I want to do and need to do are two different things,” she said, her voice telling him she was still suffering. “I’ve got at least ten calls to make and I’m sure there’s some email that needs to be seen to. Letting it go isn’t an option.”
She pushed open the door, immediately shading her eyes from the afternoon glare, and eased down.
Kolby beat her to the front door of the office, unlocking it with his key.
The interior lights were off and he left them that way as he held the door open.
Charity didn’t reach for the light switch either, solidifying in his mind he was correct: she was still in pain.
“You can adjust the brightness on your laptop,” he said, sliding his keys into his back pocket.
The look she tossed him warmed his insides. The pain wasn’t debilitating enough for her not to send him a withering glare.
Good.
“Gee, I would have never thought of that. Thanks,” she mumbled, sarcasm thick as she placed her purse under her desk.
Kolby grinned. “Always glad to help.”
He knew if she weren’t in pain, she would have shaken her head at him.
“I’ve got some things to see to,” he said, pointing to his office. “Before I start, want me to grab you something to eat?”
Her head shot up so fast she reached out and grabbed the desk ledge and blinked a few times.
It took everything in him not to take her arm and help her steady herself. If he touched her, even in aid, he could just imagine how she’d react.
When the dizziness abated, he watched her expression morph to suspicion.
“What?” He slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and stared down at her.
“I was thinking I’d ride over to The Last Supper and grab a burger, bring it back.
I remember my grandmother didn’t like to eat too much after an episode.
I know everyone reacts differently." He shrugged. “If you want anything, I’ll add it to the order.”
Her gaze turned introspective as it settled on his face. “Eating does help,” she said. “I could use a sandwich.”
“Grilled chicken breast on ciabatta with light mayo?”
And now, surprise covered her features.
“It’s your go-to lunch,” he said simply. “I figured that was for a reason.”
Her unlined brow wrinkled like a bed sheet that needed ironing, prompting him to curse himself for his assumption. When he’d done the same thing at the Love Shack, she’d intentionally gone in the other direction with her drink order, which had led to the whole next-morning debacle.
Don’t go there.
“Unless you want something else?” he offered, internally wincing at how lame he sounded.
Waiting for her to answer was a subtle form of torture he hadn’t experienced in a long time with a girl. Or, he should say, woman. Or anyone, if he was going to be honest.
Why was her approval suddenly so important to him? Why did he want her to look at him with something other than mockery or scorn in her eyes?
And just why was he so willing to do anything he could for her to see him as something more than the man she’d assumed he was?
With a silent head slap, he realized it didn’t take thousands in therapy bills to understand his motivation when it came to Charity.
And the realization of just what that was, was almost too much for him to consider.
Somehow, she’d gotten under his skin. In the most elemental of ways: he cared about her.
Really cared.
Like she was important to him cared.
Didn’t see that coming, did ya?
What to do about it was the monumental question. One he hadn’t a clue how to answer.
After what seemed like an eternity, she said, “That sounds good, actually.” Gingerly, probably so she wouldn’t have any jerky head movements and increase her pain, she reached for her bag. “Let me get you some money.”
“My treat.” He pulled his car keys from his pocket again.
“Kolby, you don’t have-"
“Back in about twenty.”
Before she could say anything else, he was out the door.
Talk about a quick getaway.
As he put the truck back into gear, he shook his head. A quick eye flick of his eye at his reflection in the rearview mirror and he sighed.
“Get it together, man. Get it together.”