Okay, this was strange, he thought. “You had a glass of wine before,” he said. “Don’t you want that?”

“Instead of chocolate? No.”

She stood there in a shapeless blue sweater that matched her eyes and a patterned skirt that went to her knees. Her feet were bare and he could see she’d painted little daisies on her toes. Aside from that, Annie McCoy was strictly utilitarian. No makeup, no jewelry to speak of. Just a plain, inexpensive watch around her left wrist. Her hair was an appealing color. Shades of gold in a riot of curls that tumbled past her shoulders. She wasn’t a woman who spent a lot of time on her appearance.

Which was fine by him. The outside could easily be fixed. He was far more concerned about her character. From what he’d seen in the past ten minutes, she was compassionate, caring and led with her heart. In other words, a sucker. Happy news for him. Right now he needed a bleeding-heart do-gooder to get his board off his back long enough for him to wrestle control from them.

“You haven’t answered my question,” he reminded her.

Annie sighed. “I know. Mostly because I still don’t know what you want from me.”

He pointed to the rickety chairs pushed up against the table. “Why don’t we sit down.”

It was her house-she should be doing the inviting. Still Annie found herself dragging her chair over to the table and plopping down. Politeness dictated that she offer him some of her precious store of M &M’s, but she had a feeling she was going to need them later.

He took a seat across from her and rested his large arms on the table. “I run a company,” he began. “Patrick Industries.”

“Tell me it’s a family business,” she said, without thinking. “You inherited it, right? You’re not such a total egomaniac that you named it after yourself.”