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passed it to Rocky. Dena straightened. She handed him a glossy brochure and an equally glossy smile. He didn’t smile back, knowing he’d have to shoot a hole right through that slick confidence of hers. No way in hell would he hire Ms. Roman.
    “Read over these. There’s mention of the mission statement—” she stopped suddenly, and her face colored.
    He’d interrogated enough people to know when someone lied, well, most of the time. He squinted, put the brochures down. What could the chatty little lady be hiding?
    “I’ll read them later,” he said, and settled back in his chair, hands behind his head, fingers intertwined. He had the upper hand. “Tell me a little about the firm from your experience.”
    “Brennan & Associates is—”
    “Not the slick PR crap. Tell me about the real firm. Why did you choose to work for them? How do they treat you?”
    She took a deep breath and smoothed her sleek blonde hairdo. She would fight for this job, he could see that.
    “I started as an intern, right out of college—”
    “Which was?”
    “Pepperdine.”
    “Good school.”
    She smiled a natural, almost shy smile, not that fake PR one. She lit up from within and transformed her rather long face. It took her from attractive to beautiful in a second. He lowered his eyes and focused on the blotter.
    “Ours isn’t your typical Los Angeles firm that deals primarily with the entertainment industry,” she said. “I’m the only one who handles celebrities.”
    “What?” His head shot up. Her gaze floated away then dropped. She’d probably recalled that he’d asked for a conservative agent, as well as a male. The last thing he needed was some Hollywood type let loose on the estate.
    “I also handle business and corporate clients,” Dena said, her voice clear, her speech precise. “I can furnish references.”
    He shifted in his chair. He liked her quick composure. He’d hear her out.
    “Seems in order,” Rocky said. He handed Dena the contract.
    She put it beside her presentation papers, placed a gold pen on top, and looked across the desk. Her steely determination made her eyes colder. In that moment, Zeke knew, if he did hire her, his life would never be the same.
    “The plan I’ve developed is two-fold,” she said. “One is for the national and international aspect, the packing and shipping. The other is local, your community image—”
    “I don’t get involved with the community,” Zeke said, aware that he sounded surly. He’d become a stranger in this town, the place he’d grown up.
    “And that is precisely where one of your problems—”
    “Let’s focus on the business.” To hell with community, the damn locals were blackballing him. “And I still want to work with a male—”
    “I have eight minutes left.” She tilted her chin. “Besides, as I mentioned, I don’t think gender should be an issue.”
    “Well, it is.” Zeke tossed the pen onto the blotter. Whatever she came here for, she had to tell it straight or get the hell out. He cleared his throat with a slight cough. “This is about me personally, and the best thing for Three C’s.”
    “Exactly. That’s why I suggested representation.”
    “You don’t get it! I’m not being sexist—”
    “Yes, you are.” She folded her arms across her chest.
    “Zeke,” Rocky said. “Hear what she has to say.”
    He scowled at Rocky then looked away. She wanted something more than to represent him. But what? He’d let her play this out, let her trip herself up. He eyed her thoughtfully for a moment, and lifted the pen, twirling it between his fingers.
    “When your name is smeared the stink and suspicion remain,” he said quietly. “There will be more questions, discussions about the victims.” A prickle of irritation stirred at the nape of his neck. He tossed the pen and raised both hands, unable to hold back his anger. “Hell, the murders happened on my property, while I still owned the land.”
    “I know,” she said, her