An Innocent in Paradise

“I want you in my bed, Grace.”

He trailed a path up her neck and along her jaw. “I want you wrapped up in nothing but me. I want to touch and feel every inch of your body with my hands and my mouth and tongue. I want to make you hot. I want to make you scream.”

His mouth at her ear, his warm breath on her skin, made Grace feel boneless with the want rampaging through her.

So now the question was, did she trust Logan enough to allow him to do all those things his whispered promises had suggested?

Oh, who was she kidding? She wanted him so much, she could barely sit still. If she couldn’t have trust, she would settle for lust.

Dear Reader,

During the past year, I’ve introduced you to the three Duke brothers, Adam, Brandon and Cameron. Now it’s time to meet their cousin Logan Sutherland. Logan and his identical twin brother, Aidan, spent their younger years surfing and swimming and partying, then won their first bar in a college poker game. Since that time, they’ve parlayed their winnings into a chain of lavish bars and resorts, plus an island or two. Logan Sutherland is wealthy, powerful and ambitious. (My favorite kind of hero!)

Enter Grace Farrell, a brilliant scientist who’s lived her entire life inside a university laboratory, working on research that could save lives and change the world. Grace doesn’t get out much, to say the least, but she’s about to invade Logan’s world in a major way!

Optimistic, scholarly Grace and cynical, worldly Logan couldn’t be more different from each other. But to me, there’s no notion more romantic than the concept of “Opposites Attract.” It’s going to take a lot to get these two diametrical opposites together, but they’ll definitely find it’s worth it in the end. It doesn’t hurt that the story takes place on the Caribbean island of Alleria with its white sand beaches, tropical rain forest, hidden lagoons and turquoise waters. I can’t think of a more beautiful setting for romance.

I hope you enjoy Logan and Grace’s story! Please stop by my website, www.katecarlisle.com, and let me know. While there, you’ll find pictures and links to some of the fantasy resorts I dreamed about while writing this story, as well as background stories and fun facts about me and my books.

Happy reading!

Kate

About the Author

New York Times bestselling author KATE CARLISLE was born and raised by the beach in Southern California. After more than twenty years in television production, Kate turned to writing the types of mysteries and romance novels she always loved to read. She still lives by the beach in Southern California with her husband, and when they’re not taking long walks in the sand or cooking or reading or painting or taking bookbinding classes or trying to learn a new language, they’re traveling the world, visiting family and friends in the strangest places. Kate loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.katecarlisle.com.

An Innocent
in Paradise
Kate Carlisle

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my four favorite plotters,

Susan Mallery, Maureen Child, Christine Rimmer and

Theresa Southwick. Thanks so much for the inspiration,

motivation, support, threats and laughs.

Drinks are on me, ladies!

One

Logan Sutherland was strolling toward the hotel lobby of the exclusive Alleria Resort when the jarring sound of shattering glass reverberated from the cocktail lounge.

“Price of doing business,” Logan muttered. But he stopped and listened for another moment.

And heard nothing. Not a sound.

“Hell,” he said, and checked his watch. The conference call was scheduled to start in fifteen minutes. He didn’t have time for this. But the ominous silence made him change direction and head for the bar.

Logan and his twin brother, Aidan, had made their fortunes designing and operating exotic, upscale cocktail bars in high-end hotels all over the world. So the sound of breaking glassware was rarely a cause for alarm. But in his experience, the breakage was invariably followed by raucous cheers, jeers and laughter. Never silence.

Silence meant something was wrong. And Logan Sutherland was not a man who allowed things to go wrong without doing something about it.

He walked into the casually elegant bar and noted that the sound level still hadn’t risen, even though the place was busy and most of the tables were occupied by hotel guests having a good time. Cocktail waitresses and waiters moved swiftly from table to table, serving drinks and appetizers. The quiet was disconcerting.

A small group of his people were gathered in a knot at the far end of the long bar, all of them crouched on the floor. He approached the head bartender on duty. “What’s going on, Sam?”

Sam flicked his chin toward the other end of the bar. “New cocktail waitress dropped a full tray of drinks.”

“Why is it so quiet?”

Sam took a few seconds to study the drink station halfway down the long bar where two junior bartenders were efficiently refilling the drink orders. Then he turned and made eye contact with Logan. “We’re all a little worried about her, boss.”

