“Pleasure’s mine,” he said.

She nodded toward the door. “I gotta go. I left my car in the parking lot. Wouldn’t want to get towed.”

“Because of the champagne and the blur?” he asked.

She waved the coffee cup in the air. “Yes. Those two things.” With the back of her hand, she pushed her sunglasses higher on her nose. “Enjoy your stay in Santa Clarita.”

He watched as she retreated. “I will.”

Even outside, she felt his eyes. Damn if she couldn’t stop herself from making sure he was watching.

Their eyes met, much like they had the night before, and Grace smiled.

CHAPTER TWO

“Hudson?” Her boss, the head of the civil engineering department for the city, knocked on her office door once, called her name, and entered.

“Morning, Richard . . . thanks for knocking this time.”

Richard was thirty years her senior and still lived in the dark ages when it came to working with women in the office who weren’t clerical.

He pushed past the door and dropped a two-inch-thick file on her desk, displacing the paperwork she was currently working on. “We have a new developer coming into the city. Bought a bunch of land in and around San Francisquito Canyon.”

Grace opened the file, glanced at the first page. From the thickness of the preliminary file, she knew it wasn’t a small job. “Looks extensive.”

“It is. Thought it was time to give you something with more meat in it.”

“Define meat.” She had a bad feeling that Richard’s meat would mean unpaid overtime. She already had a full fifty hours’ worth of work on her desk every week and had only recently shaved her days down by a half an hour. She was the only female civil engineer in their department. For five years she’d been proving herself to Richard. To have him insinuate that she needed to prove herself yet again was insulting.

“Several acres. Residential and commercial with a ton of infrastructure and open space considerations.”

None of which sounded like any meat she hadn’t yet chewed.

“Possible zoning changes,” he added.

“Sounds like work for a team and not one person.”

From the tip of his balding head to the redness of his gin-blossom nose, Richard stared down at her.

“A team starts with one person.” He leaned over as if to take the file. “But if you don’t think you can hack it . . .”

She placed her hand over the file. “I didn’t say that.”

He righted himself. “Good.” Turning to leave he added, “Become familiar with the file before we meet with the developer.”

“When is that?”

He cleared the door.

“Two hours.”

Her head shot up in alarm. “What?” That was insane. “How long have you known about this meeting?”

“A week.”

Yeah, she didn’t buy that. “And you waited till now to give this to me?”

Richard gave her a look out of the corner of his eye. “You were a little busy wedding planning and taking extra time off.”

Oh, that was rich. Half of the people that worked in their building had been at the wedding. It helped that Colin was a supervisor for the public works department and knew just about everyone in the city. Between him, her firefighter brother Matt, and their retired law enforcement father, the safest place to be in Santa Clarita had been the hotel ballroom.

Yet here Richard was snarling about her involvement as if it was a girl problem he couldn’t understand.

“Fine.” She glared at the file. “You can close the . . .” She was talking to herself. Richard was gone.

“Two hours,” she muttered.

She crossed her office to close the door and knew her entire plan for the day had just flown out the window.

Only after she sat back down did she realize she’d just been completely manipulated into taking on more work. Not that she had much of a say in things. But this time, Richard practically made her ask for it. Which meant when she wanted to leave the office at five like most of the staff, he would use that against her.

She opened the file and started skimming the highlights.

“Tell me why it is you’re here again? I can do this without you.”

Dameon stared out the picture window that had a ground floor view of one of the busiest streets in the city. It was much more congested than he expected it to be on a Monday.

“Because small towns want to know who they’re doing business with. They don’t like working with corporate entities. They like working with people.”

“Santa Clarita isn’t that small.”

No, it wasn’t. He’d spent the weekend driving around and getting a feel for the place. Less than forty miles from the center of Los Angeles, the Santa Clarita Valley boasted a suburban atmosphere with a large dose of country living. The outlying boundaries of the city were filled with small family ranches complete with horses and other barnyard animals. The old west atmosphere was felt in the heart of the older sections of the city. He’d purposely booked a room for the weekend just so he could come to the meeting armed with knowledge of the area you couldn’t find in a scouting report or online.

He’d driven through the Santa Clarita Valley several times in the past year and a half while the properties were being purchased. Now was when the work began. And a good relationship with the city and the people who approve things . . . was key.

“No. It’s not small. But it has everything to make this project work. We’ll get things off on the right foot today and I’ll leave you to it.” He finished talking at the same time the door of the conference room opened and a man walked in.

“Hello, gentlemen. Sorry to keep you waiting.” He looked between the two of them. “I’m Richard Frasier. I believe I spoke to you on the phone.”

Dameon stepped up and offered his hand. “You spoke with me. Dameon Locke.”

Firm handshake. Always a good sign.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“This is Tyler Jennings, my project manager.”

Richard smiled, shook hands, and looked over his shoulder. “We’re just waiting on Hudson. Hold on.” He glanced out the door and looked both ways before leaving the door open and pulling out a seat. “Please sit.”

Dameon took the man’s lead and made himself comfortable. No sooner did his butt hit the chair than he heard the distinctive sound of a woman’s heels clicking their way through the door.

“Sorry to keep you wait . . .”

It was her.

The petite spitfire who had pretended she hadn’t noticed him gawking through the window of the hotel. The lady who needed an IV of sugar after a night of drinking. The woman who made every single nerve ending in his body stand at attention and make him perfectly aware that he was a healthy, able, heterosexual male.

He lifted his ass out of the chair as she hesitated just inside the doorway.

Tyler shot to his feet.

Grace placed the folder she was carrying on the table and stared.

“It’s just Hudson. You don’t have to stand,” Richard said as he remained seated.

“Thank you, but Richard is right. Please, have a seat.” Her voice wavered.