In It For the Money Page 3

  “Let’s review.” She lifted her hand and raised a finger. “One, truck wreck. Two,”—another finger flicked out—”testosterone fight over God knows what. Three,”—she rested her palm against the solid wall of JC’s chest—”none of that involves me.”

  He drew back and narrowed his eyes. “You saw the fight start. Tate’s your cousin. You’re involved.”

  “Your point is? Some idiot jumped him. I don’t do fist fights and I’m not a lawyer. I can’t do anything if that dumb-ass security guard actually tells your deputies to arrest him.”

  “He’s your family.”

  She bit down on her irritation. Why did she always end up on the defensive side of every argument with JC?

  Okay. Consider it a negotiation. “And?”

  “I thought you might actually want to help him.”

  “Let’s review. Again.” She braced an elbow with one hand, tapped an upraised finger against her unbruised cheek, then pointed at him. “Family. I’m here in Richland because I’m helping my mom.”

  JC gazed at her evenly. “I hoped you were here because of me.”

  “Maybe you did give me a reason to consider staying...” The finger returned to her cheek and she scrunched her mouth to the side in “thoughtful” mode.

  He gave her the evil eye. “Consider?”

  She leaned in, nuzzling the line of his jaw. “JC.”

  He stiffened, but his pulse rate kicked up—which she could actively monitor since her lips were caressing his jugular—and betrayed him.

  “We may be starting something...” She moved leisurely, her mouth drifting closer to his ear. “But you try getting all dominant on me again, and I’ll remember Falcon is holding my old position open for me.”

  A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I thought you quit that job.”

  Oops. “We’ll talk about that later.”

  “Holly.” A warning note entered his voice.

  She pressed a quick kiss to the angle of his jaw. “Aren’t you supposed to be investigating or something?”

  “Hadn’t planned to.”

  “Then why are you here? This kind of thing”—she gestured toward the dispersing crowd and the two manacled men—”doesn’t usually require a detective, does it?”

  “I was coming off shift and remembered you’d said you’d be here for opening day.” He shrugged.

  “You were coming to see me?” Her inner teenager jumped up and down going, Ooh, ooh!

  “Our schedules haven’t exactly meshed lately. If you didn’t work so much—” He bit off the rest of whatever he might’ve intended to say because even she knew she was giving him the Incredulous Face of Doom.

  “Don’t go there.” Warning laced her tone.

  “Well, now that I’m here, dispatch told me to handle this disturbance call.” He stepped away from her and joined the scrum of law enforcement around the walking wounded.

  Laurie hopped over and joined her. “Looks like you could be stuck here for a while.”

  “I’m your ride, so you’re stuck here too,” Holly informed her.

  “Great. So much for pizza, beer and new music.”

  At least Laurie wouldn’t be dating Rick Stewart.

  Chapter Three

  Monday, Monday; Can’t Trust That Day (The Mamas & The Papas)

  The upscale office park sat on a small hill above the local mall. It held a number of professional service offices, including Desert Accounting. Discreet landscaping—xeriscaped for the high desert climate—anchored the building and hid the parking lot from the road. This early on a Monday morning, there was only one other car in the parking lot when Holly arrived.

  She strode through the building’s dim atrium. She’d followed this path so many times she could probably walk it blindfolded, but she wasn’t ready to tempt fate. Skylights and emergency lighting kept her from tripping over the fountain and raised planter in the center of the tiled space. The remaining lights would toggle on closer to regular business hours.

  Gaze fixed on her own office door, she carefully avoided looking at the darkened Stevens Ventures office on the other side of the atrium. That office evoked too many recent memories of a friend’s death and the business disasters that followed in its wake. She hated having to look at the place every time she entered or left her office—one more reminder Marcy was dead.