“Why?” Logan glanced again at the small crowd. “Did she cut herself?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Naw, she’s just a real sweet kid. It wouldn’t be nice to laugh at her.”

Logan frowned at the brawny former Marine, then turned to get a better look at the new employee.

The small group of servers and busboys picked up the last of the big chunks of broken glass and dispersed, heading back to their own stations. One waitress remained as a busboy swept the residual shards of glass into a dustpan. Then she knelt down and, with several bar towels, sopped up the rest of the liquid.

“Thank you so much, Paolo,” the waitress said, and squeezed the busboy’s arm affectionately. He took the clump of towels from her and she headed back to the drinks station. That’s when Logan got his first look at the “real sweet kid.” And felt a solid wall of heat almost knock him off his footing.

His second thought was: Hope she’s wearing sunblock, because her skin was so pale and smooth and creamy.

His first thought had been vividly X-rated and not suitable for discussion in mixed company.

And none of that made him happy.

She was a classic redhead with a peaches-and-cream complexion and a light dusting of freckles across her nose. Thick, dark red hair tumbled down her back in rich, lustrous waves. In her official uniform of bikini top and filmy sarong, Logan couldn’t help but notice she had a world-class butt and perfect breasts.

She was tall, a quality Logan preferred in his women—not that it mattered, since he didn’t have time for or interest in a relationship right now. On the other hand, who said anything about a relationship? He could always make time for sex. Maybe he ought to rethink his schedule since staring at her was causing him to calculate how quickly it would take to get her into his bed.

She walked with the sort of poise that some tall women possessed naturally. That made the fact that she’d spilled a large tray of drinks even more baffling to him, since she didn’t seem clumsy at all. On the contrary, she appeared confident and self-assured. Smart. Hard to believe she’d ever spilled anything in her life.

So what kind of game was she playing?

Logan thought of his tough bartender, Sam, calling her sweet and worrying about her sensitivities. Well, Sam wouldn’t be the first man drawn in by a conniving, manipulative woman.

The woman in question finally noticed Logan and her eyes lit up as she smiled directly at him. Okay, she was a stunner for sure. Logan felt as if he were the only man in the room and understood how his burly bartender had turned into such a pussycat in her presence.

Her mouth was wide and sexy, her lips full and lush. Her eyes were big and green and twinkled with an open friendliness that seemed genuine. She’d probably been practicing that generous smile forever. If nothing else, it would certainly help her garner the big tips.

Of course, she wouldn’t be getting many tips if she kept spilling the customers’ drinks. And that’s why he was here, lest he forgot.

Before he could step up and introduce himself, the two bartenders finished her drink order and called her over.

“Oh, thank you, guys,” she said, her voice as appealing as her smile. “You’re both so sweet.”

Logan watched the experienced bartenders’ faces redden at the simple compliment, just as the woman pulled a small notebook from her waistband and studied it for a moment. She slipped the notebook away, then began arranging the drinks carefully on the tray in some kind of circular order. When she was finished, she grabbed the tray with both hands and started to lift it. There was a sudden hush around the room as the large tray bobbled awkwardly and the woman’s eyes widened.

Without thinking, Logan rushed to her. He whisked the tray out of her hands, lifted it onto his shoulder and held it in place with one hand. Then he looked down at her. “Where’s this going?”

“Oh, aren’t you wonderful?” she said with another wide-eyed smile. “It goes right over here.” She led the way to a four-top by the wall of windows overlooking the white-sand beach. She gestured with her hand. “These drinks are for Mr. and Mrs. McKee and their friends.”

“Hey, doll,” the older man said. “I told you I’d come and get those drinks for you, but it looks like you found yourself a helper there.”

A guest of the Alleria resort was willing to get his own drinks for her? Okay, that was bad enough, but did this guest actually think Logan was the waitress’s lackey? It was about time he and Ms. Clumsy had a long talk.

“Oh, Mr. McKee, thank you for offering,” the waitress said, then turned and patted Logan’s arm. “But all the servers here are so helpful that—”

“It’s no problem at all, sir,” Logan interrupted, lowering the drink tray onto the edge of the table. He quickly passed the drinks out, then said as affably as he could manage, “Enjoy your cocktails.”

