Page 44 of Reluctant Surrender

His teasing smile dropped a fraction, and he took the binder from me, laying it flat on the desk to check out what I’d done. I pointed to the line items that made no sense and the other discrepancies in the balance sheets.

“Okay, okay.” He stood up to his full height again. “Now say all that again in words I understand.”

I looked up at him, steeling myself for the anger that would lash out once I explained my findings.

“These numbers aren’t real. Someone’s skimming off the top, or completely inept.”

His eyes darkened. “You can tell that by these numbers? I’ve had accountants look over these reports and they all said they were fine.”

I nodded. “I’m sure they did if they were just using the final totals to do reports or your taxes. It’s not that blatant, honestly. Someone put some effort into covering up the trail. But once you pull one little string, everything comes unraveled with it.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am.” I nodded. “Numbers, I know.”

He looked back at the binder and rubbed his hand across his jaw. “Can you tell who did it?”

“I would start looking at whoever puts these numbers together for you. Who’s your bookkeeper?”

“Camille,” he said with a sad tone, like he’d just found out his puppy had a terminal disease.

“I thought she was the general manager of the club.”

“She is. She fired the bookkeeper a month after I took over because she didn’t trust him. He’d been working with Piotr, and she said we’d save money if she did it herself.”

He raked his hand through his hair. “I didn’t give enough attention to the club. If she’s the one doing this, it’s because I wasn’t holding the reins tight enough.”

“Well, to be fair, Lukas, your accountant really should have found this if he was supposed to be double checking her work. If he didn’t find it, he’s either helping her or he’s incompetent.” I touched his arm. He carried too much of the world on his shoulders. “She might not have done this on purpose. It’s possible the old bookkeeper was untrustworthy, but she didn’t see the discrepancies and just continued what he’d been going.” Though it wasn’t likely, I wanted to give him a glimmer of hope that the person he’d trusted with the club hadn’t robbed from him. The club seemed to be the only area of his life that he delegated real responsibility.

He reached across my body and shut the binder. “I’ll take care of this.” His tone hardened and went flat. When I caught his gaze, a shiver ran down my back. There was distance there. Like he’d separated from me, from the conversation, and was stuck in his own mind thinking of what his next move should be.

“We need to talk about the wedding.” His change of topic sent my mind spinning.

“Maybe we should wait to discuss that until you’ve taken care of this. It seems important, and I don’t want to be the reason it doesn’t get resolved.” Maybe taking the burden of my mess-ups off his shoulders would give him more room to breathe. Perhaps this accounting fuck-up could give me an exit from his insane proposition.

“No. We aren’t waiting anymore.” He walked across the room to the bar in the corner and poured himself a drink. “You want something?” He held up an empty glass.

“I’m fine.” I pushed up from his chair and inched toward the door. If I couldn’t get him off the topic, I wasn’t above making a run for it.

“Stay put, angel. No more avoiding the subject.” A cube of ice clanked into his crystal glass. Even with his back to me, he knew my movements. It should have been unsettling, but I was getting used to his superhuman abilities.

“It’s not that I’m avoiding the subject as much as I’m avoiding your attitude when I tell you—yet again—that I am not going to marry you.”

He poured his drink then turned around to face me. His features had warmed, probably because instead of talking about something he didn’t want to deal with, we were going to talk about the one thing I didn’t want to deal with. The man seemed most pleased with himself when he was making me do things I didn’t want to do. My discomfort brought him too much joy.

“What’s your backup plan then?” He took a sip of his drink then walked over to the dark brown leather armchair and sank into it, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. The arrogance rolling off him made me want to pull at my hair. How could he look so damn confident while I was rejecting him so blatantly?

“You don’t think it’s weird that Sammy Bertonelli is going to forgive my great insult just because you put your ring on my finger?” The air quotes around ‘great insult’ were probably a little inappropriate seeing as I did fire a gun at him, but I didn’t have much ammunition for the fight brewing.

“No.” He balanced his drink on his knee. “As my wife, you’re untouchable.”

“And you don’t see how stupid that is?” Really, what difference did it make what my last name was—I tried to shoot him!

“If we’re going to dissect the situation to find all the stupid actions, we should start at the beginning.” He pointed to a deck of playing cards sitting on the edge of his desk. “If you hadn’t been hustling instead of coming to me with your situation, this wouldn’t be happening at all. So, maybe one stupid move deserves another.”

“Can’t we just tell him we’re engaged and it’s going to be a long engagement?” I offered a compromise, seeing as he had somewhat of a valid point.

He shook his head. “The only thing keeping him from getting his hands on you and making an example out of you is becoming my wife. It doesn’t wipe the slate clean; I’ll owe him a favor after this, but at least your pretty neck will stay in one piece, and your heart can keep beating in that sweet chest of yours.”

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