Lone Star Santa (9 page)

But that made it sound so much simpler than it was. Getting to that info had been tedious and difficult, as it was meant to be. Connections were tangled and obscured and it was only by luck—pure luck—that anything suspicious had been uncovered. Luck that Kristen had time to keep poking around because her parents were running late. Luck that her mother knew real estate and was able to connect the pieces and fill in the gaps. And if Barbara couldn’t fill in the gaps, then she’d contacted colleagues who could.

Yes, Mitch was oh, so very lucky that he’d confided
in Kristen and she could hardly wait to tell him and show him how clever she—and her parents—had been. She’d succeeded at something for a first time in a long while and success felt good.

Kristen was still in the throes of self-congratulation when both parents gasped in unison. That couldn’t be good.

Her father came out of his office to stand behind her mother and stare at the computer monitor as though he couldn’t believe what he’d seen on his.

“What?” Kristen got to her feet.

Her parents just looked at her.

“
What?
” She headed toward the desk as her mother clicked off the screen.

“Barbara,” Carl Zaleski murmured.

“What did you find?” Kristen demanded.

“She can’t handle it.” Her mother spoke without moving her lips.

“I heard that. What can’t I handle? Scratch that. I can handle it. I can handle and have handled more stuff than you might guess.” What could they have found? “I’ve handled rejection. Lots of rejection. And bad news.” They weren’t looking at her. “Weird stuff.” That got their attention. “Yeah, really weird stuff that we don’t have in Sugar Land.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Barbara murmured, again without moving her lips.

“I can still hear you. Now come on.”

“What do you think, Barb? Should we tell her Mitch owns GBE?”

“GBE? What’s GBE?”

“Nice one, Carl.” Barbara’s lips were moving plenty
now. To Kristen she said, “GBE is Golden Boy Enterprises.”

“That doesn’t sound like Mitch. Besides, his hair is brown.”

“She does have a unique take on a situation,” her father commented.

“Maybe if I knew what the situation was, I could be less unique and more relevant.”

“No, you misunderstand. I
like
your fresh eyes. You bring a new interpretation to the facts.”

Barbara gave him a puzzled look. “But facts are true by definition. You don’t interpret truth.”

“
You
do,” Carl scoffed. “Truth: a tiny poorly maintained shack becomes a charming fixer-upper. Or a handyman’s special starter home. Or a prime lot with a tear down. Or a property with investment potential.”

“I can’t believe you’ve actually been listening to me all these years! Why, Carl, you sweetheart.”

“Hey!” Kristen made the time-out sign with her hands. “Nice attempt at distraction, but it didn’t work. What is Golden Boy Enterprises and why is it bad that Mitch owns it?”

Her mother made a face and switched the monitor back on. “GBE owns Anderson Personnel.”

Something about that name seemed familiar. “A personnel company? Wait a minute.” Kristen ignored the spreadsheet she’d spent the last couple of hours typing on and looked at her notes. “That’s the company I started with. The one that owns companies that own companies.” Her eyes widened. “That means Mitch owns those strip clubs!”

F
RIDAY AND PAYDAY
couldn’t come soon enough, as far as Mitch was concerned. It wasn’t the kind of paycheck he was used to, but as long as Kristen didn’t go for vintage champagne, he had enough for dinner and whatever.

It was the “whatever” that he dwelt on. He hoped there would be a “whatever,” but the scope of it would be entirely up to Kristen.

He knew she was thinking about him. He’d installed lights on the outline of the Noir Blanc building and The Electric Santa had booked the rest of the little shopping area as well, so he was on outlining duty this week. He’d fill in the rest of the decorations next week.

He might have taken a little too much time with Noir Blanc, but it was all those windows he had to outline. The angle of the partially opened blinds gave him a perfect interior view from his vantage point on the ladder.

And Kristen, well, Kristen had a habit of swiveling in her chair and watching him when she was talking on the telephone.

Mitch pretended he didn’t notice at first but she’d give him these speculative up-and-down looks that weren’t ignorable. That look was straight out of the old film noir movies and, having watched about a dozen of them now, he knew what happened next.

