weeks” she finished, trying not to think of Nicky. Pregnant.
Stacy shifted Abby’s hand a little to the left and Abby was rewarded with a prod from within Stacy’s stomach. She drew in closer, grinning.
“I’d still do it you know,” Stacy told her.
Abby withdrew her hand and her smile faded. “I know you would.”
Stacy gave Abby’s fingers a squeeze. “Anyway, it’s only four weeks.” She threw this last comment out casually as she retreated behind her desk.
“Four weeks!” The words squeaked out of lungs that were suddenly airless. Abby banged her head on the table. “Can’t we say no? Do we really need the money?” She knew the answer before she started begging. Wasn’t it hilarious they were financial consultants and a whacking great tax bill threatened to ruin them? Thank you, Uncle Sam.
Stacy winced. “Taxes are due at the end of next month. After our big profit last year…”
“I know. I know.” Abby held up her hand to stop her.
“Come on, Abby,” Stacy prompted. “It’s only a few weeks. Just get in, do the bizo and leave. Relentless. Like a shark.” She swam her hand through the air.
“A shark.” Abby lowered one brow at her friend. “And what is a shark’s biggest predator?”
“Uh, whale?” Stacy hazarded a guess, then bit her lip, thinking. “Oh, oh, I know this. Man!”
Abby fixed her friend with a dry stare. “And what is Marcus?”
Stacy’s face fell. “Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.” Because there was no mistaking Marcus was all man.
A dark shiver trickled its way down Abby’s spine as she realized she was heading into dangerous waters.
Stacy left for the day, leaving Abby at her desk staring at her computer screen. Killing time. Trying not to think about why Marcus had called. Or the fact she had to go through with his job, despite her better judgment. Abby had found the strongly worded letter from the federal tax department tucked away on Stacy’s desk. Last year had not been a good one for Stacy health-wise and she’d needed the drawdowns from their partnership. But with money came taxes. Which meant you needed more money.
Giving in to five hours of temptation, Abby finally allowed herself to open the internet and type in Marcus’s name. The screen filled with links, and she followed one to an article from Baltimore’s top news sites. So, he’d graduated early from a prestigious Maryland Boys’ School, scholarship all the way before finishing a double degree by the time he was twenty-one. Marcus had made his first million a couple years later, playing the stock market and getting his money out before the slump. Smart.
Abby hadn’t needed to read any of that to determine Marcus was highly competitive. His approach to his work at Crovens had spelled that out. And the way he’d stepped right up to the bar that night in Baltimore… Which brought her back to her original question. Why did Marcus need a small, specialist consultancy firm like Abby’s to advise him on tax matters? Crovens had a branch in Chicago, which was how the Wellsford business knew about Abby—through a mutually satisfied associate. Very satisfied, if she remembered correctly. But millionaire Marcus Brookhein? The sex had been great. Sure. But you didn’t make money throwing it away on something equivalent to high class hookers. And with a body like his, he didn’t need to.
No. Marcus had to have something in mind for Abby’s particular set of financial skills. Okay. He’d at least succeeded in intriguing her.
She clicked open their client database and retrieved the newly created file with Marcus’s details. It wasn’t the first time tonight she’d looked at it, each time reaffirming she had to contact him and lay down the rules. Whatever his little game. It was obvious Marcus played to win and Abby needed to keep him on the back foot to ensure the situation remained tightly in her control.
But first…
Abby felt like a stalker as she looked up Marcus’s Wellsford address
Stacy shifted Abby’s hand a little to the left and Abby was rewarded with a prod from within Stacy’s stomach. She drew in closer, grinning.
“I’d still do it you know,” Stacy told her.
Abby withdrew her hand and her smile faded. “I know you would.”
Stacy gave Abby’s fingers a squeeze. “Anyway, it’s only four weeks.” She threw this last comment out casually as she retreated behind her desk.
“Four weeks!” The words squeaked out of lungs that were suddenly airless. Abby banged her head on the table. “Can’t we say no? Do we really need the money?” She knew the answer before she started begging. Wasn’t it hilarious they were financial consultants and a whacking great tax bill threatened to ruin them? Thank you, Uncle Sam.
Stacy winced. “Taxes are due at the end of next month. After our big profit last year…”
“I know. I know.” Abby held up her hand to stop her.
“Come on, Abby,” Stacy prompted. “It’s only a few weeks. Just get in, do the bizo and leave. Relentless. Like a shark.” She swam her hand through the air.
“A shark.” Abby lowered one brow at her friend. “And what is a shark’s biggest predator?”
“Uh, whale?” Stacy hazarded a guess, then bit her lip, thinking. “Oh, oh, I know this. Man!”
Abby fixed her friend with a dry stare. “And what is Marcus?”
Stacy’s face fell. “Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.” Because there was no mistaking Marcus was all man.
A dark shiver trickled its way down Abby’s spine as she realized she was heading into dangerous waters.
Stacy left for the day, leaving Abby at her desk staring at her computer screen. Killing time. Trying not to think about why Marcus had called. Or the fact she had to go through with his job, despite her better judgment. Abby had found the strongly worded letter from the federal tax department tucked away on Stacy’s desk. Last year had not been a good one for Stacy health-wise and she’d needed the drawdowns from their partnership. But with money came taxes. Which meant you needed more money.
Giving in to five hours of temptation, Abby finally allowed herself to open the internet and type in Marcus’s name. The screen filled with links, and she followed one to an article from Baltimore’s top news sites. So, he’d graduated early from a prestigious Maryland Boys’ School, scholarship all the way before finishing a double degree by the time he was twenty-one. Marcus had made his first million a couple years later, playing the stock market and getting his money out before the slump. Smart.
Abby hadn’t needed to read any of that to determine Marcus was highly competitive. His approach to his work at Crovens had spelled that out. And the way he’d stepped right up to the bar that night in Baltimore… Which brought her back to her original question. Why did Marcus need a small, specialist consultancy firm like Abby’s to advise him on tax matters? Crovens had a branch in Chicago, which was how the Wellsford business knew about Abby—through a mutually satisfied associate. Very satisfied, if she remembered correctly. But millionaire Marcus Brookhein? The sex had been great. Sure. But you didn’t make money throwing it away on something equivalent to high class hookers. And with a body like his, he didn’t need to.
No. Marcus had to have something in mind for Abby’s particular set of financial skills. Okay. He’d at least succeeded in intriguing her.
She clicked open their client database and retrieved the newly created file with Marcus’s details. It wasn’t the first time tonight she’d looked at it, each time reaffirming she had to contact him and lay down the rules. Whatever his little game. It was obvious Marcus played to win and Abby needed to keep him on the back foot to ensure the situation remained tightly in her control.
But first…
Abby felt like a stalker as she looked up Marcus’s Wellsford address
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