by J. D. Fox
“I appreciate the partners usually handle your work, but I assure you that Mr. Wentz wouldn’t put me on the job unless I was fully qualified.”
“Of course. Let’s make this short. I’m driving.”
“Sure, Mr. Palmer. Okay... so the accounting is— um, incomplete. I can’t match certain deposits to the entries.”
“And this means?”
“Either someone is careless, or misplaced funds.”
“That’s diplomatic.”
“At this point, it’s not a good idea to throw around accusations; there’s still a lot I don’t know. For instance, entries could have been miskeyed.”
“I see.”
“In any case, I need access to the hard copies of invoices and banking records.”
“The second I can definitely do: I’ll send the information to you. The other may take time. I’m not in the office now.”
“I understand. Get as much as you can. You did say you wanted this work ASAP.”
ASAP meant before the wedding and Talia doing something she’ll regret. I didn’t know what was going on with my brother and his business, but she doesn’t need to be in the middle of it, especially when the proverbial crap hits the fan.
Sure, Sam. That’s what you’re concerned about, her welfare. Your concerns have nothing to do with your horror at Talia being locked down in matrimony to another man.
“Yes, I did. Thank you, Mr. Atkins.”
“I just sent you an email with my contact information.”
My phone dinged.
“Thanks. You’ll hear from me soon.”
Talia sat up straight and shook her head, blinking. There was something so vulnerable about her waking up that went straight to my cock. Hell, everything about her went straight to my cock pointing out it its due North—Talia.
“Problem?” she said.
“An accounting glitch.” I glanced at her face to see if any concern registers. Nothing.
“Tell me,” I said. “Your department's books are so well kept. Did you have accountant training?”
She laughed. “Me? No. My mom had a head for numbers, though. Not that she could get very far with it. She didn’t get a chance to go to school.”
It didn’t escape me that she talked about her mother in the past tense.
“Oh?”
“Mom was a single parent. She couldn’t go to school while she was raising me.”
“What about your dad?”
She sighed. “Died in Iraq.”
Oh hell. Way to go, Palmer to hit on a sore subject. “Sorry. The military didn’t help?”
“They never got married. They were supposed to, and then the deployment orders came through a week earlier than expected. As she tells it, he had to get on the plane or go to Leavenworth.”
So Talia didn’t get the benefits of a military child. That was an injustice there.
“That sounds rough. You’ve done well for yourself, though.”
“I worked very hard to get where I am.”
“Your work is exceptional. In fact, today I copied your report system and after customizing it, handed it to the other sales managers.”
Her face colored and her eyes got wide.
“Oh, no,” she sputtered. “You shouldn’t have done that. They’ll hate me.”
“Why should you worry? You and Lucius will marry soon and you’ll be co-owner of the business. Unless you signed a prenup?”
She turned her face toward the side window and clasped her hands tightly.
“You should talk about that with Lucius. He handles all the legal matters.”
That set off an alarm bell. What kind of prenup did Lucius have her sign? Did that bastard cheat her out her due? People in my social set handle the issue in a myriad of ways, but in our family, if the spouse doesn’t have an equal or greater income than the Palmer they marry, we make allowances. He or she gets half the net assets accumulated during the marriage. Sometimes there is a separate maintenance clause, but in no way does a spouse walk away with less than that.
“Was there a problem with the prenup? Because we do have a certain way we handle those, and if Lucius didn’t—”
“Really, Sam. Please. It’s none of your business.”
“Sorry.”
“Damn straight,” she muttered.
My mind is a jumble of questions that don’t follow the same track. Did Lucius handle the pre-nup badly? Was he taking advantage of her? And just what was Talia’s place in the business? Does she merely do her job as she suggests, or does she have a broader hand in business decisions? It was not necessarily a bad idea, but if she’s involved with money disappearing, then that is a huge problem. I don’t know whether I should protect her or get her arrested.
“Talia, an interesting thing happened in the office while you were out.”
She straightened in her seat.
“Yes?”
“You know the thing with Jimble mattresses?”
“Did Jessica convince you to sign off on the ads?”
“No.”
She chuckled. “Good. She had Lucius twisted around her little finger.”
“Jealous?”
Talia scoffed. “Why would I be?”
“You’re pretty sure of yourself.”
She glanced out the window.
“Lucius knows I’m the best asset he has.”
That was a strange way of assessing a love relationship. Did I misread something? Did Talia have mercenary motives in pursuing a marriage with Lucius? The equation fit. Girl from the wrong side of the tracks seeing an opportunity to marry up. The only problem is that I couldn’t see Talia as that type of gal. She’s more a “I’ll do it myself” woman. Or I could’ve been so consumed by my lust for her that I could only see her through rose-colored glasses.
I’m a bad brother.
But I don’t seem to mind.
“Lucius does have a reputation.”
Talia tossed me a sideways glance, as if to evaluate me, and pursed her lips.
“Believe me, Lucius knows what would happen if he goes too far.”