“You betcha, pal,” Mr. McKee said and took a big sip of his banana daiquiri. “Man, these go down smooth.”

“Here you go, sweetie,” Mrs. McKee said, and tucked a fifty-dollar bill into the waitress’s hand. “That’s for all your trouble.”

“Oh, my goodness,” the waitress said, staring at the money, then back at her customers. “Thank you so much.”

“No, thank you, doll.” Mr. McKee winked. “You’re a cutie-pie and we’re just sorry we loaded you up with our orders.”

She waved off the apology. “Oh, that’s—”

“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. McKee,” Logan interrupted. “Please enjoy your day.” Then he grabbed the waitress’s arm and led her gently but firmly away from the table. He stopped at the bar, where he dropped off the tray, then scooted her across the room and out the door.

“Wait,” she protested, squirming against him. “You have to let me go. I can’t leave the lounge right now. I’m working.”

“We’re going to have a little talk first,” Logan said, smiling grimly as he led her down the hall toward his office.

“Stop,” she insisted as she struggled to pull her arm from his grasp. “Honestly, who do you think you are?”

“At the moment I’m your employer,” he said, glaring down at her. “But I don’t expect that status to last much longer.”

Grace cringed at his revelation. Of all the people to have rescued her from another spilled tray of drinks, why did it have to be one of the Sutherland brothers?

Before leaving for Alleria, Grace had done some cursory research on Logan and Aidan Sutherland. They’d risen to the top of the surfing world in their teenage years, then parlayed their winnings into fancy nightclubs and bars all over the world. Rumor had it they’d won their first bar in a college poker game; but Grace didn’t believe that story was anything more than an urban legend.

The most recent story she’d read about the Sutherland twins centered on them joining forces with their cousins, the Duke brothers, who owned a number of luxurious resorts on the West Coast.

Grace had seen photographs of the Sutherland men online, but those pictures were all action shots of the brothers surfing or sailing. None of them had shown how good-looking they were up close, nor had the photos given her even one, tiny warning of the disconcerting amount of physical power and dynamism the man striding next to her would exude in person.

Halfway down the hall, her new boss stopped at a set of double doors and flicked a plastic card through a security slide. He ushered her through the door and into a large, beautifully furnished hotel suite. An attractive sofa and several overstuffed chairs in muted shades of chocolate-brown and rich taupe were clustered at one end of the large room. The other half of the room contained a set of large, elegant office furniture along with all the usual equipment necessary to run a twenty-first-century office.

“This is where you work?” She turned around slowly to take it all in. Plantation shutters were opened to reveal an entire wall of sliding glass doors that led to a wide private terrace and showed off the spectacular view beyond of palm trees, sunshine, pristine white sand and clear, turquoise water.

It was one of the most beautiful sights Grace had ever seen and she stopped to admire it for several long seconds.

“Nice view, isn’t it?” Mr. Sutherland said.

“It’s stunning,” she said, and turned to look at him. “You’re so lucky.”

“Yeah, it’s good to be king,” he said, and flashed her a confident grin that made her knees go weak. She rubbed her stomach and wondered if maybe she should’ve had more to eat for breakfast than just granola and mango juice, because her knees had never gone weak before in her entire life.

But looking at him again, she realized she would just have to learn to live with rubbery knees. He was tall and imperious, she thought, with dark blue eyes that glimmered with cynicism. She hoped there was some glint of empathy underneath that cynicism.

He picked up the phone and when someone answered, he said, “Reschedule the conference call for four o’clock.” Then he hung up and stared at Grace. She knew she was in trouble but it didn’t stop her from enjoying the sight of those riveting blue eyes that seemed to see right through her. His jaw was firm and strong and he had a small cleft in his square chin. His nose was just slightly crooked, which gave him a raffish charm she found nonsensically alluring.

“Sit,” he said brusquely, indicating one of the plush chairs that faced the massive mahogany desk. She sat quickly, then noticed that he’d chosen to remain standing. The better to intimidate her, of course.

But that was fine. If these were to be her last few minutes on the Caribbean island, she would be perfectly happy to spend them staring at Mr. Sutherland. The man was stunningly handsome and muscular—not that she’d seen any of his actual muscles in person. Sadly, his impeccably tailored black suit covered his rugged frame completely. But Grace knew the man was built because of the way he’d so casually taken that heavy drink tray from her hands and lifted it up onto his shoulder so effortlessly.

