Taming Tess (The St. John Sibling Series) by Barbara Raffin Page B
Authors: Barbara Raffin
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top drawer of the desk and retrieved a fresh pen. Now, what to write?
She stared at the orderly surface of the desk. Computer, printer, scanner, mouse with mouse pad, racquetball can pencil holder, bills lined up in a file holder and books squarely braced between a set of pewter bookends. A place for everything and everything in its place. She was beginning to hate orderliness.
She swiveled in the chair, scanning the rest of the room. Identical in layout to the cozy bedroom where she'd slept, it was crowded, but organized. Pencils, erasers, and slide rule stationed on a drafting table in front of the dormered window overlooking the back yard. Wastebasket and low storage shelves lined up beneath the sloping wall like a preplanned subdivision of identical middle-income housing. Two filing cabinets flanked the doorway, not unlike a well-appointed entry to a grand estate. Even his contractor's license and a photo of a big old farmhouse hung above the desk as level as any well-built house’s foundation.
But no college degree. No awards. Such certificates and plaques plastered her father's office walls. Yet Roman St. John was a building contractor who'd come with the highest of recommendations. Well-earned recommendation, judging by the work he'd done for her before the fire. No moneyed parents backing him, near as she could tell. Just a business built by the man's own blood and sweat.
"No, no, no," she muttered. "I am not going soft on him. He's simply a less educated version of my father. And he called me a shrew, albeit implied. He must pay, and with far worse than a mere scathing letter."
She stared at Roman's computer. Oh yes, there was much worse she could do to him than call him a few choice words.
She booted up his computer. There were any number of files she could mess up, provided they weren't password protected.
She tried one and smiled when it flashed open. "Oh St. John, you trusting fool."
She perused his accounting ledger, his quarterly profit and loss statement, and his estimate sheets. He could have charged his customers more, but he still made an ample personal income. A major portion of which he saved, she noted as she snooped further. More browsing and she amended saved with invested.
A man with security on his mind. She wasn't surprised. He was a man with his eye on a future that included a wife and children. A family man. He'd called himself just that many times while they worked together.
As much as that designation smacked of her father, she couldn't make herself mess with the financial accounts of a man carving out a life for a family. Besides, any numbers she changed today wouldn't likely be noticed until tax time and she wanted immediate payback.
Tess closed the financial accounts and searched Roman's device manager for something more to her liking. She could alter his calendar where he'd listed all his jobs, but he also recorded his appointments in the day planner he carried with him. The man excelled at organizational skills.
She could mess with his program files. But, did she really want to do him irreversible harm?
But, he'd argued endlessly with her over the renovation of her house. He'd left her stuck in the boonies.
And h e'd all but called her a shrew.
She could change the date on his computer.
Too juvenile.
But she was miffed. Hell, she was mad.
She opened his word processing program without finding so much as single letter. No personal journal. His emails were full of family correspondence, though. Nothing elaborate. Just short notes. Keeping in touch sort of things. Nice, that he kept in close touch with his siblings and parents. She moved on…and found his CAD program.
"Pay dirt."
Tess' fingers flew over the keyboard, opening files, scanning pages of schematic drawings. It was an earlier, simpler version of the drafting program she'd worked with at her father's firm, but familiar enough to her.
She studied a meticulously drawn electrical layout. But it wasn't Roman's
She stared at the orderly surface of the desk. Computer, printer, scanner, mouse with mouse pad, racquetball can pencil holder, bills lined up in a file holder and books squarely braced between a set of pewter bookends. A place for everything and everything in its place. She was beginning to hate orderliness.
She swiveled in the chair, scanning the rest of the room. Identical in layout to the cozy bedroom where she'd slept, it was crowded, but organized. Pencils, erasers, and slide rule stationed on a drafting table in front of the dormered window overlooking the back yard. Wastebasket and low storage shelves lined up beneath the sloping wall like a preplanned subdivision of identical middle-income housing. Two filing cabinets flanked the doorway, not unlike a well-appointed entry to a grand estate. Even his contractor's license and a photo of a big old farmhouse hung above the desk as level as any well-built house’s foundation.
But no college degree. No awards. Such certificates and plaques plastered her father's office walls. Yet Roman St. John was a building contractor who'd come with the highest of recommendations. Well-earned recommendation, judging by the work he'd done for her before the fire. No moneyed parents backing him, near as she could tell. Just a business built by the man's own blood and sweat.
"No, no, no," she muttered. "I am not going soft on him. He's simply a less educated version of my father. And he called me a shrew, albeit implied. He must pay, and with far worse than a mere scathing letter."
She stared at Roman's computer. Oh yes, there was much worse she could do to him than call him a few choice words.
She booted up his computer. There were any number of files she could mess up, provided they weren't password protected.
She tried one and smiled when it flashed open. "Oh St. John, you trusting fool."
She perused his accounting ledger, his quarterly profit and loss statement, and his estimate sheets. He could have charged his customers more, but he still made an ample personal income. A major portion of which he saved, she noted as she snooped further. More browsing and she amended saved with invested.
A man with security on his mind. She wasn't surprised. He was a man with his eye on a future that included a wife and children. A family man. He'd called himself just that many times while they worked together.
As much as that designation smacked of her father, she couldn't make herself mess with the financial accounts of a man carving out a life for a family. Besides, any numbers she changed today wouldn't likely be noticed until tax time and she wanted immediate payback.
Tess closed the financial accounts and searched Roman's device manager for something more to her liking. She could alter his calendar where he'd listed all his jobs, but he also recorded his appointments in the day planner he carried with him. The man excelled at organizational skills.
She could mess with his program files. But, did she really want to do him irreversible harm?
But, he'd argued endlessly with her over the renovation of her house. He'd left her stuck in the boonies.
And h e'd all but called her a shrew.
She could change the date on his computer.
Too juvenile.
But she was miffed. Hell, she was mad.
She opened his word processing program without finding so much as single letter. No personal journal. His emails were full of family correspondence, though. Nothing elaborate. Just short notes. Keeping in touch sort of things. Nice, that he kept in close touch with his siblings and parents. She moved on…and found his CAD program.
"Pay dirt."
Tess' fingers flew over the keyboard, opening files, scanning pages of schematic drawings. It was an earlier, simpler version of the drafting program she'd worked with at her father's firm, but familiar enough to her.
She studied a meticulously drawn electrical layout. But it wasn't Roman's
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