In A Heartbeat (15 page)

“This is great,” Max said after the cursory greetings. “We’re right at the fifty-yard line. High enough to see the entire field, without resorting to up there.” He pointed to another level above their heads. “I’d never get seats like this on my own.”

Angie merely nodded, focused instead on the field. The players below were running in systematic patterns unlike anything she’d seen on television. Panic chipped at the little bit of confidence she’d earned through her research.

“Uh-oh, here comes trouble.” Max’s binoculars pointed to the bottom of the concrete steps.

“What do you see?” she asked, abandoning her study of the statistics displayed on the electronic scoreboard.

“Falstaff and that tax partner, Peters.”

She could see the two men pulling themselves up the steep incline with the help of a handrail. Renard, she notice, followed about fifteen people behind them. She hadn’t seen him for three days, and although she knew he’d be here, seeing him again gave her a jolt.

“Angie, are you okay?” Max frowned. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine, Max,” she replied automatically. Deep inside, she knew she was not.

She stood when the partners arrived, and introduced them to the other box inhabitants. Hank reached the box before everyone could sit. Handshakes were exchanged once again amid new introductions. Falstaff and Peters sat in front of Max and Angie, allowing her a sigh of relief. Surely, she couldn’t be expected to talk business with Hank when he sat on the far side of the box. Besides, with Falstaff seated next to Renard, her expertise would not be needed. She could sit back and enjoy the game.

They all stood while the band took the field, clapping to the infectious marching rhythm. Hank leaned behind Falstaff and waved for her attention.

“How about coming up here and sitting on the other side of me?” he yelled over the enthusiastic fans. Falstaff glanced over his shoulder and winked. She couldn’t gracefully refuse. The others shuffled chairs and bodies, allowing her to negotiate the edge of the concrete ledge. One misstep and she imagined she would roll head over heels down that sharp incline, all the way to the turf. She gulped, then quickly slipped her butt into the seat, already missing the security of the back row.

Hank leaned closer to her ear. Instantly, Angie recognized the woodsy scent that singled him out from the thousands of men around her. His warm breath stirred the air around her sensitive earlobe. Her fear forgotten, she instinctively moved closer, drawn to his heat.

“Cathy’s coming,” he said. “She asked if she could sit next to Max. You won’t tell him, will you?”

These were not the words she’d expected. Neither was her resulting disappointment although she wouldn’t admit the reason why.

“Is that why you invited us to the game?” she asked. “For matchmaking?”

“No. Cathy’s request came after the invitation.” He leaned close again, sharing words for her ears alone. “I wanted to share a football game with a friend.”

She bloomed inside. It was the only way she could describe that tender, opening sensation that lifted her spirits and warmed her to the tips of her fingers. The man had the ability to make her insides shrivel and expand at a moment’s notice. And she was expected to talk business with him? She bit her lower lip.

“We missed the kick-off,” she said.

“So we have.” His gaze skimmed over her face. All her nerve endings slipped to high alert. He should be watching the field, not her.

“Some people say the kick-off is the most exciting part of the game,” she said, trying to impress with her new knowledge.

“Perhaps, but I’m a strategy man myself.”

He focused on her lips which suddenly dried to dust. She moistened them with the tip of her tongue. Hank’s resulting smile spread slowly, pulled by deepening dimples.

“I like to watch the plays develop,” he said. “Slow and sure with a focused target in mind.”

Was he talking about football? Or the intense yearning building inside of her? She swallowed hard.

“Each team supplies their own footballs, even when they travel,” she said in an effort to regain control over her emotions. “They bring roughly twenty-four footballs with them.”

He gazed at the field, the crinkles near his eyes deepened. “Is that so?”

She wasn’t certain she was making the right impression. He could be silently laughing at her or squinting from the sunlight. She’d hate to think all her research last night was wasted.

“Less footballs are used in a domed stadium than an open one like this,” she added. “A few years ago there was a controversity regarding the balls used in a championship game. Some air —”

“It’s okay, Angie.” He turned and smiled at her. “I’m familiar with football protocol.”

She was horrified. He’d been quietly laughing at her all along.