Granted, before this trip to Alleria she hadn’t gotten out of her laboratory much, but she’d never seen anything quite like him. His arms and shoulder muscles had to be in remarkable condition. She itched to squeeze them.

And that was an absolutely ridiculous thought, she scolded herself.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here,” he said, interrupting her pleasant daydream, “and bet that you’ve never worked as a cocktail waitress before. Am I right?”

She took a deep breath or two as she considered lying to him, then changed her mind. She’d never been very good at prevarication. Still, it wouldn’t do to tell him everything. But then she argued with herself, Oh, why not? Finally she said, “Yes, you’re right, but—”

“That’s all I wanted to know,” he said pleasantly. “You’re fired.”

“No!” she cried, gripping the arms of her chair. “You can’t fire me. Not yet.”

“Not yet?” he repeated. “Why not? Because you haven’t had a chance to break my entire supply of glassware?”

Her shoulders sagged. “No, of course not. But…I can’t go home.”

His eyes focused in on her. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Grace. Grace Farrell.”

“Wait a minute.” He cocked his head as though he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Your name is Grace?”

She nodded gravely. “That’s right.”

“You’re kidding.” He chuckled, then leaned his hip against his desk and began to laugh, a deep rich sound that caused tingles to stir in her stomach.

What the heck was so funny about her name?

“Oh,” she said, finally getting the joke. The very lame joke, she might add. “Yes, well, I suppose I wasn’t very graceful out there.”

“You think?” He snorted.

She blinked and sat up straighter in her chair. “You don’t have to be rude.”

“Sweetheart, you’re the one who lied on your job application.”

“I didn’t—How did you know I lied?” She groaned inwardly. She couldn’t even lie about lying. That was just sad.

“Easy.” He folded his arms across his impressive chest in a move Grace knew was meant to daunt her. And it was working, sort of. She was more than a bit overwhelmed by him, if her inability to breathe was any indication.

“I don’t hire inexperienced waitresses,” he continued. “Since we did hire you, your application must’ve stated that you knew what you were doing. And you obviously don’t, which means you lied. And since you no longer work for me, I can be as rude as I want.”

“I hope you’ll reconsider,” she said, sniffing with annoyance at the logic of his argument. “I had a very good reason for lying—er, fudging the truth.”

“Fudging?” He leaned one hip against the edge of his desk. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

She frowned at him. “Are you willing to listen to reason?”

“I’m a reasonable man,” he said, waving his hand at her as if granting her permission to speak. “Just make it fast. I was on my way to making a very important phone call when I was interrupted by your little scene out there.”

“Oh, I’m really sorry about that.”

“Yeah, me, too. So?”

“Right. Well, it’s simple, really.” She took a quick moment to wish she was dressed in something more professional than a bikini top that revealed most of her breasts and a thin wisp of cloth that was knotted well below her belly button. But since she couldn’t exactly run back to her room and change clothes, she took another deep breath and blurted, “You have spores.”

He stared at her for a length of time, then shook his head. “No, I don’t. I bathe daily.”

She blinked, gasped, then laughed. “Oh, no, not you personally. Your island. There are rare spores growing here on Alleria that will save lives someday. I’m a research scientist and I’ve come here to collect and study them.”

He continued to stare her down as he seemed to consider the situation. She thought she saw something akin to a hint of reasoning in his eyes. But then he checked his watch and said, “Okay, nice try. I’ll expect you off the island within the hour.”

“What? No!” She jumped up from her chair. “Mr. Sutherland, you don’t understand. I refuse to leave this island. I need to stay here and work.”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid you’re the one who doesn’t understand, Ms. Farrell.”

“You’re wrong. I do understand,” she insisted, shaking her finger at him. “I know I lied and maybe you think you have every right to fire me, but I am not leaving this island until I get what I came for.”

Logan couldn’t help but admire the fire of righteous vehemence in Grace Farrell’s eyes. It seemed to light up her entire body and made him wonder if she would show that same level of passion in bed. When he thrust himself into her, would she scream with pleasure?

