He shoved his hand into his pocket. “I wanted to. Deal or not.”

“Seriously. No one has given me flowers since the high school dance.” Which was sad, now that she came to think of it.

She leaned over to read the card. Thank you for improving an awful night. How sweet. Roses would have been romantic, coming from someone else. From Eli Lockwood, they unsettled her. She didn’t understand him and didn’t know what he wanted. He kissed like she was his last salvation, then pushed her away. He was powerful in business, but vulnerable when it came to family. The man was a puzzle, and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to figure him out.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you liked me.”

“Maybe I do. Is that such a bad thing?” He held up a hand. “Wait—don’t answer that. I don’t think my ego can handle it.”

She chuckled. “I think your ego could withstand a nuclear blast.”

He tilted his head, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, then rolled his shoulders inside the immaculate charcoal suit. “Okay, you have me at your mercy. Hit me with the questions.”

She steepled her fingers. “You’re meant to be giving me a story, remember?”

He watched her, almost preternaturally still except for his lips, which were twitching. She thought about kissing him. Reminded herself that men like him were bad for women like her.

“I thought you’d at least have some idea where to start.”

She wished she did. She needed this promotion. But short of reaffirming for him that journalists had no morals, she wasn’t sure exactly how he could give her a story. Closing her eyes, she felt the usual rush of shame that came whenever she remembered The Press and Wilson Jones. Anger chased the shame away. She shouldn’t have to feel ashamed when she had done nothing wrong. But this promotion would certainly help to prove that fact to others.

“Let’s say I’ve got nothing. What have you done recently which might be newsworthy? Is there anything I’ve missed in my other articles? Big-name brands interested in buying into your development?” She’d slipped into interview mode. The questions spilled forth. “Any changes you plan to make, based on opposition from some locals? Any possibility you’ve fallen in love with the town and plan to move here permanently?”

The last question was a joke. Almost.

“Erm.” He mulled it over for a moment. “A few chain stores have expressed interest, but none are confirmed. I haven’t decided what kind of tenants I’d like yet. Every development is different, and you only get one chance to do it right.”

“Sounds like doing it right matters a lot to you.” She was fishing, trying to figure out what made him tick.