CHAPTER ONE
“ONE hundred twenty-three thousand
dollars sitting in a dormant account?” Tilting back in the
executive chair, Mr. Waterman raised a silver eyebrow. “I see
you’ve been your usual diligent self, Jayne.”
“Just doing my job.” Until
recently—until last night, in fact—the dry acknowledgment from
Jayne Nelson’s boss would have made all the sacrificed evenings of
the past week worth it. But yesterday had been her twenty-eighth
birthday, and she’d spent it working overtime instead of
celebrating with her friend Sylvia.
The thrill of getting faint praise
from the senior partner at Pace Waterman Accountants was gone,
vanishing about the same time she bit into her fourth
chocolate-frosted cupcake, left over from the ones Sylvia had
brought to the coffee room to mark her birthday. They’d gone stale,
rather like her life.
“Nevertheless, Brock Neilson’s widow
has every reason to be grateful I designated you as her
accountant.” Mr. Waterman casually tossed the file he’d been
examining onto the desk.
Jayne tried to remain detached,
difficult since the file represented hours of tedious
work.
“How did you know to look for those
CDs when no one else did?” he asked.
No one else had wanted to put in the
effort of auditing the past tax returns. It was a waste of time,
the other accountants had told her. But Jayne had suspected
something was wrong and decided to pursue her hunch on her own. It
wasn’t the first time she’d done so, and it wouldn’t be the last,
which was why, at the relatively tender age of twenty-seven—make
that twenty-eight—Jayne found herself poised on the threshold of a
vice presidency. Unfortunately Mr. Waterman didn’t want to open the
door.
The unsettling thing was that she
didn’t care as much as she had yesterday. Maybe it was the cupcakes
she’d eaten for dinner.
Jayne picked up the file she’d brought
to his attention. “In 1992, there was a steep drop-off in Mr.
Neilson’s reported interest income, which his former accountants
explained by maturing certificates of deposit. I checked and there
was never any record of the CDs in his subsequent financial
statements, nor was there an investment made using those
funds.”
Mr. Waterman shook his head. “He had
two in college and one in medical school about that time. My guess
is he planned to use the cash for the kids.”
Jayne withheld her comment on the
financially questionable decision to leave a chunk of cash sitting
without drawing interest. “Anyway, there wasn’t a record of this
money in his financial assets when he hired Pace Waterman,” she
assured him.
Again Mr. Waterman shook his head.
“Remarkable piece of detective work. My congratulations.” He stood
and offered Jayne his hand.
Just
remember this at my annual review, she thought as she
shook it and returned to her office.
“Amazing Jayne strikes again,” said a
familiar voice behind her.
Jayne grinned. “Listening at the door,
Sylvia?”
“Naturally. It was open.” Sylvia
Dennison, a secretary with the insurance company three floors above
Pace Waterman, and Jayne’s best friend, fell into step beside her.
She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Hey, that sounded pretty
good back there. What did you do this time?”
Jayne tapped the file folder. “Found
money for a widow.”
“That was noble of you.”
“And not just any widow—the widow of
one of Mr. Waterman’s oldest and dearest friends.”
“Way to go, Jayne! Noble and
self-serving at the same time.” Sylvia gave her a look of
approval.
Jayne pushed open the door to her
office. “Must you make everything sound sordid?”
“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you didn’t
think of it.” Sylvia followed her into the office, flopped over the
arm of Jayne’s leather couch and swung her leg back and forth.
“Anyway, I suppose it was worth spending the whole week
and your birthday with a
calculator instead of with me.”
Jayne was busy clearing off her desk,
but didn’t miss the petulance in Sylvia’s voice. “You wouldn’t have
noticed, except that you’re between boyfriends.”
“I noticed because days ago you promised to help me put that
aubergine rinse in my hair.” Sylvia patted her raven
tresses.
Jayne had doubts about the aubergine,
especially after the home perm Sylvia had insisted on giving her.
Instead of full, shiny bouncy hair, she had brown dandelion fluff.
Women accountants didn’t look particularly professional with
dandelion fluff for hair.
“Well, anyway, we should celebrate
tonight.” Sylvia bounced to her feet. “Shall we go to that new club
on Richmond where the brokers hang out? Or how about the sports bar
with the lawyers?”
“I can’t tonight.” And Jayne was glad
because she hated trailing after Sylvia on her manhunting
excursions into Houston’s stylish restaurants. “I’m teaching the
June accounting seminars.”
