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suppose this is the only restaurant in town?”
    â€œWell, there’s Pietri’s, but he’s closed for renovation right now,” Drew said, his eyes glinting. “And you were the one who wanted to go out.”
    Yeah, she’d been the one who’d wanted to go out. She’d wanted to get the upper hand on neutral territory. She should have known better. This entire town was his territory. She’d done more research that afternoon—the slides had gone a long way toward showing her what his company did. She also discovered that his steel plant provided most of the jobs in the small townof San Angelo. Since they’d sat for dinner, she’d counted no less than twenty people who’d come over to say hi or to have a word with Drew—and express concern about the future of the plant.
    They’d also given her the once-over, being the outsider that she was. She got the feeling that they didn’t see Drew outside the plant much—or out with women, for that matter.
    It really shouldn’t have made her feel good to know this, but it did.
    â€œListen to me,” she said, leaning a bit closer to him. “You’re throwing around too many figures here and not enough sales points. Why should they help you?”
    He had leaned in to hear her, as well, and she could smell the spicy cologne he was wearing. “Because we’re a great steel mill,” he said defensively. “We’re—”
    â€œYou, you, you,” she interrupted. “They don’t care about you.”
    He looked at her, his blue eyes sparking. “Then why should I do the thing at all?”
    There was something about him angry that just made something inside her churn with emotion. To be specific, frustration.
    â€œHow did you get this far when you’re constantly leading with your chin?” she asked more to herself than him. However, the band had decided to close out their set, and in the relative quiet she could tell Drew had caught her comment.
    â€œI thought you were going to try helping me,” he said with sarcasm. “But gee, I can’t thank you enough for dinner with such a charming companion.”
    â€œYou’re picking up the tab,” she said before she could stop herself. Then she took a deep breath.“Okay. Let me start this over. Investors are like anybody else. They’re motivated by self-interest. If you want them to give you money, you have to show what’s in it for them. ”
    She was going to continue, but he was staring at her with a strange expression—she would’ve almost said sadness. “Do you really believe that?”
    She blinked. “Do I really believe what?”
    â€œThat everybody’s in it for themselves.”
    She stared at him.
    He had changed out of his suit—she wondered if her comment had anything to do with that decision—and was now wearing a T-shirt, like herself, and a pair of jeans. He had the shadow of stubble grazing his jawline, and his office must’ve gotten characteristically hot because he had the slightest sheen of sweat at his temples. He looked rough, rugged. Possibly dangerous, in all the right ways.
    And he was an idealist.
    A six-foot-five, black-haired, blue-eyed, gorgeous idealist.
    She resisted the urge to tug her hair by the roots. This was going to be rougher than she’d thought.
    â€œI’m not saying that the investors are bad people,” she said slowly. “And I’m not saying that you’re just trying to suck up to them, either.”
    â€œReally?”
    She was going to have to teach him not to drawl like that, all sarcastic and biting. She straightened her shoulders.
    â€œI’m one of the best P.R. and media coaches in the business. I could show you reams of data that show what I’ve done for my clients.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Would that have made a difference?”
    She smiled when he