Page 95 of Bidding War

Today, while getting ready, though, I find his barbs on the bathroom sink again. It’s particularly bad since he’s been shaving only every few days, so the barbs are long. It’s like living with a werewolf. “Baby, you missed the sink when you shaved.”

He sighs. He’s doing his stretches in the bedroom, so I hate to say anything that puts him in a bad mood right now, but I have had to remind him so many times about that. “Sorry. I’ll do better next time.”

Hope so.

Once my face is on for the day, I scoot past him in the bedroom and gather my things in the living room. I have to make sure I have everything—yesterday I forgot my laptop. Going back to the office has been disorienting, so I made a checklist. Triple-checking my bag, I do, in fact, have everything. “Okay, I’m heading out.”

“Hang on.” He comes to the door for our new morning routine. “Have as good of a day as you can, and remember I love you.”

It still makes me smile that he’s being so attentive like this. “You do the same, and I love you, too.”

He carefully pulls me in for a kiss because I wait until after I leave for lipstick just so I can have my goodbye kisses. “Alright. Off with you before I make you stay in bed with me all day.” He says this every morning.

“Wish I could.” My scripted response.

He grabs my ass on the way out, and I’m off. I’m not sure when we became one of those cutesy couples, but I am loving it. The trip to Andre’s office isn’t as long as it is from my house, and with a shorter commute, I have less time for work emails on the way there. So, when I get to work, I am blindsided by Andre in my office. “Good morning, Ms. Devlin.”

“Good morning, Andre. Did we have a meeting on the books?”

“No, nothing so formal.” He closes my door and draws the curtains for total privacy, which sends a tight knot to my stomach. “May I sit?”

“Please do.”

He sits and smiles. It’s that imitation smile of his, and I can never tell when it’s good or bad. “I need you on a new project. But it is confidential. Completely.”

“I’m all ears.”

“There is a list of companies I wish to purchase at below market value. I need you to figure out how I can do that.”

“You want me to work on acquisitions? I am a tax attorney?—"

“Yes, that is why I hired you,” he steamrolls over my objection. “I believe the board members of these companies are cheating at their taxes, or rather, cheating at something. If that knowledge became public, then they would be ousted. We can either oust them, or they can sell their controlling shares for cheap with proof of cheating.”

“Isn’t that something a fixer would do? I’m sure you have plenty on staff?—“

“Are you saying you cannot accomplish a simple audit of their taxes?”

I give him a sharp look. “If you get me their taxes, then of course I can. You know that is not what I am saying. I only mean that if you want me to look into things outside of their taxes, a fixer would be better equipped to do that. They have more connections in that realm than I do.”

He smiles again. “I believe in you, June. Someone as clever as you can come up with the connections needed for the task. I want to buy these companies before the end of the quarter.” He gives my desk a smack. “Let’s make this happen.” Then, he walks out.

He is the oddest man I have ever known.

Within minutes, the list is sent to me, and it is extensive. Along with tax information comes shareholder agreements and a barrage of confectioned documentation, none of which Andre has any legal right to have. But I am not about to dig into that aspect of it. He wants to buy their shares. My job is to find him a way. I knew going into this job that some aspects would be seedy, and this is one of the least seedy things I expected, so I am not going to complain.

Come lunchtime, though, I head home for a late lunch. It’s so nice to have a freshly made, home-cooked meal at lunch. Anderson had taken to watching cooking shows so he could prepare delicious food once he could eat again. We’re taking it slowly—nothing too hard to digest for him.

When I walk in, the place smells incredible. “What did you make?”

He smiles as he plates for us. “Mapo tofu—not spicy, don’t make that face—and rice, with a side of sauteed eggplant and ginger. All soft, don’t worry.”

“You spoil me.”

“Whenever I can.”

We sit down at the kitchen island for lunch, and it is every bit as delicious as it smells. Anderson asks, “How is work so far?”

“Great. New project from Andre. Nothing too crazy. Have you heard from work yet?”

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