His eyes narrowed at the mental picture and he shook himself back to reality. What the hell was he doing, thinking of her in terms of a sex partner? She’d lied on her résumé, broken his glassware and wasted his time. She had no business staying on his island a minute longer than necessary.

But the vivid sexual image took a few knots of wind out of his sails and he took a moment to reconsider the idea of throwing her off the island. Yes, she was a liar, but she was a gorgeous one. Why not enjoy a few rounds of mutually enjoyable sex before tossing her off the island?

Hell, that idea was growing more appealing by the minute. Maybe he’d been working too hard lately, because he realized he wasn’t quite as ready to get rid of her as he was a few minutes ago. Didn’t mean he trusted the woman for a second, but frankly, he hadn’t been this amused or intrigued—or aroused—in months. That was worth a few minutes of his time. It wouldn’t hurt to let her talk.

“So tell me about these spores you’re so anxious to find,” he said, as he sat and made himself comfortable on the overstuffed couch. Might as well enjoy the show for as long as it lasted, he thought.

She was pacing now and pounding her fist into her palm, clearly committed to her cause. “Allerian spores flawlessly mimic human reproductive genes and are essential to my continued experimentation in gene replication. I’ve been working on this project every day for almost ten years and have been using the same batch of spores for the past two years. It’s imperative that I acquire a fresh consignment in order to obtain new funding and continue my studies.”

“Gene replication?”

She stopped midpace. “You know what that is?”

“Well, sure.” He frowned. “Generally. Yeah.”

“Oh, that’s good. That’s wonderful!” She clasped her hands together and pressed them to her breastbone. “Then you understand how important my work is and how vital it is that I find new spores. My dissertation detailing their meiotic patterns and the ability to exploit the resulting haploid cells has already gained international interest. I’m positive that further study will ultimately lead to unlocking the secrets to curing some of the worst diseases known to modern man.”

“Oh, yeah?” He’d lost her at “meiotic patterns” but wasn’t about to mention it.

“Absolutely.” She held up her thumb and forefinger and squeezed them together. “I’m this close to finishing the preliminary studies and I’ve applied for further grant money in order to move to the next level. It’s urgent and important work. But I need fresh, large batches of spores and I need them soon.”

“I see,” he said, stretching his arm out across the back of the sofa.

Clearly frustrated by his blasé tone, she stopped her pacing and said quietly, “Look, Mr. Sutherland, I am a scientist, a very good one. And I…I need this job here in order to conduct my studies. Your resort is the main source of employment on the island.”

“It’s the only source of employment, Ms. Farrell, but let’s not nitpick.” Staring out the sliding glass doors, he carefully avoided making eye contact as he returned to his original argument. “So the reason you lied on your résumé was so that I would hire you so that you could live here at my resort for free and study our spores.”

“Well, yes, and—”

“And you thought you’d coast right into the mindless job of waitress in our cocktail bar to cover your costs.”

“I suppose that’s right, but—”

“And yet, you’ve never been a cocktail waitress.”

“Well, no, but—”

“Well, then.” He lifted his shoulders in a move meant to indicate only one conclusion. “At the risk of repeating myself, you’re fired.”

“Wait!” She rushed over and sat on the couch mere inches from him, her breasts rising and falling with her rapid, anxious breathing. Her scent, some exotic blend of spice and…was it orange blossoms?…enveloped him. Up close, he could see a pale smattering of freckles on her shoulders. He had the most bizarre urge to touch them.

“Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?” she said. “I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t have to leave,” he said genially. “Feel free to book a room at the resort and study spores as much as you want. But don’t expect me to subsidize your trip.”

“But …” A heavy frown marred the smooth surface of her forehead and her lower lip was in danger of quivering. She wasn’t going to cry, was she? If she did, Logan swore he would throw her out of here faster than she could say meiotic … whatever. Crying was the ultimate weapon of female manipulation. He’d learned that the hard way.

“I can’t book a room here,” she confessed. “It’s too expensive. The only way I can stay is if you’ll let me work for you.”

He raised one eyebrow. “No.”

“Fine,” she said defiantly, and jumped up from the couch. “I’ll sleep on the beach, but I’m not leaving.”

“Wait just a damn minute,” he said, standing. “Nobody sleeps on my beach.”

She turned. “Your beach?”

“That’s right. I own most of this island and I say who comes and goes. And I don’t want vagrants setting up camp on my beach.”