Someone had an iron grip on my brother’s balls. Problem is, I can’t Talia as that girl either. There are too many questions and I can’t reconcile any of them. I can see I need to spend more time with Talia to get my answers.
Check the bad brother thing, again. I am a horrible human being.
And yet, I don’t mind. Again.
The night had fallen and a heavy silence settled between us, as deep as the dark that hid the mountains which must be rising on our left. My stomach grumbled with hunger. This might be a good time to take a break.
Don’t lie to yourself. You just want time alone with Talia.
So what?
I drew a deep breath and broke the silence between us. My words seemed to hit the interior atmosphere too fast and abruptly. “Do you want to stop and get some dinner?”
Talia licked her altitude-dried lips. I watched her tongue moisten her lips out of the corner of my eye with rapt fascination. “If you don’t mind, no, thank you. I hate stopping on the road. I’d rather just get there.” Her voice was throaty— probably dry, but the sound of it traveled in electric sparks down my spine like a telegraph wire to my balls.
“Okay. We’ll get something when we get there.” My voice is a croak. I needed water myself, or Talia’s wet lips against mine. Either source of moisture would do, but I’d prefer her lips.
She made a small noise of exasperation. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just go to my room. Maybe order room service. Tomorrow with be a busy day and I should be at my best.”
“Hey,” I said. “I’m not hitting on you.”
“I didn’t say you were,” she snapped. Talia narrowed her eyes and stared ahead with unhappiness etched on her face.
“Okay, Miss Grumpy,” I muttered.
“Grumpy?” sputtered Talia. “What is it with you Palmer men? Are you congenitally thick? Did the good Lord forget to install the “no” button in
your brain? I said what I meant. I’m tired. Besides working my ass—” she stopped and huffed. Talia stared out the window again, and I held my breath, hoping I hadn’t inexorably screwed things up.
She closed her eyes. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I’m sure we’ll have time for lunch together tomorrow or something. Just not dinner tonight.”
“Lunch sounds good,” I said. I’d grab at any tiny crumb she’ll give me.
“Good. If you don’t mind, I’ll rest now.”
Talia made some weird contortions as her hands fumbled around the seat.
“What are you looking for?” I said.
She huffed.“The controls to tilt the seat back.”
“You don’t know where they are?”
She blushed, which I found odd. I also thought it was strange that she didn’t know where the controls were.
Talia crossed her arms and stared at the road ahead. “This car always confuses me.”
“Let me hit the memory for the seat; that’ll make it more comfortable for you. Then you can adjust up and down on the side.”
“Memory?” Talia said. She sounded confused.
“Yes, The Jaguar keeps memory settings for the driver and passenger. I assume that Lucius set the passenger side memory for you.”
Talia stared at my hand as I moved it to the memory button on the center console as if it was a snake that would bite her.
“Yes, of course, the Jaguar has memory settings,” she muttered. The seat moved back and her face lit up in surprise. In fact, it moved too far back for person Talia’s size.
“You like a lot of leg room, don’t you?” I said.
“Yes,” she said grimly. Talia fiddled with the controls on the side. At first touch, the seat snapped perfectly upright and she let out a surprised gasp, before dropping straight down so that she was looking straight up at the ceiling. It took all I had not to laugh at her.
“I can stop the car and help you,” I offered.
“No, keep driving,” she said. “If you must know, I’m just not used to a car like this. In my rat trap car, I’m lucky if I can move the seat forward and back, let alone make adjustments, and I won’t apologize for that. Not everyone was born with a black Jag in their garage.”
True, but it didn’t take much to learn the controls on a car. It’s almost as if she’s never sat in this car before.
She glared at me and I decided to shut up. I’m 0 for 0 with Talia today, so I might as well quit while I wasn’t ahead.
But that didn’t stop the questions rattling around my head, and I’m now completely convinced that there is something very wrong with my brother and Talia’s relationship.
Chapter Eleven
Talia
Great job, Winton, my inner voice said, You managed to make yourself look like a clumsy fool to the hottest guy you’ve ever met.
I’m not supposed to find him hot. I’m fake engaged to his brother!
If that isn’t the definition of irony, I don’t know what is. You want him but you can’t have him because you're not engaged to his brother.
It’s for my protection. He’ll only break my heart.
Are you sure you have one to break? You just enjoyed a day in a spa while your mother adjusted to a new facility on her own.
No one can play the guilt card like me, especially on myself. I’d hated leaving my mom alone in a new place, but waiting until after the weekend meant losing the spot that had opened up for her and we’d have had to wait longer. I had to console myself with the fact that they would take good care of her and that it was only for a couple of days.
But just in case, I palmed my phone and hit the number for the nurses’ desk on my mom’s floor. I curled my newly painted nails into my palms as I waited, on edge, for someone to answer. They’d assured me someone would be there to answer my questions twenty-four seven. For the money I’m paying, there definitely should be.
“Morning Spring Care Center,” said a professionally crisp female voice. “This is Anne. How can I help you?”
“Hi, this is Talia Winton. I’m checking on my mother, Sera Winton.”
The nurse’s fingers clacked on a keyboard.