The woman of the world drew the man in to do her bidding, that’s what happened next.

Mitch made several unnecessary trips up and down the ladder to mitigate the effects of that look. Honest to Pete, that woman could make his blood run hot and cold at the same time. She distracted him and when a guy was working with a staple gun and wires as he stood on a ladder, he didn’t need distractions.

Kristen got up from her desk and Mitch breathed easier as he watched her walk over to the coffee pot. She’d removed her jacket and was wearing a white blouse and a skirt that molded to her body. Any tighter and she wouldn’t be able to sit down. He didn’t know how she was able to sit now.

The women in the movies wore those skirts, even the ones without money. They’d sit and cross their legs, just like Kristen. Mitch had never noticed the whole leg crossing thing before. And they looked classy, just like Kristen. And worldly, just like Kristen. And knowing, just like Kristen.

And he was becoming obsessed, just like the helpless men.

Mitch stopped stapling and lowered his arms to let the blood flow back into them.

He needed work. His real work. He needed to fill his mind with numbers and percentages and interest rates. That was all that was wrong with him.

There was nothing particularly obsession-worthy about Kristen. A tight black skirt and a pair of red lips. Big deal.

At that moment, the door opened and she came out onto the porch. “Hot chocolate?”

He shivered. He’d forgotten The Voice.

“You’re cold. Take it.”

She reached up and he automatically took the heavy white china mug even though he wasn’t a fan of hot chocolate and he certainly wasn’t cold.

“Thanks.” He took a sip. “Good.” In a powdery, too diluted, instant kind of way.

Kristen smiled and hugged her arms. Mitch, who had
considered descending the ladder and joining her on the porch stayed right where he was because, from his vantage point, her modestly unbuttoned blouse wasn’t so modest.

Ignoring the undissolved cocoa lumps floating in the foam, he took a swallow and burned his tongue.

That was quick karmic payback. Now he wasn’t going to feel guilty for taking in the view.

“I realize you’re the professional and all, but should you really be using a staple gun with wires and electricity?” she asked.

“No.” He worked a lump of cocoa mix against the roof of his mouth with his tongue. He didn’t want to chew his cocoa in front of her since she’d been so thoughtful to bring it to him.

“And yet, you are stapling. Are you always such a rule-breaker?”

Mitch gestured with the staple gun. “You’ll notice the plastic, building-friendly clips I’ve already installed.”

She stepped forward and craned her neck. “Oh.”

“They won’t work like that on the porch ceiling, so as a Christmas light professional, my choices are to drill holes, use adhesive and chance peeling off paint, or finesse with this nifty, low-powered staple gun made especially for installing Christmas lights.”

“Oh.”

“Not to worry.” He took another sip. “You’re not expected to know all the ins and outs of such a complex business.”

She gave him the strangest look. She had to know he was kidding, right?

“Do you use that line on your financial clients?”

Where had that come from? “Of course not. In fact, the more my clients understand about their own portfolios, the easier it is for me.”

“Hmm.” Arms still crossed, she gazed up at him. “I would have thought it would be easier the other way around.”

“What do you mean?”

“The clients who don’t know anything—the ones who leave everything up to you. I’d think those would be your favorites.”

How did they get from hot chocolate and Christmas lights to his clients? “I don’t ever make decisions about a client’s portfolio without conferring with that client. The less they know, financially, the more time it takes to explain and answer questions.”

“But the less-savvy clients might not know to ask questions.”

Mitch chugged the last of the cocoa and climbed down the ladder. “What’s this about?”

She shrugged one shoulder. Elegantly. Even though he was suspicious, Mitch noticed.

“Just talking to you about your work. Though I must say if this is your reaction to questions, if I were a client, I wouldn’t feel very encouraged to ask any.”

“If you were a client, I wouldn’t be standing on a ladder installing Christmas lights.” He handed her the mug. “I’d be answering your questions.”

She swirled the dregs of the cocoa. “Questions like, oh, say, what’s Golden Boy Enterprises?” Her gaze latched onto his. She didn’t smile.

“How did you find out about
that?
”

“Not an answer.”

