“How’s it going with Martinelli’s accounts?”
“It’s going,” she said. “What about you?”
“Same. He had his own way of doing things, but I’m figuring it out.”
“Liam…”
“Yeah?”
She hesitated, but then decided to ask anyway. “Are you finding any anomalies? Figures that don’t reconcile?”
Liam frowned. “Nothing like that. Are you?”
“One account. I can’t figure out where he got the data. It’s like there’s another account or something. I’m waiting for more information from the client, but I’m stumped.” She hated admitting that. It felt like failure, and she never failed at numbers. It was the one thing she was really good at.
Liam shrugged. “If anybody can figure it out, it’s you. That’s why you always get the hard stuff.”
Angie rolled her eyes. “Flatterer. Hey, did anybody else get any of his accounts?”
“I think Jenny might have. The three of us are the least senior here. Maybe you should bring it to Barnes or Blake’s attention if it keeps giving you trouble.”
“Not yet. I want to see if I can figure it out. I don’t want the partners thinking I can’t take the initiative and do my job.”
“Gotcha.”
“Have you heard anything more about Charles? Or heard from him?”
Liam shook his head. “Nope. All I know is what you know. He didn’t give notice. He called and said he quit. He hasn’t picked up his stuff yet, though. Probably too embarrassed. I have to admit I wondered why he quit like that. He always struck me as the sort who’d volunteer for anything so long as he thought it might help him get ahead. And he seemed to be on the fast track.” Liam shrugged. “But sometimes those types burn out. Spectacularly. It’s hard to sustain that kind of work load.”
She knew what Liam meant because she’d had her own problems with trying to do too much. She was an overachiever and she wanted to do it all. She also felt like she had to work hard because she hated having any debt and she wanted to pay things off sooner rather than later.
But she’d learned how working too much could ruin all your plans for the future. When she’d caught Dan cheating, he’d blamed her for ignoring him because she was working all the time. She’d been devastated. And angry because she’d been doing it for them. She’d wanted to pay off her student loans and save enough money for a downpayment on a house. Instead, she’d impulsively bought her condo when her relationship imploded. Yet another thing she had to pay for, but at least it was for her.
She had come to accept that she’d been working too much and maybe ignoring her fiancé more than she should, but she still didn’t accept it as an excuse for what he’d done. That was on him. It had taken her a while to get to that point, but she’d gotten there with Maddy’s help.
“Angie, he made a choice. He made a choice. Blaming you for his choice is like blaming your neighbor because you ran over their mailbox. Makes no sense.”
Mads was right, of course.
“It is hard to sustain,” Angie said. “And speaking of work, I’d better get back to mine and get this figured out.”
“Let me know if I can help.”
“Will do.”
Angie returned to her desk with fresh coffee, woke up her computer, and sighed as the columns appeared. The numbers hadn’t magically fixed themselves while she’d been talking to Liam and she had no emails from the client with more information.
She’d figure it out though. She had yet to meet a spreadsheet she couldn’t wrangle. Today was not the day to admit defeat, either.
Colt wouldn’t. She didn’t know a lot about him, but she knew that much.
She thought of him last night on her couch, a cup of coffee cradled in one large hand, his blue gaze attentive and breathtaking all at once. He made nerves dance in her belly and sparks kindle in her center. It’d been a long time since she’d had sex with anyone, and the idea of sex with Colt made her hot and achy.
Not that she planned to let him know that.
When he’d left, he’d kissed her on the cheek and then walked away. She’d wanted, so badly, to turn her head and press her mouth to his—but she hadn’t done it.
She still wasn’t sure she should, no matter how he made her feel inside. The last time she’d let herself fall for a guy, she’d ended up with a shattered heart.
It was more than that with him, however. Colt was a dangerous man, and she wasn’t sure she could handle that life even for a little bit. She’d had a taste of what could happen when Natasha abducted her, and she didn’t want to go through that ever again.
But Colt was incredibly tempting. He didn’t blame her for getting him shot, though Angie still felt as if she’d helped make it happen. Probably always would.
If he’d been shot once in the line of duty, he could be again. She didn’t want to get close to him and then have something like that happen. It had been terrifying the first time, and she’d barely known him. If she let herself fall for him?
Angie closed her eyes. “Stop,” she whispered. “You’re depleting your mental bank account with this nonsense.”
She slid her mouse over a column and clicked. Time to push Colt—and any theoretical relationships—from her mind and get down to business. This is what paid the bills. This is what she could rely on.
Not blue-eyed men with gorgeous smiles and dangerous professions.
Chapter Four
Colt didn’t call Angie right away. He didn’t want to seem too eager, so he waited until about eight that night. And he texted to ask how her day had been instead of calling. She answered right away.
Angie: It’s been a long day at work. I just got home.
Colt: Wow. It’s not even tax time yet.
Angie: It’s always tax time in this business. But no, you’re right. Except that corporate returns are due March 15 and I’ve got several to get done. Nobody has their crap together, either. When you ask for their 1099 info, half the time they don’t know who gets one. It’s a mess.
Colt: Sounds like hell. Want to talk about it?
