A HIGH STAKES SEDUCTION (6 page)

“Why didn’t you need to borrow money?” There probably would have been no shortage of offers. Everyone wanted a piece of this juicy new pie.

“I prefer to be in charge of my own destiny. I sold my software company for eighty million dollars. I’m sure you read about that.”

“Yes, but why would you risk your personal fortune?”

“It’s an investment, and so far it’s worked out fine.” She managed not to turn and look at him, but she could see his satisfied smile in her mind. It was really annoying how likable he was. And he didn’t gamble? She was having a hard time finding reasons to hate him. And if he wasn’t cheating, it made her job harder, because it sounded as if her contact at the BIA wouldn’t be happy until Constance found something.

She’d expected them to return to the burned-out motel, but instead he pulled into a restaurant parking lot. Her white Toyota Camry sat off to one side, sparkling clean.

“I had them wash it and bring it here. I didn’t think you’d want to see the wreck of the motel. It’s a mess over there.”

“That was thoughtful.” She sneaked a glance at him but he was getting out of the car, not paying attention to her. “But why did they bring it here instead of the New Dawn?”

Unused to the sandals, Constance stepped out onto what felt like shaky ground. At least now that she had her car back, she could go buy some more sensible clothes and book a room somewhere else. This time she might ask some pointed questions about fire safety. She didn’t know what would have happened if the motel hadn’t been equipped with alarms.

“I made us a reservation for lunch here.”

“What?” She glanced at the restaurant, which—with hanging baskets of lush flowers and elegant striped awnings—looked upscale and expensive. “No! I couldn’t possibly. I need to go buy some...toiletries, and clothes. And I want to get more work done back at the office today.”

The last thing she needed was to sit opposite John Fairweather over a delicious meal. She’d surely lose the last shreds of her sanity. And really, he had quite a nerve even suggesting it. She should report his behavior to her BIA contact.

Except maybe she’d leave out the part about the kiss.

She climbed into her car and put her bag on the seat next to her. The new key started the engine perfectly, and the brakes screeched slightly as she reversed out of her space too fast. She turned and headed for the exit. It wasn’t until she saw John—in the rearview mirror—staring after her that she realized how rude she’d just been.

He was smiling slightly, as if he found the situation funny.

Which made her speed away even faster.

* * *

Safely ensconced at the desk in her new room at the Holiday Inn, Constance called her boss’s office to let her know why she’d had to move, and ended up speaking to her friend Lynn, the office receptionist.

“It’s a bummer that you live with your parents. I wonder if you can claim the loss on their homeowner’s insurance.”

“I doubt they have any. Their insurance is faith in God. Even if they did, filing a claim would raise the premium.”

“If the motel doesn’t offer compensation you could sue.”

“I’d never do that.”

“You’re too much like your parents. Living in the wrong century.”

“I happen to like this century.”

Lynn laughed. “Okay, okay. So how is it going with John Fairweather? Is he as gorgeous as he looks on the internet?”

Constance shifted in her chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you like to pretend you’re a nun, but I’m sure you can tell whether a man is good-looking or not.”

“He’s okay looking, I guess.” That stupid smile inched across her lips again. Thank goodness no one was here to see it.

“So, how old is he?”

“Early thirties, maybe?”

“That’s not too old for you.”

“Lynn! What on earth would make you think he and I have anything in common?” They didn’t. Nothing. She’d thought about it on the drive over here.

“You’re both human. Both single. And you’re very pretty, Constance, though you do your best to hide it.”

“Would you stop?” She pushed her glasses up her nose. Was she really pretty enough to attract the interest of John Fairweather? It didn’t seem possible.

“I’m just excited that you’re away from your parents’ overly watchful and critical gaze. You need to make the most of it.”

“I’ve been quite busy getting burned out of my motel room and trying to go through the New Dawn’s paperwork.”

“All work and no play makes—”

“I’m already dull, and quite happy that way.” At least she had been until last night. Suddenly her mind kept churning with odd ideas. That kiss had started something. She kept thinking about it. Feeling his lips on hers. Feeling his arms around her.