“Relax,” he advised. “Enjoy the game.”

She didn’t think that was possible.

Cathy arrived and took the empty seat next to Max. All the men in the box seemed enthralled with the action on the field. Little conversation occurred other than an occasional yell toward the field at no one in particular. By the middle of the first quarter, Angie’s anxieties about being put on the spot had diminished and she began to tenuously enjoy herself.

The giant scoreboard flashed unexpected and entertaining animations. She hadn’t seen anything like those when she watched football on television. She stood with the others in a fun, unanticipated, synchronized crowd experience called a “wave.” While she never managed to see an actual infraction of the rules, due to her research, she understood the arm gestures of the referees. Her research wasn’t in vain after all. By the end of the second quarter, she was yelling and cheering with the rest of the box occupants. She was feeling good.

Falstaff leaned toward Hank. “Angela tells me you’re having some problems with your accounts payable.”

“Oh.” Hank sounded genuinely surprised.

“Tell him, Angela,” Falstaff prodded. “Tell him what you’ve noted during the interim work.”

All the pageantry of the bands and cheerleaders on the field couldn’t lift the apprehension that settled in her ribcage. She heard shuffling behind her and knew Wilson had edged forward at the mention of accounts payable. She could almost feel his glare boring into her back.

“Well, I noticed the warehouse was unattended when the overhead doors were open. That could lead to theft, you know.” She dared to glance up. Hank nodded thoughtfully in response. “It’s outside the role of our interim work, but we could monitor the warehouse for this condition and maybe make recommendations…”

“Tell him about the missing invoices,” Falstaff said, not letting her take a breath.

“Your staff couldn’t provide a number of the payable invoices that we specifically requested. This could be an indication of several problem areas, such as unauthorized payment, or payment to fictitious vendors, or—”

“Poor filing procedures?” Hank suggested.

“Perhaps,” Angie conceded. “Hopefully, that’s all that’s wrong. But a missing invoice can be the first warning of something potentially much more serious.”

Hank seemed to consider the possibility. At least he
appeared
to be taking the matter in earnest and she found some comfort in that. Angie glanced over toward Falstaff. His face beamed brighter than the shiny brass of the tubas marching onto the field.

Hank shifted toward Falstaff. “I suppose you’re suggesting some sort of additional study your people can perform for a price.”

“We can do that, most assuredly.”

Hank washed his hand over his face. “Your people have done a good job, a competent job for Hayden thus far. However, I’m faced with certain financial constraints that will probably preclude me from utilizing anything beyond the contracted audit. But I’ll tell you what. If you’ll put together a proposal, I’ll give it some serious attention.” He stood up. “I need to excuse myself for a few minutes. Anyone want anything from the concession stand?” He glanced quickly around before leaving the box for the stairs.

Competent.
Angie could almost feel herself glow. He said they had performed a competent job, to Falstaff no less.

Falstaff reached over and grabbed Angie’s hand. “Good work. I knew you could do it. Things look fairly positive. Perhaps I underestimated your marketing skills. We’ll talk more about this in the office on Monday.”

She slumped back in her wooden chair exhausted, surprised at what a toll the anxiety of this moment had caused. Her plastic ankle brace felt like the only part of her body that hadn’t gone completely limp. Someone tapped her shoulder from behind. She twisted her body as best she could in the tiny space available and faced Tom Wilson.

“I heard you had some trouble in the parking lot the other day.” He smiled, not a particularly pleasant smile, more of a cat-concealing-a-canary smirk.

“It was only a flat tire. Max changed it for—”

“Maybe you should be more careful, Angie. I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Get hurt? But how—?”

Tom stood and stretched. “Think I better go make a run of it before halftime is over,” he announced and followed the same path as Renard.

Angie briefly pondered the strange conversation, but the marching antics of the band and the constantly shifting amplitude of the sound soon captured her attention. Eventually Hank and Tom returned. The late afternoon sun shifted enough to throw deep shadows across the field and add a chilly briskness to the ever-present wind. Angie cheered the hometown team on to victory in the final two quarters. The thoroughly delightful afternoon ended all too soon. With the victory bell tolling from the far end of the stadium, she reluctantly stood to leave. The two partners thanked Hank for the seats and quickly joined the fans surging down the steps.

