Her cocksure body language tells me which River I’m going to get. It’s not going to be the sweet, vulnerable woman I’ve come to like. No, this is Romeo Dawson. The one who leaves a woman at every port. It’s amazing how she slips between personalities with such ease. It makes me wonder which one is true. Is the vulnerable River real, or is Romeo Dawson all there is?
If it turns out she’s not, our “experiment” will be short-lived. I meant what I said to her. I don’t want tochange her into someone that fits me. She is who she is. I know there is no advantage to bending someone to your will. It never works and makes everyone miserable. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stick around for someone who will inevitably leave and break my heart.
I’m realising there is a lot more at stake for me in this. I’ve kept my heart closed for a long time. River has somehow got under my skin, and I’ve given her access to a part of me I’m not sure is ready to be seen.
Pushing aside my worry, I focus on the task at hand.
I set up my recorder and notepad, trying to ignore the way River’s lounging in the chair like she owns the place. Professional, Cleo. This is professional.
“Right. Let’s start with why you joined the Navy.”
She grins. “The uniform.”
I don’t look up from my notepad. “I’m serious, River.”
“So am I. Have you seen me in dress whites?”
“River.”
“Fine, fine.” She shifts, and I catch a glimpse of the vulnerable woman from this morning before the cocky mask slides back into place. “I wanted to serve my country. Make a difference. All that noble stuff.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That sounds like it’s straight from a recruitment pamphlet.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Is it?”
Her jaw flexes. “What do you want me to say, Cleo? That I signed for the paycheck? The money is brilliant.”
“The truth. Why are you really here?”
“I just told you.”
“No, you told me what you think I want to hear. Or what you think will sound good in print. I’m asking what actually made you sign up.”
She leans back, arms crossed. “Maybe I like blowing things up. I’m a Weapon Engineer. It’s in the job description.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“I’m answering your questions.”
“You’re giving me nothing.”
“I’m giving you plenty.” That grin again. “In fact, I’d be happy to give you more. Later. In private.”
My cheeks heat, and I hate that she can still do that to me. “This is a professional interview, Dawson.”
“Is it? Because I’m pretty sure we agreed to date. That’s not very professional.”
“We also agreed to keep personal and professional separate.”
“Right. My mistake.” She doesn’t look remotely apologetic. “So, what’s the next question, Ms Carter?”
I grit my teeth. “What’s the most challenging part of your job?”
“Keeping my hands to myself when you’re around.”
“River!”