Obviously she had to make sure that didn’t happen again, but she could kiss someone else, couldn’t she? “Maybe I should join one of those dating services when I get back.”

“What!” Lynn’s stunned response showed that she’d revealed way too much. Now she couldn’t even remember how she’d led up to that. “You’re finally coming to your senses? It’s him, isn’t it? Those smoldering dark eyes. Those powerful broad shoulders. I know you’re far too principled to be attracted to his money, so it must be his looks.”

“Nonsense. He’s very intelligent. Nice, too.” She froze, realizing that she’d just proved that she liked him.

Silence greeted her on the other end. “Really?” said Lynn slowly.

“Well, I don’t know. I only met him yesterday. He’s probably just being polite so I won’t delve too far into his books.”

“I wouldn’t blame him. I shouldn’t be kidding around like this, though. He does have a reputation as a lothario. I want you to spread your wings, but don’t fly right into a fox’s den.”

“One minute you’re encouraging me and the next you’re telling me to back off. It’s lucky I have no interest in anything except the books here.”

“I can’t believe I suddenly feel like I have to warn you off having an affair with John Fairweather.”

“I can’t believe it, either.”
And I also can’t believe how much I need warning off!
“Obviously you’ve forgotten that I’m the same Constance Allen who’s only ever dated one man.”

“Well, as soon as you get home I’m going to make sure you start dating someone new. When do you get back here, anyway?”

“It’ll probably take a week or so. The BIA said I can request more time if I need it. It all depends on what I find.”

“I hope you find something. That’s always good for business.”

“You’re actually hoping that a crime is in progress?” Constance’s gut clenched at the possibility. “I’m hoping that everything checks out fine. Then I can get out of here as soon as possible.” And preserve what was left of her dignity.

Four

S
he picked up a couple of suits and blouses and a pair of shoes at a local Macy’s. It was nearly four by the time she made it back to New Dawn to go over the books. Her eyes darted about, on high alert for any signs of John Fairweather. But she didn’t see his imposing form anywhere. He wasn’t in the lobby or the elevator. Or leaning over someone’s cubicle on the office floor.

He also wasn’t in his office, where she sat at the round table, which was inconveniently at coffee table height, and resumed her journey through the files. Where was he? He might be angry that she’d blown him off at lunch. Still, he needed to realize that she was here to do a job, and they’d already spent way too much time together. It would probably be more appropriate to the situation if they weren’t interacting at all. On the other hand, her BIA contact had said that often the best information came during an inadvertent slip in casual conversation, so she should spend as much time as possible with the tribal members.

She shook her head. This whole situation was far too confusing for her. Just the fact that Lynn could encourage her one minute and warn her off the next proved that nothing about it made sense. She’d rather be surrounded by quiet and predictable columns of figures.

Which, supposedly, she was right now. Unfortunately the atmosphere vibrated with the absence of John Fairweather.

Constance stayed until seven-thirty and pored over the files he’d shown her and plenty he hadn’t. Nothing aroused her suspicion. If anything, John’s accounting methods were somewhat redundant and labor-intensive, and could benefit from some streamlining and a software upgrade.

Relief mingled with disappointment as she descended to the lobby without encountering him. Apparently he’d already forgotten about her and moved on to new pastures. He was probably out on the town right now with some willowy model.

She strode through the lobby, challenging herself not to look around for him. Why did she want to see him? All he did was get her flustered. As Lynn had pointed out, he was a notorious playboy and Constance was peering behind the curtains of his successful operation.

Still, it had been nice of him to personally bring her to the hotel last night, and to pick up her car this morning. On the other hand, if he had her car moved, why hadn’t they brought it right to the hotel instead of to some expensive restaurant, where he had apparently intended to continue his inappropriate seduction?