“Jayne!” Sylvia crossed her arms and
stuck out her lower lip. “Can’t they give you a break? There are a
ton of accountants working here. Why do you always get stuck
teaching the seminars?”
“I like teaching the seminars.” Jayne
emptied her electric pencil sharpener into the wastebasket at the
side of her desk.
“Try this equation—Jayne works nights
equals Jayne never meets anyone.”
“Sylvia.” Jayne swept pencil shavings
off her desk. “You’re sounding like my mother’s Sunday afternoon
phone calls.” And they were probably both right.
A crafty smile lit Sylvia’s face.
“Speaking of relatives—”
“No more blind dates!” At least not
the blind dates Sylvia arranged.
“Are you still mad about
Mogo?”
“As soon as I heard his name was Mogo,
I should have said ‘No go.’” Most of Sylvia’s male relatives played
sports. Mogo, aka Mogo the Magnificent, was a professional
wrestler. Jayne’s question about whether the matches were real or
fixed proved to be the evening’s conversational highlight,
especially since Mogo had chosen to take her to one of his. He’d
abandoned her outside the entrance to the dressing area, apparently
forgetting he’d brought a date, which was fine with
Jayne.
Sylvia opened her mouth, but Jayne
broke in. “Want to join me for a sandwich downstairs?” Food and men
were Sylvia’s two favorite topics.
She groaned. “Not the company snack
bar!”
“I’ve only got an hour before class
starts.”
“Jayne, let’s at least go to the Greek
place across the street.”
Jayne laughed as she retrieved her
purse from the bottom file cabinet drawer. “I thought there weren’t
any men who ate there.”
“No eligible ones.” Sylvia trudged
beside her. “They work around here and I’ve already eliminated them
as possibilities.”
Ten minutes later, Jayne and Sylvia,
seated in a vinyl booth next to the window, were trying to resist a
bowl of salty, oily olives—Sylvia more successfully than
Jayne.
“Jayne, fat and salt equal secretary’s
butt.”
Jayne dropped the black olive. “You
don’t have to keep talking to me in equations.”
“You’re an accountant. You understand
equations.” Sylvia snatched the bread basket away from Jayne’s
creeping hand. “No bread, either!”
“I like olives! I like bread!” Jayne
wailed. She inhaled, her eyes closed. “Warm, yeasty, crusty...I can
smell it from here!”
The basket thudded to the table.
“Heads up. New waiter.”
“I suppose you’re not going to let me
order moussaka, either,” Jayne grumbled as an attractive dark eyed
man approached.
“Perish the thought.”
While Sylvia simpered at the waiter,
Jayne defiantly snuck in her order for moussaka and ate an olive
for good measure. Then another. She was reaching for the bread
basket when she saw him.
The most gorgeous man in the universe,
or at the very least in Texas, stepped from the evening sunshine
into Garcia’s Greek Eats. Impossibly, stunningly handsome, he
paused and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the
interior.
Jayne’s heart hammered with such force
she felt the tremor in her hands. The man was out of Sylvia’s
sight, or Jayne knew the waiter who had captured her friend’s
interest would be forgotten. In fact, when Sylvia did spot this
man, she’d probably kill Jayne for not pointing him out to her
earlier.
But Jayne couldn’t move, couldn’t
breathe and didn’t want to share the beautiful man, though he was
so far above her orbit, he was more dream than
reality.
The restaurant owner approached the
sable-haired god and led him to a table on the opposite side of the
room where he sat in profile to her and still behind
Sylvia.
Jayne swallowed, her mouth dry and
brackish from the olives.
“Jayne?” Sylvia gave her a strange
look.
“What?” With difficulty, Jayne dragged
her gaze away from the Gorgeous One.
“I’ll bring more bread,” the waiter
said smoothly.
Sylvia glanced to Jayne’s bread plate
where three rolls and five olive pits sat.
“Oh.” Jayne stared at rolls she didn’t
remember taking and the pits of the olives she didn’t remember
eating. “I’m hungry?”
With Sylvia still looking at her
skeptically, Jayne bit into a roll and chewed as though she were
enjoying it.
“At least you aren’t slathering them
with butter.” As she spoke, Sylvia looked over Jayne’s shoulder out
the window, allowing Jayne the opportunity to stare at the man
undetected.
From this distance, she couldn’t make
out the minute details of his appearance, but what she saw was more
than enough to steal her breath. Though dressed in a casual shirt
and pants, he had a sleek, well-puttogether look about
him.