“She’s fine. Mrs. Winton finished her dinner, received a round of physical therapy today and had a visitor.”
I was about to ask who when a voice filled with urgency came over the intercom at the nursing home.
“I’m sorry. I have to attend to a patient. Please call back later. ”
“It’s not my mom, is it?”
“No, Miss Winton. Like I said, your mother is fine. We’ll call you if there are any changes. I really must go.”
The phone clicked off leaving my stomach a mass of nerves.
She said my mom was okay. I have to believe that. Why am I such a mess?
“Is everything okay?” said Sam.
“Fine,” I said. His voice strummed me like a violin, reinforcing what I damn well know is the real reason for my emotional disarray. “Just checking on my mom in the nursing home.”
His eyebrows scrunched together. “Funny,” he said. “Lucius said you had no family.”
“I don’t know why he’d say that.” I turned my head to the window once again. I couldn’t see a thing— just the flash of reflective strips on the road lit by the car’s headlights.
“How’s she getting on?”
It wasn’t what he said, but rather how he said it, as if he were digging into the intimate details of my life.
“I prefer to keep my personal life private, if you don’t mind, Mr. Palmer.”
I swallowed hard as I stole glances at him, staring at the road with his mouth pressed into a grim line. I’d been rude to him and should apologize. But the truth of it was that Sam sitting behind that wheel drove me insane. All that my lust-fevered brain wanted was to climb over the center console and ride his stick shift, and I did not need him acting all concerned about my troubles; that just added gasoline to the fire.
Down, girl.
I’ve always been the girl in control and the straight arrow that doesn’t stray from the Path. I do not swim in the company pool, and take no prisoners when someone tries to drag me in. So why was I so willing to break my own rules when Sam Palmer appeared? The answer was so simple I couldn’t acknowledge it. I needed to resist temptation and take a detour around the road to perdition.
“Will we be there soon?”
“Another half hour,” he said.
“Good,” I said. It seemed that the ride had lasted for hours. I’m not sure when we turned onto Highway 82, but the ride had switched up from the interstate to a curvy two-lane highway. As we climbed higher, rocky walls rose up on either side to replace the scruffy pines that irregularly lined the highway. The breath-stopping hairpin turns became sharper and popped up more often.
“Can’t get out of the car fast enough?” he said.
“No.” Yes.“It’s just been a hectic week.”
“And this weekend will be even more so.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Do you have anything special planned?”
He shifted his facial muscles in a strange dance as if he couldn’t parse my question. He put his foot on the gas and the car zoomed around a sharp curve.
“Just the usual stuff.”
If he wanted to keep our team building exercises to himself until we did them, I suppose that was his business.
Sam’s face grew hard, as if coming to an unpleasant realization. I do not know what that means but it’s not as if I can ask him.
Hey Sam, why does your face look like a sour pickle? Yeah, that would go over well.
We rolled into the town of Aspen and thankfully Sam slowed the car. He turned off the main drag and traveled several blocks of city streets as Aspen Mountain rose sharply above us. There is nothing as breathtaking as a mountain peak towering over you so close it seemed to cut off the rest of the world. I’ve lived in Colorado all my life and made many trips to the mountains, but I’ve never lost my
sense of awe as I gaze at the peaks that touch the sky.
“Here we are,” said Sam as we rolled into a circular drive in front of a three-story red brick edifice. I gasped; it was built in Romanesque Revivalist style, popular from the 1880s to the 1930s, all red brick with arches everywhere and square towers at the corners of the building. But what had my mouth open was the sheer size. It looked like a castle, both in structure and size.
“This is the lodge?” I said. I had pictured something smaller and cozier.
“We call it the lodge,” confessed Sam. “After a day of skiing, anything with a big fireplace and hot chocolate is a lodge.”
A uniformed doorman came to the car and Sam popped the trunk.
“Is that all, Mr. Palmer?” said the doorman as we got out of the car.
“Yes, Henry. I understand Ms. Winton’s things were sent ahead?”
“Yes. They arrived by courier both times.”
“Both times?”
“Lucius insisted on buying me some new things while I was at the spa.” I sighed with exasperation.
“You don’t sound happy he did.”
“I think he should have saved his money,” I said.
The inside was even more impressive than the outside. One long oriental runner shot to the ornately carved front desk, while two others took either side of the lobby. Long sofas and an assortment of Queen Anne’s chairs populated the two spaces that each faced two huge fireplaces on either side of the desk. The walls were paneled wood, as if it were an old English manor.
“I’ll check us in,” said Sam. He moved casually, as if he entered places like this every day... which he probably did.
“How many rooms does this hotel have?” I asked the doorman, who’d stopped behind me.
“One hundred eighty,” he said calmly, “not including the three dining rooms, two bars, the spa, the gift shop, the gym, an indoor swimming area, and the grand ballroom, which can be divided into six conference spaces if need be.”
“Gosh, you’d think they’d spring for the extra ten rooms to make it two hundred,” I said.
“Those are the main kitchen, the laundry room, security, the physical plant and offices for hotel management.”
