that was what it had felt like to him when people he’d tried to help had turned on him with a vengeance. His ex-wife, for example.
Now his daughters needed him. He was all they had and taking care of them required all his concentration. All his energy. He did his best to help his clients with their financial needs, but he didn’t get overly involved with any of them. The only one who even tempted him to do so was Miranda.
So, he wasn’t sure whether he was pleased or perturbed when she arrived at his office just after his last appointment for the day had departed.
Two years earlier, Mark had set up for business in his west Little Rock home, converting a side door into the office entrance. That door led into a small reception area that held a love seat, two visitor chairs and his assistant’s desk and credenza. Mark’s smallish, but adequate-size workspace opened off that room, with another door behind him that led into the house.
The setup worked well for him, keeping him close to his kids even during the busiest times of the year. He often returned to the office after the girls were asleep, leaving the door to the house open so he could hear them if they needed him. He would never get rich with his one-man CPA business, but he was supporting his family, and that was all that mattered to him.
“Ms. Martin is here for her returns,” his assistant announced from the open doorway very late that afternoon. “She said she would like to speak with you, if you have a few minutes.”
He resisted an impulse to smooth his hair, which was typically tousled at this time of day, thanks to his habit of running a hand through it when he concentrated on something. “Sure, Pam. Send her in.”
“Okay. And unless you need me for anything, I’m gone for the day.”
“No, go ahead. I’ll see you Monday. Have a nice weekend.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
A moment later Miranda appeared in the doorway where Pam had stood. She wore a bright pink top with black slacks. For someone who had claimed to hate it when her feet hurt, she sure seemed to have a thing for trendy shoes, he thought, glancing at the heeled, narrow boots she was wearing.
Only then did he notice that she was carrying a cheerfully wrapped present in her left hand. She came in singing the happy birthday song and set the package on his desk in front of him.
A little flustered, he rose. “This wasn’t necessary.”
She dropped into a chair. “Just open it.”
Sitting behind the desk again, he tore away the wrapping paper from her gift to reveal a bottle of liquor. One glance at the label made him do a double-take. “Whoa.”
“As much as you probably enjoyed the outing with your kids, I figured you needed something grown-up to commemorate your thirtieth birthday.”
“This is too much,” he said with a dazed shake of his head. “You shouldn’t have—”
“Hey, Wallace. Just because you count my money doesn’t mean you can tell me how to spend it. Just say, thank you, Miranda.”
He sighed. “Thank you, Miranda.”
“Good boy.” She grinned at him, and it was impossible to resist smiling back.
“How was your movie?” he asked to change the subject.
She shrugged. “Loud. Predictable. I enjoyed it—but mostly I enjoyed the popcorn.”
He reached into a wire basket on his credenza and plucked out a file. “Sign where I’ve stuck the flags and I’ll file the forms electronically. You should receive your federal and state refunds within the next few weeks.”
“Oh, yeah, I can party then,” she murmured sarcastically as she flipped to the flagged pages and signed her name.
Shaking his head, he replied, “As I’ve told you several times, it’s better to pay less up-front and keep your money in the bank than overpay and get a bigger refund at the end of the year. The government doesn’t pay interest. And aren’t you even going to look those over? You can take them home, you know, though I have to have them back by closing time tomorrow.”
“I trust you,” she said, closing the file that held her copies without another glance at them. “I wouldn’t pay you to do this for me if I didn’t.”
“I wouldn’t trust anyone that much with my tax forms,” he said in a chiding tone. “I’d have to check to make sure everything was done the way I wanted it to be.”
She didn’t seem at all shaken in her confidence. “Got a bit of OCD, do we?”
“Obsessive compulsive disorder? Maybe a little. Must be why I chose to be an accountant—just to make sure all the columns add up and the bottom lines balance.”
He was unreasonably pleased when she laughed.
She stood to hand the signed forms back to him, leaning slightly across the desk as she offered it. Her bright pink top gapped a bit with the movement, and he was treated to a clear view of the tops of her creamy breasts. He didn’t believe it was intentional on her part, but the fact that he was still seated put him directly at eye level with her chest. And a nice chest it was, he noted before he quickly glanced away.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It had been too long since he had spent an adult night out if he was reacting this strongly to a glimpse of cleavage.
“I suppose you have big plans for the weekend?” he asked as Miranda took her seat again, apparently in no hurry to leave.
“No, not really. I’m just going to play it by ear.”
“Maybe I could buy you dinner tomorrow night?” It had been a while since he had asked anyone out, and his awkwardness now made that painfully clear. It wasn’t as if he had given any thought to the invitation, since he’d blurted it out almost before he had realized he was going to ask.
For the first time since he had met her, he saw Miranda Martin at a temporary loss for words. “Is this like a thank-you-for-your-business dinner?” she asked after a moment.
“Not exactly. But I’ll understand if you don’t want to mix business with pleasure.” It was a risk he probably shouldn’t be taking himself, actually. Maybe it would be better all around if she turned him down. He’d have gotten the urge to ask out of his system, and she would have made it clear she wasn’t interested, putting a stop to any further imaginings on his part.
Miranda toyed with the folder in her lap, studying him with atypically somber eyes. “It isn’t that I’m not tempted. I think dinner with you could be fun. But you should know that I make it a rule not to get involved with a man with kids.”
“And I’m not looking to get involved with anyone, either,” he returned. “Precisely because of those kids. That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate an occasional adult evening out.”
“So you’re just suggesting a casual date?”
“Just dinner,” he agreed. “I spent my birthday watching a cartoon with two preschoolers. It would be nice to have a conversation that doesn’t center around animated characters or talking animals.”