“Thank you for the tickets.” She held out her hand to shake Hank’s as had the two partners before her.

“Yeah, these were great seats.” Max moved the folding chairs so he could stand beside Hank. “Angie, we’ve got to go.”

Hank blocked Angie’s exit. “Is that wise? Can you manage the steps with that cast on your leg? You could wait here until the crowd thins.”

She took one look at the mass of humanity crowding the narrow concrete aisles, and wished that was an option. “Max is my ride. I promised him we wouldn’t stick around after the game.” She took another look at the concrete steps. “I think I can manage.” Shifting her gaze to his eyes, she added, “Thank you again. This was truly a gift.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

She started to step around Hank to join Max on his other side when a quick shove from behind sent her teetering on the narrow ledge. Her breath caught. Her arms flailed at the empty air. Just as she felt herself falling backwards, Hank caught her arm and pulled her back to safety. He held her steady while her insides jittered like one of those cheerleader’s pom-poms.

“What happened?” Max asked, his face drawn in concern. “Did you trip?”

“Pete stumbled,” Wilson said. “He must have bumped you.”

“Yeah, I must have bumped into you or something.” Pete scowled at Tom. “Sorry about that.”

“Are you all right?” Hank held her shoulders in a death grip. His face drained of color.

“Yes, I think so.” Her heart pounded fiercely in her ears. “Just let me sit for a moment.”

“I’m sorry I’m so clumsy,” Pete said. “You sure you’re okay?”

“It’s a wonder you didn’t tumble down all those rows.” Cathy stood discreetly behind Max as if hesitant to leave.

Hank frowned. “Max, why don’t you go on? I’ll take Angie home.”

She started to protest but he held up his hand in warning. “Those steps are difficult enough to descend in a cast, and after that scare, you’ll need a moment or two to recover.” He looked up at Max. “Go ahead, I’ll take care of everything.”

“Are you sure?” Max raised his eyebrows and glanced directly at Angie.

She smiled. After all the ranting she’d done about Renard, it was no wonder Max was concerned to leave her alone with him. “It’s okay, Max. You go ahead. I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride to get here.”

“Sure thing, Angie. We’re still on for that project tomorrow, right?”

She nodded. He left followed by Cathy, Pete and Wilson. Soon she was alone with Hank in a rapidly emptying stadium. “Thanks for waiting with me. I’m not sure I could have handled those steps.” She cocked her head toward him and squinted. “You always seem to be around when I need rescuing. Why is that?”

“And you need rescuing so often.” He laughed. “Are you ready to take on the steps now? You look like you’re breathing easier.”

They walked to the handrail, but she hesitated. Somehow descending appeared far more terrifying than coming up.

“Let me go first,” Hank said. “It’s not as bad if you can’t see the bottom.”

“And if I trip?”

“Then we go down together.” They both laughed and she followed behind at Hank’s deliberately slow pace. They reached the bottom and he took her elbow to steer her toward the tunnel passage. “Did you really enjoy the game?”

“Oh yes. I liked the cheerleaders and mascots and the bands.” She tried unsuccessfully to describe how all of the commotion made her feel alive. “It’s not at all the same as watching the game on television.”

“No, that it’s not,” he agreed. “I’m glad you liked it. I’ve never been able to convince Elizabeth to come to a football game.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged, then took her hand. “I wonder if you could do a favor for me, Angela?”

“What kind of favor?” she asked, staring at her hand in his. She was sure Falstaff would disapprove but, darn it, the warmth and strength of his hand covering hers felt too good to protest. Everyone who knew the two of them had left. Maybe she could allow it just this once…

“I have to attend a charity ball and Elizabeth can’t—”

She pulled her hand out of his and stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh no, you don’t. We’ve had this discussion before. I told you, I’m not allowed to socialize with clients.”

“I’ve thought of that,” he said, tossing the ends of her scarf over her shoulders. “No one will know who you are. It’s a masquerade ball for Halloween. You’ll be in costume.”