  Juggling her briefcase, purse and a bag of Spudnuts, Holly unlocked Desert Accounting’s door, crossed the lobby, and made her way to the corner office. She’d inherited the space along with her father’s traditional furniture and his role as the accounting practice’s rainmaker. When she moved in a long seven months ago, she’d boxed his client trinkets, self-congratulatory awards, and business citations. Somehow, she’d never gotten around to unpacking her own personalizing touches.

  She gave the room an assessing once over.

  Pretty stark.

  Maybe she should do something about that.

  If she stayed in Richland, she’d add it to her massive To Do list.

  With practiced moves, she rounded the mahogany desk which divided the office in two. Behind the desk were her swivel chair, file cabinets, and a window overlooking the street, while visitor chairs stood on the side closest to the door. Ignoring the towering pile of files heaped in her inbox and lining the credenza, she powered on the computer.

  While the machine cycled through its start-up phase, she shrugged out of her jacket. A lovely blue silk tweed, her lightweight suit was more appropriate for Seattle’s damp version of fall than the cold bite of eastern Washington. The wind cut through the porous weave with glee. Add in the idiotic decision to wear a thong—undoubtedly brought about by yesterday’s close proximity to JC—and she had itches she couldn’t scratch and tiny bits of silk she couldn’t adjust.

  All of the above made her more than a little cranky.

  She opened the bag of Spudnuts, but the smell made her vaguely nauseous and the maple nut ones—JC’s favorite—reminded her that, other than the few minutes at the obstacle course, she hadn’t seen him in days. Grimacing, she shoved the bag aside.

  Satchel in hand, Donna Price hurried through the doorway. Holly’s normally well-groomed mother looked shell-shocked.

  “Mom? I mean, Donna?” After all the months in Richland, it still felt weird to call her mother by her first name. Donna had been the one to suggest it for “at work” conversations.

  “Oh, good. You’re here.” Donna stepped into Holly’s office and carefully closed the door. She took a deep breath and turned, her usual cheerful expression in place. “Morning, Sweetie. Got a minute?”

  Holly gave her another quick glance. Maybe she’d imagined the impression something was wrong. And why could her mother call her “Sweetie,” when she had to be all we’re-not-related? “Sure. Have a seat. You’re dressed up.”

  Petite and curvy, her mother was aging gracefully into her fifties. A bit of gray threaded her dark hair, but her green eyes were as sharp and startling as ever. Physically, Holly resembled her father—tall, blond and slim. She hoped she didn’t share his less stellar qualities. Selfishness, irresponsibility and betrayal topped the list. She dropped into her chair and tapped her password into her computer.

  Donna smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her jacket. “Thanks. I’ve noticed the reaction you get with looking nice.”

  “Yeah, well. Sometimes it feels over the top.” The designer suits were too much for the area. If Holly was going to stay in Richland—was she, wasn’t she?—she’d have to invest in a more casual wardrobe.

  “Before I forget, I saw your text,” Donna said. “Congratulations on landing that government contract.”

  Holly shrugged, brushing off the compliment. “It’ll be solid work during the off season.”

  Actually, the project was another new area she’d busted her ass to add to Desert Accounting’s service portfolio. For a second, she enjoyed the glow of success.

  “Did you go by the Cascade Cafe and talk to Cheryl?”

&nbs
p; And the moment was over.

  Holly pulled in a deep breath. “I’m trying to work it into the schedule.”

  “We have to keep growing the business. Cheryl told me they’re interested in more tax planning than they’re getting now.”

  “I’m aware of that.” Holly gritted her teeth. “At the rate we’re going, though, we need more staff—and to clone me.”

  “You’re doing a wonderful job.” Donna placed her purse and satchel in one of the visitor chairs, but remained standing. “Maybe we can pick up a winter graduate. I’ll talk to my friends over at Washington State. See if any of the accounting students expressed interest in staying here.” She paused for a second, then added, “Or something.”

  Holly waved off the comment. “We need experienced people.” It was a recurring discussion. “How’s studying for the CPA exam going?”

  “Well...” Her mother glanced down and fiddled with her handbag strap.

