spent a small fortune on landscaping.
Normally, she wouldn’t have bothered, but another quick glance at the meticulously maintained lawn had her checking her hair and makeup in the rearview mirror.
Her own expression was unusually serious in the mirror, the dark circles under eyes barely covered as she smoothed out her hair and decided that this was going to have to do. Luckily, she was still wearing the same outfit she’d donned for her sixth-inning report from the sideline, and Izzy hoped that the slim, bright-pink skirt and patterned floral blouse would be nice enough to impress Mr. Rood enough that he’d take her seriously.
Of course, as Izzy climbed out of her car and walked slowly up to the gigantic house, her heels clicking loudly on the cobblestones of the driveway, she had already begun to realize that there was probably very little she could do to impress the man.
Izzy rang the doorbell and stood back, forcing herself not to fidget with her skirt as she waited, but she’d just been about to lose the fight when the door swung open to reveal a shorter, bulky man wearing a white polo shirt and perfectly pressed khakis.
“Mr. Rood?” Izzy asked hopefully, with her brightest smile. “I’m Isabel Dalton, from the Pacific Northwest Sports Group.”
He had a fairly expressive face under a receding hairline, and from the slight frown that only seemed to grow with each passing moment, Izzy had a fairly good idea that he wasn’t all that pleased to see her.
“I emailed you earlier, to let you know I’d be stopping by,” she added helpfully, with another smile as punctuation. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“No, no, of course not,” he finally said. “I’m just surprised to see you here. I didn’t get the impression from your initial response that you were very interested in our problem.”
Another disarming smile. In a few minutes, he was going to run her arsenal bone dry. “We’re absolutely interested, Mr. Rood. Would you have a few minutes to talk about the problem you’ve been having with Jack Bennett?”
“Yes. A few minutes. Please, come inside.” Mr. Rood opened the door wider and Izzy had to clamp her lips tightly together to keep her tongue from falling out of her mouth at just the foyer of the house. The floor was marble, creamy white with subtle gold flecks embedded throughout, and the vaulted ceilings showcased the understated, but beautiful art on the walls. A mahogany sideboard the size of a small boat flanked one side of the entry, and the other opened into four doorways, clearly leading to other, even larger, sections of the house.
“You have a beautiful home,” Izzy was able to confess with zero irony in her voice. It might not be the sort of place she’d choose to live, but it was undeniably impressive and worthy of saying so. After all, what was the point of owning a house like this if not to use it to render visitors nearly speechless with awe?
“Thank you.” He glanced over at her, and she could see she’d finally begun to chip away at his suspicion—her compliment had him almost smiling back. She’d worried at first that he might be a tougher nut to crack than others she’d encountered, mostly because of his wealth and standing, but like most men, you could get to Corey Rood through his ego. And in this particular case, his ego was so prominently displayed it was kind of hard to miss.
They emerged through the hallway into a yawning cavern of a kitchen with more marble counters and an entire army of cabinets. Every inch was spotless and gleaming. He turned to face her and waved his hand toward one of a number of barstools lined up against one edge of the counter. “Would you like to have a seat, Ms. Dalton?”
She smiled at him gratefully and whipped out her recorder, placing it on the marble counter in front of her with a decisive click to remind him why she was here.
“Something to drink?” he asked, turning toward the largest refrigerator she’d ever
Normally, she wouldn’t have bothered, but another quick glance at the meticulously maintained lawn had her checking her hair and makeup in the rearview mirror.
Her own expression was unusually serious in the mirror, the dark circles under eyes barely covered as she smoothed out her hair and decided that this was going to have to do. Luckily, she was still wearing the same outfit she’d donned for her sixth-inning report from the sideline, and Izzy hoped that the slim, bright-pink skirt and patterned floral blouse would be nice enough to impress Mr. Rood enough that he’d take her seriously.
Of course, as Izzy climbed out of her car and walked slowly up to the gigantic house, her heels clicking loudly on the cobblestones of the driveway, she had already begun to realize that there was probably very little she could do to impress the man.
Izzy rang the doorbell and stood back, forcing herself not to fidget with her skirt as she waited, but she’d just been about to lose the fight when the door swung open to reveal a shorter, bulky man wearing a white polo shirt and perfectly pressed khakis.
“Mr. Rood?” Izzy asked hopefully, with her brightest smile. “I’m Isabel Dalton, from the Pacific Northwest Sports Group.”
He had a fairly expressive face under a receding hairline, and from the slight frown that only seemed to grow with each passing moment, Izzy had a fairly good idea that he wasn’t all that pleased to see her.
“I emailed you earlier, to let you know I’d be stopping by,” she added helpfully, with another smile as punctuation. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“No, no, of course not,” he finally said. “I’m just surprised to see you here. I didn’t get the impression from your initial response that you were very interested in our problem.”
Another disarming smile. In a few minutes, he was going to run her arsenal bone dry. “We’re absolutely interested, Mr. Rood. Would you have a few minutes to talk about the problem you’ve been having with Jack Bennett?”
“Yes. A few minutes. Please, come inside.” Mr. Rood opened the door wider and Izzy had to clamp her lips tightly together to keep her tongue from falling out of her mouth at just the foyer of the house. The floor was marble, creamy white with subtle gold flecks embedded throughout, and the vaulted ceilings showcased the understated, but beautiful art on the walls. A mahogany sideboard the size of a small boat flanked one side of the entry, and the other opened into four doorways, clearly leading to other, even larger, sections of the house.
“You have a beautiful home,” Izzy was able to confess with zero irony in her voice. It might not be the sort of place she’d choose to live, but it was undeniably impressive and worthy of saying so. After all, what was the point of owning a house like this if not to use it to render visitors nearly speechless with awe?
“Thank you.” He glanced over at her, and she could see she’d finally begun to chip away at his suspicion—her compliment had him almost smiling back. She’d worried at first that he might be a tougher nut to crack than others she’d encountered, mostly because of his wealth and standing, but like most men, you could get to Corey Rood through his ego. And in this particular case, his ego was so prominently displayed it was kind of hard to miss.
They emerged through the hallway into a yawning cavern of a kitchen with more marble counters and an entire army of cabinets. Every inch was spotless and gleaming. He turned to face her and waved his hand toward one of a number of barstools lined up against one edge of the counter. “Would you like to have a seat, Ms. Dalton?”
She smiled at him gratefully and whipped out her recorder, placing it on the marble counter in front of her with a decisive click to remind him why she was here.
“Something to drink?” he asked, turning toward the largest refrigerator she’d ever
Similar Books