Toying with her roll, Jayne only half
listened as Sylvia extolled the virtues of exercise and fat-free
dining and warned Jayne about the dangers of cellulite in women of
their age. Sylvia was nearing thirty—nearer than Jayne, but Jayne
knew better than to point that out.
She sighed and ate a particularly
large olive. No one was likely to see her cellulite
anyway.
“Don’t think I didn’t see you eat that
olive.” Sylvia interrupted her monologue. “I’ve a highly developed
peripheral vision. Nothing much gets by me.”
Except the man behind her and Jayne
decided not to mention him. Once or twice, he checked his watch,
but he never looked their way, of course. When the waiter
approached, he ordered and appeared to be dining alone. Incredible.
The woman in his life—Jayne didn’t doubt there was one—shouldn’t
let him go out alone. If he were in Jayne’s life,
she wouldn’t let him out
of her sight for a minute.
Letting Sylvia’s words waft around
her, Jayne transported herself into the empty chair across from the
man.
He’d raise his eyes to hers, greet her
warmly and smile a smile just for her.
And she’d...
Jayne tried again. And
she’d...she’d...
Nothing. She wouldn’t do anything
because she’d never have the courage to be with or even speak to a
man like that.
Such a man was not for her. She
acknowledged this fact without self-pity. Beautiful people were
attracted to other beautiful people. That was simply a law of
nature intended to protect their gene pool. Others might go
swimming in that pool, but would soon find they were in over their
heads. Survival of the fittest, or in this case,
beautifulest.
“Jayne? Are you listening to
me?”
“Nope.”
“Figures.” Sylvia pointed to Jayne’s
bread plate. “What is with you?”
Jayne stared at her fingers, which
were buried in a mound of bread crumbs. “The bread was dry,” she
declared and withdrew her hand, scattering bread crumbs and bits of
crust across the table. “Really, really dry.”
“And you’re really, really distracted.
Are you going to tell me about it?”
“No,” Jayne said as their dinner
arrived, “I’m not.”
How could she have eaten so much? Jayne
stood in the Pace Waterman conference room and regretted each and
every bite of the moussaka. Well, maybe not the first half-dozen
bites, but after that she should’ve quit eating and would have if
Sylvia hadn’t been scolding her for ordering the heavy dish in the
first place.
She was really cross with Sylvia
because her scolding kept Jayne from daydreaming about the
dreamboat. And then she had to leave the restaurant because of this
seminar and didn’t get a chance to see the man’s full face instead
of his admittedly perfect profile.
Thus, when the most gorgeous man in
the universe strolled into her accounting seminar, Jayne didn’t
recognize him until he turned his head to speak to the dazed woman
already seated in the row. Then he sat at a student desk, looking
for all the world as though he thought he belonged
there.
He didn’t, of course. Spectacularly
gorgeous men did not study accounting at seminars, at least not at
the seminars sponsored by the Pace Waterman accounting firm. In
general, gorgeous people did not study accounting at all. Jayne
knew this, being an accountant herself.
In two minutes, she would have to
start class. This meant that in two minutes, after she welcomed
those present to Accounting for Small Businesses, the breathtaking
man sitting three seats from the front would recognize his mistake,
furrow his brow in attractive confusion, laugh an attractively
selfdeprecating laugh and excuse himself, attractively, from her
life forever.
Jayne had two minutes to imprint every
detail of his perfect features on her psyche. Two minutes to fuel
future fantasies. It wasn’t much, but she could work with
it.
Taking a step closer, she inhaled, as
if to absorb his essence into her being, and let her breath out on
a sigh as her eyes traced the contours of his face.
From the cleft in his chin, her gaze
climbed the steep slope of his cheekbones, waded through the blue
pools of his eyes, tangled in his black brows, slid down an
impossibly straight nose and landed in the valley between his
lips.
His lips. Jayne shivered and clutched
the class roster to the bodice of her navy-blue suit Not skinny
lips and not full, blatantly sensual lips; these lips were kissing
lips. Athletic lips.
Jayne had never been privileged to
kiss or be kissed by such a pair of lips. And even if a man of her
acquaintance possessed such lips, he wouldn’t know what to do with
them. Jayne doubted she would know what to do with them, either,
but she was willing to learn.
Her watch beeped the hour. Lost in the
valley of the shadow of his lips, Jayne tried to ignore the beep
but a restless shifting and a few stray whispers among the two
dozen people seated before her told her she’d better start
class.