He waited while the three dots indicated she was typing. They stopped, started again. And then the reply came. One word. Yes.
Colt punched in the button with her name. She answered right away.
“You don’t really want to hear about 1099s, do you?” she asked.
He laughed. “Not unless you want to tell me about them.”
“I don’t. They’ll get done, but it’s a pain in the ass while trying to get information from clients. Part of the job.”
“You sound frustrated.”
He heard ice clinking into a glass. Then the sound of what he assumed was water from the dispenser in her fridge. “I am. And it’s not really the 1099s.” She sighed. “One of the accountants quit last week. Just walked out and didn’t come back. So I got some of his accounts. But there’s one I can’t sort out. The figures are all wrong.”
Colt’s senses prickled. Not that it meant a damned thing, but looking for shady shit was a part of his life. It’s what he did, and when something didn’t line up, his mind started traveling a well-worn path.
“Why would they be wrong? And what do you mean he didn’t come back?”
“I don’t know why they’re wrong, but they are. The bank statements and his spreadsheet don’t match up. It’s a lot of money, too.”
“And he quit.”
“That’s what we were told. He left work one day last week and didn’t come in the next day. He could have been sick or taken a personal day. At first I didn’t think anything of it. But when he wasn’t there for three days, it started to seem a little strange. Then an email went around from the partners telling us he’d quit, though he didn’t seem like the quitting kind to me. I’ve even wondered if maybe he was fired, but of course the partners won’t say. We might all be thinking it, but none of us have discussed it. I sure don’t want to be the one who starts that rumor, you know? Anyway, Liam and I were g
iven his accounts. And maybe Jenny too, but I haven’t asked her yet.”
“Is it typical to divide up the accounts like that?”
“Yes. If there were any major accounts, then one of the partners would have taken them. And there might be, but I don’t know every account Charles had. Anyway, we got the rest. It’s just a hell of a lot of work on top of all the other work. God I sometimes hate this job.”
“I’m sorry, baby.”
He heard her breath hitch in. “Did you just call me baby?”
“Does that bother you?”
“Not really. I was just surprised.”
Colt lay back on the couch and picked up the remote. He clicked on a news station, keeping it on mute.
“Tell me about this guy,” he said. “What’s his name?”
“Charles Martinelli. He worked there for five years, which was another reason it was a surprise. But I also get how it could happen. Hell, some days I want to walk out and not go back. But I like paying my mortgage. Eating. Wearing clothes. You know, all the usual stuff.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I get that. But I’m sure you could find something else if you had to.”
“Probably. But I don’t think walking out the way he did would help with recommendations for a new job.”
“No, guess not. So what would you do if you could do anything?”
She sighed. “I don’t know, Colt. I really don’t. I’ve always been good at math, which is how I ended up majoring in it. I enjoy numbers. Love solving equations and stuff. I’m not artistic at all. I envy Maddy because she gets to travel and view art for her job, but I couldn’t do something like that. I appreciate art, but I have no artistic skills.”
“I think if Maddy weren’t an art appraiser, she’d want to be an HGTV star,” Colt said with a smile.
Angie laughed. “You aren’t wrong. She loves those renovation shows. As you can tell when you walk into her house. It looks amazing, and I love it. But I couldn’t do that either. I don’t see those things the way she does. I could do the math for adding an addition onto the house—dimensions, costs, that kind of thing—but I couldn’t do the decorating part of it.”
“That’s an important part of the process, don’t you think?”
“Oh, definitely. Still, it doesn’t feel all that creative.”
“It sounds like you enjoy accounting, but not clients.”
Angie made a sound. “Yeah, that’s pretty accurate. And that’s a bit of a problem in this job. I should probably be a data analyst at a government think tank or something.”
Colt pictured her at BDI, analyzing data and providing projections, and he didn’t hate the idea. But he didn’t really know if she’d enjoy it. He also didn’t know if Ian needed another analyst, so he kept the thought to himself.
“Start applying then. Keep doing this job, but apply elsewhere. When you get a better offer, leave.”
“I really should. I need to update my resume, start job hunting, hope my employer doesn’t get wind of it, and then hope I don’t land an even worse job. Oh, hell, I sound like my dad,” she added with a moan. “He spent thirty years working for the government and when my mom would tell him he should find something else if he was unhappy, he’d say ‘but Lisa, what if the next job is worse?’”
“Then you get another one,” Colt said. “You can do that. Maybe he couldn’t because he was invested by then, but you can.”
Colt knew all about taking risks and finding your way when the path you’d always thought was yours was suddenly blocked. It wasn’t easy, but it was possible. Sometimes the only way out was to plow through the wall.
“You’re right.” She blew out a breath. “You know, we’ve been talking about me this whole time. Let’s talk about you for a while.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Do you like your job?”
“Yes.”
“Well that was easy. Never want to quit? Never have a bad day?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t have bad days.” Getting shot at wasn’t exactly a good time when it happened. He also didn’t enjoy killing, but sometimes it had to be done. “But no, I don’t want to quit.”