  “We’ve had this conversation before.” Holly swallowed a frustrated sigh.

  Her mother getting her own license had been part of their agreement when Holly agreed to help. Without Holly’s accounting license, Donna would have been forced to close the practice when her husband deserted her.

  “Yes, we have.” Donna’s gaze snapped up to meet hers. “Along with a thousand variations on your one-year commitment and no mention of marriage-and-children theme. I thought we were past that.”

  Holly splayed her hands on the desk. “You can’t keep expecting me to constantly up-sell services. And train the staff. And do the projects. And bring in more clients.” Her voice rose with each phrase.

  Damn, she was losing control. She clamped her mouth closed and eyed her mother’s concerned expression.

  “Are you okay?” Donna asked.

  “I’m fine.” Warmth climbed her cheeks. She could not lose it at the office, even with her mother.

  Donna peered at her. “You look a little pale. It’s not like you to be...well...cranky.”

  Holly slumped in her chair and released a long sigh. “I need a vacation. And about two weeks solid sleep.”

  “Don’t we all.” Her mother hefted her purse and satchel, then put them back down. “There’s something else we have to talk about.

  The warning tingle again shimmied down Holly’s spine. “What’s wrong? You didn’t fail the CPA exam, did you?”

  “No.” Donna dropped into the visitor chair like the strings holding her up had been cut. She stared at Holly with a hollowed-eye gaze.

  Holly hurried around the desk and crouched beside her. “Are you sick?”

  Please, don’t be sick.

  “Your father...” Her mother’s words trailed off.

  “Is Dad sick?”

  Color flooded Donna’s cheeks. Her hands closed into fists. She took a deep breath and straightened her spine. “Your father just served me with divorce papers. He wants half the value of the practice in settlement. We have to come up with cash to buy him out.”

  Holly rose slowly to her feet. “We don’t have that kind of money.” The unreality of the moment draped a layer of glass between her and...everything.

  “Apparently, he wants to force a sale of the business.”

  Holly processed that. “It was what we originally planned to do...” Back when she’d first agreed to help. Back when she’d put her well-ordered life in Seattle on hold.

  Before she’d started putting roots down in Richland.

  Damn, she was going to have to choose. Richland or Seattle? Return to Seattle and resume her career with the mergers and acquisitions team or permanently lose her position with Falcon—a position she’d worked her butt off to obtain.

  Or really commit to staying in Richland and taking over the practice. If they could find the money to pay off her deadbeat dad.

  And she was supposed to make that life defining choice right this second?

  Of course, she’d been thinking about staying, but still…

  She shook off the self-absorption. Over the past months, she’d seen her mother emerge from her father’s shadow. She’d wondered if her mother could run the business alone, once they created a viable business plan for her. Donna had seemed to be handling her husband’s desertion, emotionally speaking, but how much of that was a façade intended to reassure the clients?

  And her daughter.

  “I thought you liked being here.” Donna leaned forward, her hands clasped to her chest. “That you wanted to make it our practice.”

  Yeah, Holly had stupidly thought that was part of the new, revised life plan.

  “But if we have to sell...” She wandered toward the window and silently watched cars turn into the mall parking lot.

  What would she do if they were forced to sell?

  “Oh, that bastard.” Donna jumped to her feet. “He’s only thinking of himself and that...tramp he ran off with. I guarantee he never gave a thought about how this demand affects you and me.”

  Holly’s mouth dropped open. She turned and stared. Before her father moved out, she could count the number of times she’d heard her mother curse on one hand.

  “It is not fair to put us in this position.” Her mother paced in front of the desk. “If we have to sell, I’ll be okay. I can keep the bookkeeping practice or go to work for whoever buys the practice. But what about you? What will you do? Will you stay here?”

  “I don’t know.” Holly dropped into her office chair. A forced sale had always been theoretically possible, but she couldn’t believe it was slapping her in the face. “Isn’t there usually a drawn out process to a divorce settlement?”