Drawing a breath, she spoke the words
which would send the stunning god back to Mount Olympus. “Welcome
to Small Business Accounting sponsored by the accounting firm of
Pace Waterman. I’m Jayne Nelson, your instructor.” She paused,
waiting for him to leave.
He regarded her with an impassive blue
gaze.
“We’ll be meeting twice a week for six
weeks,” she continued, and looked at him expectantly.
He smiled a politely devastating
smile. He had dimples. Jayne smothered her small whimper before it
could escape.
“I’ll call roll, so I can get to know
you.” Please be on the list. Please be
on the list.
Suppressing the impulse to skip all
the female names, Jayne began at the top of the alphabet and was
rewarded when a deep male voice answered, “Here” to the name
Garrett Charles.
Garrett
Charles. Jayne Nelson Charies Jayne Charles. Jaynie
Charles. Mrs. Garrett
Charles. She sighed and raced through the rest of the
roster.
He was on the list. He had actually
paid money to take the class. He belonged here. The accounting gods were
smiling on her.
Pace Waterman offered a variety of
courses and seminars such as this one geared toward people who were
thinking of starting their own businesses. Naturally Pace Waterman
hoped that the business would grow and eventually require the
services of one of their accountants, especially during income tax
season.
The account executives took turns
teaching the seminars and this was Jayne’s rotation.
Lucky Jayne.
She set the roster on the table,
remembering to suck in her moussaka-laden stomach.
“Ninety percent of all start-up
businesses fail within one year due to lack of sufficient operating
capital,” she began, wondering what kind of business Garrett
Charles was in. He looked like the restaurant type.
Why don’t
you ask him? “I’m going to go around the room and
have each of you tell a little about the business you have or plan
to start. Then I can tailor the class more to your needs.”
I’m good I’m really, really
good.
Boutiques, bookstores, craft stores, a
couple of fastfood franchises, restaurants and...
“I’m taking over the family modeling
agency,” he said.
Of course. She should have known that
Garrett Charles was either a model or an actor.
A feminine purr greeted his
announcement as the women unconsciously straightened spines and
hair. The men wore varying looks of disdain and threatened
manhood.
Jayne’s stomach muscles hurt. “I don’t
know anything about the modeling business,” she blurted out.
He knows that. All he has to do is look
at you. You’re five-three and...curvy. And why did you let Sylvia
give you a home perm?
“And I don’t know anything about the
accounting business.” Garrett stretched those gorgeous kissable
lips of his into a smile that revealed teeth so straight and white
they wouldn’t need retouching in a photograph. His dimples deepened
and Jayne’s knees quivered. “I suppose that makes us
even.”
Even. She was even with a man who
could look good in fluorescent lighting.
“And I don’t know anything about this
accounting stuff, either, but I sure would like to,” prompted one
of Jayne’s male students. “So let’s get on with it,
already.”
She couldn’t remember the man’s name
because she hadn’t been paying attention when she called
roll.
Turning to the man, Garrett presented
his perfect profile to Jayne. “And what business are you in,
Mr....?”
“Name’s Monty. My mother-in-law is
coming from Italy to live with the wife and me. She likes to cook.”
He shrugged. “Friend of mine, he’s got a restaurant down in
Montrose and he’s ready to retire. I got a mother-in-law who needs
something to do. I figured, let her cook.” Monty spread his hands.
“So I bought the place.”
“And then you found out about the
paperwork, right?” Garrett’s eyebrows arched.
Monty made a disgusted sound. “You
ain’t kiddin’.”
Garrett had deflected Monty’s heckling
and Jayne fell a little bit in love with him for it. However, this
was her class and she could handle herself.
“Most of you are probably feeling
overwhelmed by the financial records you must keep for the
government.” There was murmured agreement. “That’s exactly why Pace
Waterman recommends that you take this overview. Then afterward,
when you meet with one of our account executives, you’ll be able to
make an informed decision about whether or not you need further
assistance.” And naturally, Pace Waterman was standing by to offer
that assistance, which an average of thirty-seven percent of the
people finishing the seminar accepted—and paid for. The rest either
dropped out, decided that owning their own business wasn’t such a
good idea after all or actually did their own bookkeeping. Rarely
did they contact another accounting firm, a fact Pace Waterman used
to justify subsidizing the courses.
Jayne removed a stack of papers from
the table and passed them out. “This is a schedule of the subjects
we’ll discuss. If you miss a topic, you may come to that session
during another seminar.”