She made her way through the parking lot to her car, brain spinning. Was she upset that he wasn’t here to flirt with her and harass her? She should be appalled and disgusted—and suspicious—of his attempts to seduce her. Red flags stuck out of this mess in every direction. Her career at Creighton Waterman would be ruined, and she could lose her accounting credentials, if anyone learned about that kiss. Yet she’d as much as told Lynn that she was attracted to John.

Now she was thinking about him as John?

What was happening to her?

* * *

The next morning she arrived early enough to be the first person in the offices. She’d just settled into browsing through some figures, when John’s deep, melodious “Good morning” made her jump. Which was ridiculous since she sat in his office.

“Hello, Mr. Fairweather.” She said it as primly as possible. She didn’t want him to have any idea of what he’d been doing to her in her dreams last night.

“Mr. Fairweather? Don’t you think we’re a little beyond that? In fact, I was thinking I should call you Connie.”

She blinked rapidly. “No one calls me Connie.”

“All the more reason.” He sat down on the opposite side of the round table. “What’s your nickname?”

“I don’t have one.”

“I don’t believe you.” He leaned back. “What do your folks call you?”

“Constance. It’s what they named me, so I guess they like it. What do yours call you?”

“John.” His eyes twinkled. “So you do have a point. You look great this morning. Did you finally get some sleep?”

Constance felt heat rising to her cheeks. “I did, thank you. The Holiday Inn is very nice.”

“I’m sure it is.” He cocked his head. “Shame about the twenty-minute drive.”

“I don’t mind.” Why was she getting flustered?

“I’ll try not to take it personally.”

Of course she was getting flustered. He was staring right at her and flirting.

She watched as he rose from the chair, bowed slightly and left the room. She stared after him, through the open door. Part of her wanted to slam the door and sag against it; another much less reliable part of her wanted to run after him and call, “But wait!”

She closed the door quietly, but resisted turning the lock. As soon as she sat down again, her phone rang and she jumped as if she’d been stung. It was Nicola Moore from the BIA, according to the display. She answered it with as much professional dignity as she could manage.

“Hello, Constance. How are things?”

“Fine. Everything’s fine.”

“I heard about the fire. I hope that hasn’t shaken you up too much.”

“It was a shock, but luckily there was no loss of life.” She kept quiet about John’s role in helping at the fire. There was no need for Nicola to know how much time they’d spent together.

“Have you had a chance to get to know some of the key players yet?”

She hesitated. She wanted to say,
I’m an accountant. I’m better with numbers than people,
but she knew that would be unprofessional. “Sure, I’ve spoken with several.”

“Don’t be afraid to get a feel for their personal business. That can often be the most revealing information.”

“Uh, sure.” Her response wasn’t too professional. Still, the request seemed odd. Maybe she just wasn’t familiar enough with this kind of work. She knew the BIA regularly conducted audits of various Indian ventures, so they must know what they were doing. “I’ll do my best.”

She frowned as she hung up. John had done a pretty good job keeping her safely sequestered in his office and away from people. Maybe it was a good idea to move around and take a look at the numbers from the casino floor. There was no reason she couldn’t observe the tellers in action, taking people’s hard-earned money. It might help stir up her righteous indignation, which seemed to have cooled a bit. She needed to remind herself what this whole enterprise was all about. From an early age, she’d been taught that gambling was wrong, and she still didn’t like it much.

She shoved the cap on her pen and put away the latest files she’d looked at. All predictably clean and tidy and all columns adding up to the right amounts. Maybe she was taking John’s operation too much at face value. Time to get out there and look under the hood. Feeling like an intrepid reporter, she lifted her bag and headed for the door. She scanned the floor quickly to make sure John wasn’t around. Nope. Just two employees sitting quietly at their computers, so she headed downstairs.

She approached the area where the cashiers sat with some trepidation. They were behind a barrier, like at a train station, but it was decorated to look more like an elegant bar than a check-cashing joint. To gain entrance she’d have to go in through the back, and she wasn’t sure if they’d let her.

She opened a door marked “staff only,” rather surprised that it wasn’t locked.

“Can I help you?” A pretty girl with long, curly black hair stood in the hallway behind the door.