The sound of metal striking concrete echoed from beneath a battered motorcycle parked near the orphanage's side entrance. Sebastian followed the noise, Duncan trailing a few steps behind with obvious reluctance. Tool handles and what looked like the remains of several dismantled engines littered the ground around the bike, creating a mechanical graveyard that spoke of countless repair attempts.
"Vivian," Duncan called out, his voice carrying a warning note. "You have a visitor."
A stream of creative profanity emerged from under the motorcycle, followed by the sharp clang of a wrench being dropped. Two oil-stained boots appeared first, then long legs encased in worn denim that had seen better decades. Sebastian found himself holding his breath as the rest of the figure slid out from beneath the machine.
The woman who emerged was nothing like what he'd expected, and everything he'd never dared hope for.
Vivian Harrington rose to her feet in one fluid motion, wiping grease-blackened hands on a rag that had given up any pretense of cleanliness long ago. Her dark hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail, though several rebellious strands had escaped to frame her face. The oversized work shirt she wore hung loose over her frame, but couldn't hide the unmistakable curves beneath. When she turned to face them fully, Sebastian felt his carefully maintained composure crack.
She was beautiful. Not in the polished, artificial way of the society women who frequented his business circles, but with a raw, uncompromising intensity that hit him like a physical blow. High cheekbones and a stubborn chin gave her face character, while her eyes-a startling shade of green-held a wariness that spoke of hard-won experience.
Those same green eyes were currently fixed on him with undisguised hostility.
"Who the hell is this?" Vivian demanded, jerking her head toward Sebastian while addressing Duncan. Her voice carried a roughness around the edges that suggested she wasn't accustomed to moderating her language for polite company. "Please tell me you didn't sell us out to another one of those vultures from Morrison Construction."
Sebastian opened his mouth to respond, but Vivian wasn't finished. She took a step forward, her boots crunching on scattered metal debris, and pointed the wrench she still held directly at his chest.
"Let me save you some time, pretty boy. Whatever offer your company thinks is going to convince us to sell this place, you can shove it where the sun don't shine. We're not moving. Not for you, not for Morrison, not for anybody. So why don't you climb back into whatever fancy car brought you up here and-"
"I'm not with Morrison Construction," Sebastian interjected smoothly, though his pulse had quickened at her unexpected vehemence. The way she moved, the controlled aggression in her posture-this was someone who could handle herself in a fight. Someone who'd had to. "My name is Sebastian Forsythe, and I'm here about something much more specific than real estate."