While the class rustled the papers,
Jayne distributed the course notebooks, vinyl binders with the Pace
Waterman logo prominently featured. Jayne’s distaste for the
relentless self-promotion was offset by the valuable information
contained in the binders. Informed clients were satisfied clients
was the Pace Waterman philosophy, to which Jayne heartily
subscribed.
The binders were on a small cart that
Jayne wheeled around the room.
She was going to see Garrett Charles
up close. Would he be just as devastatingly attractive? Would there
be some minute flaw in his appearance? Jayne refused to look his
way until she was actually handing him his notebook.
He glanced up to smile his thanks and
Jayne’s gaze collided with his. Her breath caught. She couldn’t
move. She barely felt him slide the binder out of her nerveless
fingers. The Pace Waterman mint-green and burgundy conference room
ceased to exist as Jayne lost herself in the marvel that was Garret
Charles.
He had beautiful skin the color of
buttery leather with the slightest darkening above his upper lip.
She inhaled and was pleased to discover that he wore no
scent.
“Thank you.” His deep voice broke the
spell that paralyzed her.
Flushing, Jayne lurched toward the
next student.
And bashed the cart into Garrett’s
knee.
She knew it the instant she felt the
bump. “I’m so sorry!” she gasped as he grimaced.
But it was an elegant, manly grimace,
quickly smoothed.
“No.” He waved away her apology and
briefly massaged his leg. “I should have moved my foot out of the
aisle.”
“But it must hurt!” Jayne knelt to
inspect the damage, brushing at the place on his khaki-clad thigh
where the cart had left a dark smudge.
“It’s fine now. Really.” He placed his
hand directly over hers.
Jayne stared at the well-shaped hand
with its ringless fingers covering hers. She felt the muscles of
his leg tense under her fingers and in that instant, became fully
aware of her position. His waist and points south were directly in
her line of sight and her hand was on the hard muscles of his
thigh.
Meeting his faintly amused blue eyes,
Jayne gasped a horrified, “Ohmigosh!”, shot to her feet and blindly
pushed the cart.
There was a shuffling sound as the
rest of the students drew in their legs. Behind her, Jayne knew at
least three feet separated the cart from the next row of desks.
Plenty of room, unless one were trying to get as close as possible
to Garrett Charles, which she had been.
Parking the cart in the front, Jayne
gathered her tattered composure and faced the class. “If any of you
had concerns about your personal safety during the class, I believe
I’ve sufficiently demonstrated my proficiency with the rolling
cart—” she gave it a pat “—a vastly underrated
weapon.”
Soft laughter broke the tension, but
Jayne didn’t know how she got through the next two hours, or even
what she said. Every time she looked at Garrett, she was in danger
of losing her place in the lesson, so she had to concentrate more
than usual. By the time she dismissed class, she had a
headache.
Resting her forehead against the dry
erase board prior to cleaning it, Jayne didn’t realize at first
that she had company.
“Are you all right?” asked a deep male
voice behind her.
She whirled around, then jammed the
heel of her hand against her head as the pain speared through it.
“Uh, I’ve got a headache,” she managed to say even though voices in
her poor abused head were shouting at her to say something
witty.
His brow furrowed in attractive
wrinkles. Attractive
wrinkles for Pete’s sake. “I’m sorry.” He sounded as
though he meant it. Good trick. “I noticed that you seemed
distracted this evening,” he began diplomatically, “and I hope it
wasn’t because you felt awkward about bumping me with the
cart.”
Bumping. How kind he was. “I am
so sorry about that. How’s
your leg? It’s bruised, isn’t it?” she asked, when he
hesitated.
“Don’t worry about it.” A corner of
his mouth tilted upward, deepening a dimple. “Accidents
happen.”
“That’s very generous of
you.”
“Why? You’re telling me it wasn’t an
accident?”
Jayne’s eyes widened. “Of course it
was!” she spluttered, horrified.
Garrett laughed lightly and touched
her briefly on the shoulder. “Relax. I’m kidding. I only wanted you
to know that I’m not the kind of person who’ll have his lawyer
camping on your doorstep within twentyfour hours, in case you were
worried.”
Jayne’s mouth opened. She’d never even
considered that he might sue. Her financial life flashed before
her.
He raised an eyebrow. “Everything
okay?”
Jayne shut her mouth and, having lost
the power of speech, nodded.
“See you on Thursday, then.” He turned
and walked out of the conference room, footsteps muffled by the
industrial carpeting.
Jayne stared after him. He was coming
back! She was going to get a second chance!
So what was she going to do with
it?