Protege(6)

As he leveled her with a stern look, she apologized for the tart slip. “Sorry.” Her lips pursed and she went on, her words stretching out like taffy on a hot day as she pronounced each syllable with that lilting Georgian drawl. “The way I see it, sir, I’m not doing anything to move my social life along as it is. I’m thirty years old and the world’s become a scary place to me. I’m done dating.”

“Some would consider you a baby.”

She shrugged. “They can consider me whatever they like. It doesn’t change the fact that I’ve had enough of doing things the traditional way.”

He frowned, disliking the implication that she was there because she’d given up. Most people came there aspiring to do better. “Being a member of Fernweh does not come without work, Ms. Banks. Some of our members are single for decades before reaching their potential. Perhaps online dating would suit—”

“With all due respect, sir, I’m not interested in placing my safety in the hands of a stranger I met online. You hear stories.”

Intrigued, he sensed he’d misread her. This sudden shift in her attitude wasn’t the result of his rejection. On the contrary, she seemed to be refuting his decision, fighting it with logic as if pleading her case could somehow alter the rules of admission. “Yet you’d put your trust into a company you found online.” He arched a brow, anticipating a decent rebuttal.

“Well,” she drawled, a cocky twist to her full lips. “There is all that math and science.”

Stifling a chuckle, he dryly agreed, “There is that.” She’s a bit of a smartass.

She sighed and leveled her gaze on him. “Mr. Duval, I know what I’m up against. I’m just done. I don’t know any other way to put it. I can’t go back to my old job, and I need to start looking for a new one. My life can start anywhere. I’m willing to start it where I have the best probable future. I needed a change. A big one. I think this is it.”

Steepling his fingers, he eased back and studied her. “You’re a stubborn little thing.”

“I can be.”

He considered her for a long moment. As the minutes ticked by, she fidgeted under his scrutiny. “Mr.—”

“No talking.” Her mouth snapped shut and she blinked, taken aback. But she’d had enough fun in her attempt to hijack his authority. In truth, her unexpected effort to get him to reconsider gave him pause. “I just want to look at you for a moment.”

Her lip curled under her teeth as her eyes flicked nervously from side to side. She was clearly uncomfortable with his close examination, which made it all the more pleasurable for him.

Without thinking, he reached into his drawer and removed a blank application. “Let’s start at the beginning. Spell your full name, Ms. Banks.”

She smiled, her eyes wide and full of surprise, and he immediately realized his mistake. There’d be no denying her now. She wanted this, and he—for reasons he couldn’t understand—wanted to grant her this wish.

“Thank you, Mr. Duval. Thank you so much.”

“Your name, Ms. Banks.”

He already had the information written before she finished spelling it out. Collette was a unique name, one he appreciated for its feminine qualities and found difficult to forget. As the founder of Fernweh, he had leverage, but he also had a partner to consider. There was no harm in gathering enough information to make an honest assessment.

Though she couldn’t garner a traditional trial membership, he could discuss the possibility of her case, perhaps find a loophole. The members would challenge his decision, but he only had to disclose the minimal amount of information regarding her tentative approval. If they didn’t take a liking to her he would reevaluate his decision, but he didn’t think he’d have an issue once the others discovered her.

She certainly had a charming personality and a pleasing, if not slipshod, appearance. Someone needed to get her a barrette for those curls. Either that or show her how to braid all that unruly hair into some semblance of order.

“Do you recall your measurements?” When she didn’t respond he glanced at her only to find her blushing. “Ms. Banks.”

“I may have fibbed a little on the measurements.” She pinched her fingers in the air to demonstrate the smidge she’d embellished.

He arched a brow, his eyes calculating the dimensions of her generous curves. “Very well.” He reached into his middle drawer and pulled out a tape measure. Snapping the drawer shut, he stood. “Come here, please.”

She hesitated, her lower teeth showing as she gawked at him. “You keep a measuring tape in your desk?”

“I keep a lot of things in my desk, Ms. Banks. Stand up, please.”

Helping her along, he rounded the desk and took her hand. She stood and he examined the tape, swiftly locating the end he wanted. “Remove your shirt.”

“I beg your pardon!”

He folded his arms across his chest and arched another brow. “Had you not lied on your first application, this wouldn’t be an issue. We require absolute honesty among clients. If this makes you uncomfortable, I can put this application with your last and you can find your way out.”

“But . . .”

“I have another appointment in thirty minutes, Ms. Banks.”

Her chest rose as her breathing accelerated. He suspected it was belligerence at being told to remove her clothing more than embarrassment about her size. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the proportions of her body. If she was uncomfortable with nudity, she was clearly in the wrong place.