Page 8 of Enticing the Fixer

Dude, stop drooling.I jerk my attention away from her. I’m not looking for a woman. But if she wants to have sex… I’ll bite.

She’ll never bite. She’s the kind of woman who only has missionary sex on a bed with the lights out. For procreation purposes. Gorgeous but uptight and prudish. Her eyes skate away from mine, and a faint flush covers her cheeks.

Get your head on straight. You’re here to lay low. Not find yourself in the middle of a Jerry Springer Show.

Once we’re seated. Truman leans into the cushions and lays his forearms on the distressed tabletop. “Don’t go there.”

“Don’t go where?” I pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I’m not stupid. Although when it comes to women, I might be.

“The woman we walked by. The one you were tripping over your tongue about. You should steer clear of her.”

“Why?” I tap my fingertips on the hard surface.

“It would be better if you didn’t.” He shrugs. “It would cause the drama you’re here to avoid, and I need your full attention on this case. Women are a distraction.”

“Fine.” I nod. “Point taken.”

“Good.” He smiles as his shoulders relax.

What’s the deal with the woman? Is she a criminal? Or is he that concerned about the case?

Without turning my head, I keep her at the edge of my vision. She doesn’t look like a criminal. She looks like the kind of woman who stops at stop signs and counts to twenty before looking both ways and pressing on the gas. The type of woman who flosses between meals. And has her pantry organized in alphabetical order.

So why am I finding that fascinating? I tip my head to the waitress. I need a drink, and my head examined. My last girlfriend was a social media darling. Tan skin. Green eyes. Flawless makeup, whether she was going to the club or taking a nap. And a total bitch. I don’t need another mistake.

“What will I be doing?”

“Accounting.”

Now, he has my full attention. Accounting and a puzzle. Nothing could be better. “Is there something, in particular, I’m looking for?”

“You’ll know when you see it.”

“Wasteful spending of investor’s money?”

“Maybe.”

“Blatant criminal activity?”

“Possibly.” Truman laces his fingers together. “My client believes the majority owner is in over her head. Her father died unexpectedly and left the company in a lurch. When her father started the business, it wasn’t worth anything, and he built it into a Fortune 500 business.” He tips out his chin. “The father was younger and didn’t have a will spelled out, so the daughter has had to work through all the probate red tape.”

I frown. “Is your client someone who wants the company?”

“No.” He pauses. “I can’t say any more if you’re going to stay unbiased. The person is someone with a vested interest in the company and has seen some things that appear out of place. This person is worried the daughter is going to ruin the business through incompetence.” He presses his lips together and arches his eyebrows. “Or worse.”

“I see.” I’ve seen these situations before. They usually turn out to be blood fests.

“Basically, some board members think the company is sunk if she’s in charge. While others believe she’s the best solution for a bad situation. There’s a push by a few of the shareholders for the company to be sold to the highest bidder before everything goes to shit.”

“So, I’m supposed to figure out if the owner is incompetent or a criminal?” I run a hand through my hair, trying to put the pieces into some semblance of order. It’s not easy without the known parties in front of me, but it’s as good as I’m going to get. He wants an outsider’s opinion, and that’s what he’ll get.

“That’s a good place to start.”

As the waitress approaches the table, we go silent. The woman smiles and eyes Truman up and down. He ignores her like he doesn’t notice the blatant invitation for–whatever he’d be willing to give out. The scent of fried mozzarella sticks makes my mouth water.

She turns in my direction when he doesn’t bite, but my closed-off expression isn’t any more welcoming than Truman’s. She takes our order and heads back to the kitchen.

“Do you believe your client?”

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