“I know what you do is dangerous. That doesn’t bother you?”
“Not usually, no.”
“When you got shot… you didn’t want to quit?”
“Not really. I mean yeah, there’s a little bit of apprehension that goes with getting shot, but I’ve never doubted I’m where I need to be.”
He didn’t remember the precise moment because that’s what trauma often did—it wiped your memory of the details. But he remembered the alarm going off, shouting at Maddy. And the bang. He remembered the sound of it. He didn’t remember falling, and he didn’t remember the moment he realized he’d been shot.
What he remembered was waking up in the hospital with tubes running out of him and feeling like he’d been run over by a train. He also remembered a lot of painful physical therapy as he got the use of his muscles back again.
“I’m really sorry that happened,” Angie said softly.
His gut tightened. “It’s not your fault, babe. We’ve been over this.”
“I know. You don’t blame me, and I didn’t actually lead her to you or pull the trigger. But she wouldn’t have found Maddy without me—which means she wouldn’t have shot you.”
“Yeah, but she might have shot you if you hadn’t cooperated. You wouldn’t be on the other end of the phone, and I wouldn’t be wondering what you’re wearing right now.”
Angie made a choking sound, and he realized she’d been drinking something. “Oh my god,” she said when she could talk again. “You nearly killed me. Water went down the wrong tube.”
He couldn’t help but grin. “Sorry.” But he really wasn’t because it had gotten her off the subject of him getting shot and her being at fault for it.
“I can’t believe you said that.”
“Why not? You have to know I’m attracted to you. I’m pretty sure you’re attracted to me. Don’t tell me you haven’t pictured me naked.”
“Oh lord, I am not having this conversation with you.”
“You have, haven’t you?” His dick started to respond to the thought.
“Colt,” she said firmly. “Don’t make me hang up on you.”
He laughed. “Okay, fine. We won’t talk about nakedness anymore. Unless you want to.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You sound uptight. Know what’s good for releasing tension?”
“Colt.”
Colt laughed again. “Kidding, Ang. Sorta.”
“You’re terrible.”
“I’m male.”
“Same thing.”
He laughed. “Look, you sound tired and it’s getting late. Why don’t you have a glass of wine and get some sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”
He heard her yawn. “I am tired, you’re right. Think I’ll skip the wine and head straight for bed.”
“Night, Angie.”
“Night, Colt.”
The line went dead and Colt dropped his phone onto the coffee table. But he didn’t pick up the remote and unmute the television. Instead, he grabbed his phone again and dialed the man who knew everything.
“What’s up?” Ian Black said by way of greeting.
“Probably nothing,” Colt replied. “But I’m curious about something.”
He told Ian about Charles Martinelli and how he’d quit work without notice. About how Angie was having trouble with one of his client accounts.
Ian listened without comment. When Colt finished, Ian said, “Run his name through the database and see what pops up. Can’t hurt. Do you know the name of the client?”
“Not yet.”
“But you can get it.”
“Probably.” If Angie wouldn’t tell him—though he suspected she would—he’d get Maddy to find out.
“If nothing pops up on Martinelli, we’ll plug the client in and see what happens.”
“Thanks,
boss.”
“Sure thing. So she’s speaking to you now, huh?”
“For the time being,” Colt replied.
Ian chuckled. “Then don’t fuck it up.”
“Not planning on it, boss.”
Ian was still laughing when they ended the call. Colt rubbed a finger over his temple, thinking. He could keep flirting, keep gently pushing Angie forward. Or he could back off entirely and let her find a guy who was more her speed. Another accountant. A scientist. Someone whose life wasn’t ruled by volatility and violence.
Someone who wasn’t living a lie.
Angie couldn’t sleep. She was tired, but she couldn’t stop thinking. She groaned as she sat up in bed after tossing and turning for a couple of hours.
She needed to sleep, but it just wasn’t happening. She checked her phone for the time. 1:00 a.m.
Crap.
She could lie there and toss and turn some more, or she could get up and do some work on her computer. She opted for work, so she threw the covers back and slipped on her robe. She padded out to the kitchen, poured a glass of Chardonnay from the box she had in the fridge—Colt would no doubt be horrified—and sat at the island to open her laptop. She pulled up the Cardinal Group spreadsheet and scrolled through the columns.
She clicked the tabs. There were several blanks, sheet after sheet, but she kept clicking them because she’d never done that before. Going relentlessly sideways until she ran out of tabs.
On the final tab, there was a number. Angie blinked. She’d only found it because she scrolled down instead of closing what appeared to be another blank tab. It was too long to be a bank account number, but she highlighted it and copied it over to her notepad. The number of empty tabs was ridiculous. What the hell was Charles doing anyway?
She counted the spaces. There were twenty-three numbers. She had no idea what those twenty-three numbers meant. They could be anything. Maybe it was an IBAN—an international routing number—but she didn’t recognize a country code so that was probably out too. Could just be Martinelli’s internal notations that made sense only to him, though why he’d put it onto a tab at the end of a bunch of blanks, she had no idea. She’d have to ask Liam if he’d encountered anything like it on the accounts he had.
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