“I’m not a vagrant,” she muttered as she folded her arms tightly across her chest. Her lower lip stuck out in a pout and as much as he hated the manipulation game, he had to admit he wanted to run his tongue over those pouty lips of hers. He had to give her points for that.

She swallowed nervously and took another deep breath and it seemed to help her regain some inner resolve. Her lips tightened and she faced him head-on. “I’m not leaving, Mr. Sutherland. I need to find those spores. I won’t go home without them.”

He observed her quietly for a long moment. “You don’t look like a research scientist.”

She rolled her eyes. “What do my looks have to do with anything?”

He almost laughed. Her looks had almost everything to do with why he’d allowed her to make her case in the first place. If she didn’t understand that, then maybe she had been hiding out in a stuffy laboratory for the past ten years.

Wait. Ten years? He knew she couldn’t be much older than twenty-five, which meant she’d been doing her so-called research since she was fifteen. If she was telling the truth, that is. Obviously, she wasn’t.

She was a liar, plain and simple.

Before he could comment aloud, she waved her arms and forged ahead. “Fine. I may not look like your notion of a research scientist, but that’s exactly what I am. And I have every intention of staying here until I’ve got everything I need to finish my work.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.”

He noticed she was barely able to keep from squirming under his sharp gaze. Good.

Then, without warning, she stepped even closer and stared hard at him, eye to eye. Well, eye to chest was more accurate, since he towered over her. But that detail didn’t seem to intimidate her.

“Look, I’m not above begging,” she admitted. “I intend to stay on this island and I’m willing to do anything you want me to do. If you refuse to let me be a cocktail waitress, I’ll clean hotel rooms or wash dishes or…or water your plants. I just ask that my mornings be kept free for the spores. That’s why the cocktail waitress job is ideal, but there must be something else I can do around here. Oh, I can cook! Well, I’m not a great cook, but I can make salads or cut up fruit or …”

Anything he wanted her to do? Did she realize how dangerous that offer was? Was she truly that naive? For a second or two, Logan wondered about her and her wide-eyed innocence, then roughly shook the thought away. He didn’t believe it. Grace Farrell was as manipulative as every other woman he’d ever met. Intriguing, gorgeous, sexy, but a manipulative liar just the same.

Damn, his brain was fogging over from her erotic scent. Maybe he was crazy, but he wanted his hands on her.

“Fine,” he said. “You’ve got one week to prove you can handle the cocktail waitress job. If not, you’re off the island.”

“Oh, thank you!” Without warning, she threw herself into his arms. “Thank you so much. I can do it.”

He drew in her scent and warmth, then forced himself to take hold of her elbows and nudge her out of his arms. “Just make sure you don’t break any more glasses.”

“I won’t, sir.”

“And don’t call me sir.”

She smiled tentatively. “Mr. Sutherland.”

“Nobody calls me that, either. It’s Logan.”

“Thank you, Logan. And please call me Grace.” She surprised him by taking hold of his hand, then gazed up at him, unsmiling. “You have no idea what this means to me and to the world at large. And I promise, I’ll be the best cocktail waitress you’ve ever hired.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, yes,” she said with confidence, then let go of his hand and whipped out her small notebook. “I’m very smart and a quick learner. I’ve already memorized the ingredients of every drink in the bartenders’ guide I bought. And as far as lifting the trays? Well, it’s just physics, after all. Simply a matter of determining the correct spatial placement of the glassware on the tray. Look.”

She flipped the pages and showed him a diagram. “As you can see, it’s an exact duplication of our own solar system. In miniature, of course. My theory is that if the drinks are dispersed in this pattern on the tray, equilibrium will be achieved and there shouldn’t be any spillage.”

His mouth twisted in an acerbic grin. “Interesting theory.”

“Yes.” She stared at the diagram, then back at him. “I was just a little surprised to find out how heavy the tray was when I lifted it. But I know I can—”

“That’s right, Grace, it’s more than just physics,” he said deprecatingly. “There’s also a little matter of balance and proper weight distribution, not to mention the right application of upper-body strength.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Grace said, eagerly grabbing a pen from his desk to make some notes in her pad. “That’s very good. So you agree, it’s a perfectly simple job once you get the dynamics hammered down.”