Incendiary On Sale

As she trudged to answer the door, she attempted to shake off her bad mood. She hoped her public face would cover the emotions churning inside of her. Taking a deep breath, she plastered a smile on her face and opened the door. "Tim?"

He leaned against the doorjamb as if he owned the place. His gray suit and brown wingtips screamed banker. His paisley tie sat loose and crooked on this neck. He didn't look rakish, just unkempt.

A smile blossomed. In the right light it resembled a leer. "Chelsea."

She hung onto the door tighter than she needed to. "What can I do for you?"

He pushed his way in and swaggered to the office. "This is a friendly call."

She bit back an oath. "Oh?"

He turned to face her. "Can we talk? Somewhere private?"

She motioned back to the office.

"You first."

Shrugging, she brushed past him, plopped into the chair behind the desk then picked up a magazine to fan her face. The air conditioner hadn't gotten up to speed yet.

"I'd offer you coffee, but we don't have any."

"How are things?"

Chelsea restrained her eyes from rolling. "Cut to the chase, Tim."

He settled himself on a chair and picked lint off his trousers.

She put her hands behind her back, instead of what she wanted to do. Wouldn't he be surprised if she grabbed his lapels and demanded to know what the hell he was doing here?

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