Page 129 of Princess Avenged

“Precisely why I would like to speak to your accountant on her own.” His tone is abrupt, his voice low and deep.

Looking stunned, Shana shifts her huge pack up to her shoulder, but it slides down her arm again.

“My request was for an in person meeting with your accountant,” the billionaire says sharply. “Check your correspondence.”

“But—” Shana shoots me a look of alarm.

I force a quivering smile onto my face as I nod and mouth, “I’ve got this.” I certainly hope I’ve got this, because if I don’t, that will be the end of Sanctuary House.

The man who brought us in, gestures for Shana to follow him out of the club.

Another tuxedoed waiter appears out of thin air and pulls out the table of a semi-circular booth to make it easier for me to slide onto the shiny leather seats, such a dark red they could have been dyed with blood.

“Ms. Cross, shall we sit?”

Nodding toward our potential benefactor, I perch on the edge of the seat, and he slides in next to me.

The waiter pushes the table in, trapping me. “What can I get you?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I’m fine.” I reach for my tote bag.

“There is no doubt that you are fine,” Mr. Zuben says. “But you must accept my hospitality. I insist.” He smiles at me with what seems like genuine kindness, but his eyes dance to an entirely different piece of music—one part amused and the other…this man seems fascinated by me, like I’m a strange creature he’s never before encountered.

A dance starts low in my belly, but at the same time my chest widens with confidence. “If you insist, then you might as well choose my drink for me too.”

His eyebrows rise, his face flashing amusement, but then his eyes narrow as he studies me in what feels like an academic way, like he thinks my drink preferences can be found in the pores of my skin.

“Ms. Cross will have a sidecar,” he says without turning to the waiter. “And I will have one too.”

“What’s in a sidecar?” I ask.

“Cognac, Cointreau and a dash of lemon,” he answers.

My limited drinking experience is another side effect of avoiding the dark. Beyond the occasional glass of wine, I don’t drink and have no idea what those ingredients taste like, aside from lemon, but I don’t want to appear unsophisticated or ungrateful.

“Sounds delicious.” And strong.

“It is.” He smiles again and everything inside me flutters.

I nod slightly, then remembering why we’re here, I pull my laptop out of my tote and set it onto the table. Thumb in the indentation, I start to open it, but Mr. Zuben puts his hand on the lid.

I turn toward him, shocked.

“I have studied the organization’s financial statements in great detail.” His hand brushes over mine as he moves it from my laptop and my breath catches. “I will contact you if I require additional details.”

My shock vanishes as I’m fully absorbed in this man’s eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many dimensions to the color brown. At first they seemed like chestnut, but now I see that deep brown and amber flecks dance through his irises, combining into the sparking light brown color I saw from a distance.

But up close… Up close…

I turn abruptly away, alarmed by the intensity of his gaze and the resultant stirring in my belly—and down lower. “Mr. Zuben,” I say softly.

“Just Zuben.”

“Okay, Zuben.” I draw a long breath to settle all the crazy things going on inside of me. The survival of Sanctuary House depends on this meeting—on me. “If you don’t want to see our financial statements, what exactly can I do for you?”

“A lot I suspect.”

My back stiffens.

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