  “We’ve had a number of conferences.” Donna returned to her seat, looking a bit sheepish. “I need to know what you want to do. How to respond to this demand.”

  Holly cradled her head in her hands. The less she knew about her parents’ actual marriage the better. But, damn. What did she want? What did she want to do with the business?

  With her whole frickin’ life?

  Could she buy out her father? Run Desert Accounting?

  She straightened, staring into space. Hadn’t she been doing just that for months now?

  And enjoying it?

  She slid her gaze sideways and took in Donna’s anxious expression. What did her mother want?

  “Let me crunch some numbers. Think about it.” Holly released a deep breath. Hope might be dancing on a pinhead. “Let’s see if we can afford to buy him out.”

  Donna visibly relaxed, as if Holly’s response was exactly what she wanted to hear. “Okay. I’ll have my attorney craft a response.”

  Holly slowly nodded, wondering if she was insane...or finally putting her life into focus.

  A twinkle returned to Donna’s eyes. She rose and picked up her purse and satchel. “Off to meet with Harvest Baking about payroll changes required by the new tax law. Can’t have you bringing in all the new work.”

  In the vacuum of silence following her mother’s departure, Holly dropped any pretense. Shoulders slumped, hands limp, she sat at her desk, ignoring the blinking phone message light and the prompts from Outlook. Damn, but she was burned out.

  And dear God, absorbing the ramifications of the new tax bill... When was she supposed to fit that into her schedule?

  And she’d just agreed to figure out how to buy an accounting practice.

  She blew out a breath. Moaning about the challenges wouldn’t accomplish a thing.

  Shaking off the lousy mood, she shifted into business mode. Buying the practice—damn but it felt good to make a decision, to have a goal—and staying in Richland felt right on a number of levels. She tugged out her cell and sent JC a quick text.

  Holly: Come by house tonight?

  JC: K.

  He was part of her decision. It was time for them to figure their relationship out too.

  After a quick check of email and voice messages for possible work disasters—yay, none—she spread the Tri-City Courier, the local newspaper, over her desk. Richland, along w
ith Kennewick and Pasco, were known locally as the Tri-Cities. She focused on the headlines.

  Which crashed her mood back to even crankier territory.

  Bad press was simply bad news when you weren’t a C-list celebrity.

  She’d just started an article about Sunday’s Rockcrawler wreck when her sandy-haired senior manager, Rick Stewart, wandered into her office. “Hi, boss.”

  She wondered on a regular basis why Rick was still single. After living in Seattle for years, her gay-dar was pretty accurate. Rick registered as straight as they came. A bit of a geek, his smile lit up an otherwise average face. While they would never be more than friends, he’d make someone else a great husband.

  Of course, that didn’t mean she wanted Laurie dating him.

  Rick dropped into the closest visitor chair. “When you pay me that giant bonus, the first thing I’m buying is a new chair for your office.”

  She stifled a smile. She suspected her father had deliberately chosen the uncomfortable chair to discourage lingering in his office. Maybe the chair was another item she should change. “What bonus?”

  “The one you’re going to owe me for hanging onto our client.” He pointed at her desk. “The client splashed across the front page of that newspaper—for all the wrong reasons.”

  Her gaze returned to the paper. A photo of the wrecked rig anchored the story. The crumpled vehicle lay at the base of what looked like a freakin’ cliff, upside down like a smashed beetle with its feet in the air.

  Boulder Bounders Event sponsored by Quality Distributing, shouted the caption. Man injured during sports competition, declared the headline.

  At least it was Mikail Petrov’s company and not George Chen’s in the spotlight.

  “Thank God for the discretion of their editor—” she started.

  “Or the lack of imagination of the reporter,” Rick interjected.

  “—that the heading wasn’t more lurid.”

  “There are times it’s convenient we’re not a bigger city,” he said wryly. “We have the Tri-Cycle instead of a paper with actual investigative reporting.”