“I thought Aunt Patty was vice president.”

Mason levels a look at me — the kind that says I’d better not reveal the softer side of Mason James outside of this room. He says, “Patty isn’t really her aunt,” then turns to Riley. “Different VP. We’ve added a few since you’ve been away. You’ll need to catch up.”

“VP of what?”

“Um. Land Acquisition.”

“Okay,” her smile hasn’t faltered. “So you’d acquire land.”

“Yeah.” I look at Mason, hoping he’ll save me. But Mason seems to have forgotten me entirely. He’s holding the girl at arm’s length, looking her over in a way I wish I could, asking her questions about a trip she must have just made and a college she must have just come from — possibly graduated, given the time of year and her overall look.

I’m not sure what to do here. Mason and I were supposed to be finished at one. Should I leave and let them have their moment?

But I don’t want to walk out. I want to hear what this girl has to say. I never went to college. I never had a relationship with my parents like she and Mason apparently have. I’m fascinated for some reason, wanting to hear it all.

And I’m trying not to stare.

She’s not dressed up, and what she’s wearing must be the most random of tossed-on outfits. Given my suit and her father’s, she looks young and out of place — not just in the room, but in the building as a whole. Her summertime look is ready for the beach. She could be a commercial for summer itself. But what strikes me most is how great casual” looks on her. She carries a strange mix of innocence and experience, like a girl on the cusp of something. She doesn’t know it, though. She probably walks down the street having no idea about all the heads turning to watch her pass.

Mason finally looks back, and I figure he’ll dismiss me. But Mason, like me, seems fascinated to hear what Riley has to say — though I imagine (and hope) his reasons are different.

But Riley doesn’t speak, and I realize I’ve been intruding. I feel stupid. I should have left, but here I still am — an uneducated, unqualified monkey in a borrowed suit, harboring schoolboy fantasies about the boss’s daughter … if, that was, I had any schoolboy days worth remembering.

I nod to Mason. “I’ll leave you alone.”

“Okay,” Mason says. “Thanks for coming in, Brandon. I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you, Mr. James.”

“Jesus, Brandon. If you don’t stop calling me ‘sir’ and ‘Mr. James,’ I’ll fire you instead of considering you. It makes me feel old.”

“Sorry.” I nod awkwardly then turn to Riley. “It was nice to meet you,” I say, not quite able to meet her eyes.

But she isn’t as shy as I am, and for a few seconds I find myself looking directly into light-hazel depths, her face open and welcoming. I feel ridiculous having checked her out. She’s just here to see her daddy on her way back from college, and here I am — a man who’s supposed to be focused, loyal, and honest — and I blew these impressionable minutes by checking her out.

I try to tell myself I was surprised. I didn’t know Mason even had a daughter. I didn’t know he was married. Our encounters have been amiable but all business, and Mason doesn’t wear a ring. I was caught off guard. That’s all.

Riley makes her tone almost conspiratorial and whispers, “I’ll see you later.”

I nod and am out the door before I register what I’ve heard.

See you later?

Why would I ever see Riley again … unless she’s come home for a job?

I don’t like that at all. I don’t like that her too-wide smile unseated something inside me. I don’t like that she looked at me as if she had no idea who I am or where I come from — or that I’m a fraud. I don’t like the way her innocence clashed with the cloud that’s always kind of around me, making me wonder if I’ve been seeing everything wrong.

If I have to see more of Riley James, I’m going to have a hell of a time pretending to be the proper executive I’m supposed to be.

But I long to see her later all the same.

CHAPTER FOUR

Riley

“RI?”

I BLINK AND LOOK up at Dad. I feel the smile return to my face. It feels less natural — not because I’m not happy talking to him, but because I’m distracted. Dad’s executives and most of his employees have always felt like adults with a capital A. I grew up in this company, and think of most of the long-timers as aunts and uncles. They watched me run around these halls as a little kid then graduate to odd jobs as I grew older. I cleaned the office when it was in its old location, while Life of Riley was still a little unknown developer trailing far behind the big names building communities in Inferno Falls — names known by the entire country. I answered phones in my teens and did clerical work right up until it was time to head off to college. This company knows me, and I know it. We share the same name.

But Brandon Grant didn’t strike me as an adult. At least not with that capital A. He had to be at least twenty-five, maybe older, but he looked as out of place in that suit as I’d look in a chicken costume. I doubt Daddy sees it, but it’s plain to me.

He didn’t feel like an uncle, but like a generation younger, still in the family, like a brother. Yet that’s definitely not right, based on the way my heart started to flutter the second his hand touched mine.

But Brandon isn’t why I’m here. I had four years of college and four years of high school to be flighty and boy crazy. There’s no doubt what my father expects of me now. And as he and I discussed on the phone, I’m now ready to prove my newly enhanced worth to this company … whether he thinks I’m ready or not.

“Yes, Daddy?”

“So what do you think?”

“Of what?”

He nods toward the closed door. “Of Brandon.”

There’s no way I heard that right. It’s like Dad can see right through me, even with my big, innocent smile.

“Does he strike you as vice president material?”

“Oh.” I keep the relieved sigh inside me. “I don’t know. You know him better than I do.”

“He’s young, with zero executive experience. But he’s smart, and he’s had to do some acquisitions work as project head for a few sites. He’s a natural networker. He’s magnetic. People just like him.”

Magnetic? Brandon certainly polarized something inside me, but he didn’t strike me as the kind of person my father would characterize as “magnetic” or even a “natural networker.” He seemed subdued. Maybe even awkward.

“He seems shy.”

“He’s usually not like that,” Dad says, his face now curious. “I think he was intimidated. We just had lunch, and I took him around the office. He knew a lot of these people from talking to them on the phone, but he usually works on site. He came up through the ranks and got his start in construction. Not as a foreman, either. As a carpenter.”

“Oh,” I say.

“But he’s smart. And when I say ‘magnetic,’ I don’t mean loud and boisterous. I mean an understated kind of smart, and not from books. Thoughtful, I guess. He’s heading up Stonegate. On the south side of Cherry Hill. Where those little rock faces are?”

I nod. I’m trying to listen like a vice president myself instead of a girl with a flutter.

“It’s a tricky project,” Dad continues, “but when the architect and planner were having some little petty spat, Brandon played peacemaker then suggested much of the plan himself. Didn’t take or want credit, either; I only know because I was on site and saw him sketching through a street plan hitch and some drainage issues. Somehow, we came in under budget despite a lost week with the squabbles and tricky planning. And the best part is, even though I and a few other people have explained to him how astonishing that is — not just to come in under budget and on track, but to do so after a dispute — he just shakes it off. Thinks we’re blowing smoke.”