Susan Crosby - His Most Scandalous Secret

Not only was Tessa Rose the most qualified, she was the only applicant.

“Hey, Mr. Ryan? You through talkin’?”

Chase had forgotten he was in the middle of a discussion with the thirteen-year-old who came up beside him. He glanced at the boy. “I’m sorry, Luis. My mind wandered.”

His gaze returned involuntarily to look out the window as the woman made her way closer. His impression of softness deepened as the July afternoon breeze lifted her hair away from her face. A high-collared pink blouse hugged her breasts. Her floral-printed skirt molded born-to-carry-babies hips and endless legs.

Not one original thought crossed his mind. She was a fish out of water. A man could lose himself in her. She was the kind of woman you took home to meet your mother.

“Can I go now, Mr. Ryan?”

He didn’t look at the boy. “If you’re called in a second time for breaking the same rule, you forfeit your membership. I don’t want to see that happen, not after you were on the waiting list so long.”

“I didn’t know that damn was a swear word, Mr. Ryan. Honest.” Luis pressed his hands to the window. “Hey, isn’t that Stone Man?”

Chase spotted the teenager tracking the woman who had no business being in this neighborhood alone. She stopped in front of the youth center and rummaged through her purse, the oversize quilted bag an easy target for a kid who took what he wanted.

Chase twisted the window lock open. Before he could shove the sash up to alert her, the kid made his move—and the woman flattened him facedown across the hood of the nearest car, locking his arm behind his back. Her body jerked as she applied more pressure every so often. She spoke directly into his ear.

“Holy—” Luis gulped. “I mean, wow. Did you see that, Mr. Ryan? Shoot. Look at Stone Man go! Je—I mean, can you believe it? Is she one of those Amazons we studied in school?”

“Not tall enough,” Chase murmured, his awe less vocal than Luis’s but just as complete. He finished shoving open the window. “Need any help there, Miss?” he called.

“Thanks, but I’m fine.” She dusted off her hands as Stone Man rounded the corner and disappeared. “You wouldn’t happen to be Chase Ryan?”

He nodded, still amazed by what she’d done.

“I’m Tessa Rose. I have an appointment with you.” She glanced at her watch, then back at him. Her smile was brilliant, blinding. Lethal. “I seem to be a minute late.”

“I’ll save us both some time, then, Miss Rose. If you want the job, you’ve got it.”

“I want the job.”

“Come up and we’ll talk details.”

She swung her bag over her shoulder and bounded up the stairs to the Center, enthusiasm in every step. How long until that spirit fizzled and burned out? He’d seen it dozens of times. He hated that it would happen to someone as fresh and full of passion as Miss Tessa Rose.

She stepped into his office, that megawatt smile in place.

“Hi. Who just flew by me faster than a speeding bullet?” she asked, looking down the hall for a second.

“That was Luis, who happened to witness your performance. Your reputation will be firmly established within fifteen minutes, Miss Rose.” Even her name was soft. He indicated a chair to her, then moved behind his desk and took a seat. “Nice job handling yourself out there.”

“Thanks.”

“I take it you saw him coming.”

“The minute I stepped off the bus. I also knew I couldn’t avoid him. He was too close.” She leaned forward. “Do I really have the job?”

“Our meeting was just a formality. The day care director, Chandra, wants you, and your references are glowing, as I’m sure you’re aware.” He tipped his chair back. “It’s my policy to run down the rules with everyone, whether staff, parent or child.”

“Because everyone is more comfortable when they know what’s expected of them, and what the consequences are when they fail to meet expectation.”

“Exactly.” Baby blue eyes, he noted, with laugh lines fanning from the corners. He knew she was twenty-nine, so the creases hadn’t come only from age. “Why do you want to work here, Miss Rose?”

She crossed her legs and relaxed into the chair. “Why wouldn’t I want to work here, Mr. Ryan?”

“This isn’t the safest neighborhood in the city.”

“It’s my understanding that you run an orderly facility. Within the walls, I expect I’ll be very safe. As for coming and going, you already saw how little problem that poses.”

“Your last job was at the day care center for the Schuman Corporation.” He knew the details of her résumé without looking. “Advantaged kids who probably were fed breakfast and clothed in the latest fashions before being dropped off. Parents who probably worked eight to five, and maybe even visited the child during their lunch hour.”

“Your point, Mr. Ryan?”

He watched her foot bounce impatiently, sending the fabric of her skirt rippling. A fresh, flowery scent made its way across the desk. Roses? She should be tending a garden herself in some picket-fenced little house somewhere, not fending off small-time teenage hoodlums. He gave her one last chance. “You’ll see things here you’ll wish you hadn’t, want to make changes in the children’s lives that can’t be made. You may be trained to defend your body from harm, but what about your heart?”

“Are you trying to scare me off?” For the first time a completely serious expression settled on her face. “I grew up not far from here, Mr. Ryan. Although the neighborhood has changed some, I doubt much will surprise me. I’ve read your mission statement and the rules that you make the kids sign and the forms the parents complete, agreeing not only to cooperate but to participate. I spent an afternoon working beside Chandra, and I was here when the children were picked up. I know who they are and what kind of life they lead. I’m not as naive as you seem to think. However, I don’t see anything wrong with wanting to do what I can to make things better for the children in this neighborhood. I believe that is your purpose, as well.”

“How long a commitment are you willing to make?”

“I know these kids need stable adult role models. I’ll be here.”

Ten seconds of silence followed her response. Their gazes had locked the moment she’d entered his office and hadn’t disconnected once. He finally looked away, but only long enough to pull some papers out of a file drawer and pass them to her. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thanks.” She plucked a pen and clipboard from her Mary Poppins bag and began to complete the legal documents.

“What’d you say to the boy when you had him spread-eagled on the car?”

“I offered to rearrange some of his anatomy, free of charge—in language he could understand, of course.” She flashed a smile. “He seemed to take me seriously. So, who is this Wilson Buckley the Center is named for?”

“You’ll meet him. Everyone calls him Sarge.” He watched her fill in the blanks on the W-4 form. “He retired from the police force nineteen years ago.”

“Which explains why his name doesn’t ring any bells. I didn’t have any brushes with the law until I was, oh, seventeen or so.”

“Speeding ticket?”

She tossed him a mischievous glance. “A sit-in at my high school, protesting the cafeteria food. A bunch of us got hauled in. My parents were not amused.”

“I don’t imagine they were. Did the situation change at the school after that?”

“Sure. After I graduated.”

“So, you made a difference for those who followed. Was that enough for you?”

“Well...no.”

Ambitious, determined and just self-centered enough. Good qualities for working at the Center, Chase thought.