Page 49 of Feast

“You haven’t told anyone else?” he persisted.

“No. Have you?”

“A couple of friends,” he admitted.

“And did they laugh?”

He scowled. “That’s not the point.”

“I think it’s at least half the point,” she argued.

“I don’t want my mom finding out,” he growled.

“Well, then don’t tell her.”

“I’m telling you not to tell her.”

She threw her hands up, exasperated. “Why would I tell your mother we slept together?”

“And don’t tell your dad, either.”

“I have a good relationship with my dad, Spence,” she said, starting to get pissed. “But my sex life is none of his business.”

When he just kept scowling at her, she blew out an exasperated sigh. “Look, the only way your mom or my dad is going to find out about our Vegas hookup is if you keep acting weird about it. So you might want to work on that. In the meantime, I’m just here to do your taxes.”

“I don’t need you to do my damn taxes,” he yelled, flinging his hands up.

“Well, I’m gonna, because your mother asked me to and I’m trying to be friendly,” she shouted back, ignoring the way the open shirt fluttered. His chest was really distracting. “You want me to tell her you wouldn’t let me?”

“You’d rat me out?”

She narrowed her eyes to match his glare. “I will throw you under the bus so fast you’ll leave skid marks.”

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ll get the damn paperwork.”

“Fine. Get me some damn coffee while you’re at it.”

“Get your own damn coffee,” he snapped and stomped out.

“That went well,” she decided and went to find the coffee pot.

When he came stomping back into the room, she was sitting at the table, her laptop open and a beer at her elbow. “You don’t have any coffee,” she informed him, “so I helped myself to a beer?”

“Whatever.” He slapped a thick file onto the table. “Here.”

She stared at the file. “Paper records? What is this, nineteen ninety-two?”

“You said paperwork.”

“No,yousaid paperwork,” she corrected.

He looked like he was grinding his teeth into dust. “What do you need?”

“Business records,” she explained with what she considered admirable patience. “Bank statements, expenses, receipts, income. Preferably in electronic form.”

“Fine,” he said and turned on his heel to stomp away again.

“We are not off to a promising start,” she called after him.

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