“Golden Boy Enterprises is our retirement account,” he explained. “Jeremy and I set it up when we first got started.”

“And conveniently located it offshore.”

“Yes. To get experience with offshore accounts.” He held her gaze so she’d know he was telling the truth. “We have clients who travel overseas and who have second and third homes in other countries. Having accounts outside the United States is convenient for them. And we have clients who want the privacy. GBE is one of several accounts we’ve set up over the years. Jeremy and I won’t do business with an unfamiliar bank or corporation until we first give it a trial run with our own money.”

“So you’ve got accounts all over the place.”

So that’s what this was about. She’d investigated him, which had to mean she was interested. Mitch grinned. “Don’t sound so suspicious. We close them out once we’re satisfied with the service, unless there’s a reason to maintain an account in the country. We do have international clients.”

“Oh.” But she looked as though she had something else to say.

“Are we okay?” Mitch asked softly.

“Why Golden Boy? Why not Sloane and Donner?”

“It’s our personal account. The name was Jeremy’s idea.”

“I should have guessed that.”

“Also, we wanted to go through the process of filing a DBA—that’s—”

“Doing Business As. I know.”

He nodded. “Anyway, we wanted the experience of
filing as a foreign business. That’s all. If we’re going to make a mistake, we’d rather keep it in house.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

Mitch tried to read her expression, but she was staring into his mug again. “I take it you’ve been investigating me.”

“Well, duh.”

“Find anything other than our offshore retirement account?”

A corner of her mouth crooked upward. “You have led a depressingly uneventful life.”

He laughed. “It’s hard to get into trouble when you spend all your time playing computer games. And then I went to college and studied. Okay, and played more computer games. And then Jeremy and I started our business—no more time for computer games—and I’ve been working ever since.” That sounded pathetic. It
was
pathetic.

“When do you play?”

“I…” Don’t. That was the truth. Honestly, he’d rather get all the long hours out of the way now so he could guarantee a more reasonable work schedule in a few years. “Getting established takes a lot of hours up front. Basically, I hit the gym to stretch out the kinks, grab something to eat, watch a little TV, sleep and start all over again. Not a whole lot of time for play.” He gestured with the staple gun. “This is play.” Could he possibly sound more like a drudge? Judging by Kristen’s expression, no.

He tried to salvage the situation. “But hey, I’m taking a break on Friday when we’re going out.” He hoped they were still going out on Friday. “I’ll pick the restaurant and you be in charge of the entertainment.”

“I have a better idea.” The Voice was back. She was practically purring. “I’ll be in charge.” She turned and undulated toward the door. “Of everything,” she tossed over her shoulder.

M
ITCH HADN’T EXPECTED
Kristen to dress in her film noir mode when they went out. Although he’d developed a true appreciation for the look, he was curious to see her dressed normally and if she still held the same fascination for him.

Mitch wasn’t used to being fascinated by a woman. Attracted to, sure. Intrigued by, yeah. Unsure of, certainly. Lustful…hmm, that was memorable. He took a moment. Yeah. But fascinated? Not until Kristen. So he was curious when he rang the doorbell.

But he was stunned when the door opened.

“Hi.” Black ringed her eyes and her red mouth had disappeared under a frosting of pale pink. And her hair was big. Bigger. Poufier. Sexy. Okay, he was onboard with that. The giant silver hoop earrings, not so much.

She had on a white tank top that revealed more than he’d seen looking down her blouse while on the ladder. Her short denim skirt settled around her hips leaving her stomach bare. And was that a belly ring? She looked like a cheerleader for the dark side.

There were a number of things he could have said at this point. “Wow, you look hot.” That would have been okay and not too much, considering the skin factor. Or even just, “Wow.” Even “Whoa, baby, come to Daddy,” would have been better than what he actually said, which was, “Aren’t you going to get cold?”

“I thought you’d keep me warm.” It was The Voice, but it didn’t sound right coming out of a frosty pink mouth.

He hesitated, trying to figure out what she expected of him.

“I guess not,” she said and turned back inside.

Mitch was aware that he’d failed a critical test. Considering he’d passed an earlier test in spite of The Electric Santa truck and his red hoodie, he was confused.