sure.” Jillian draped an arm around her sloping shoulders. “I can’t quite accept it yet, either.”
“Having Dax come home has been wonderful. And of course, there’s—”
“Mrs. Bowley.” Dax’s voice was warm but firm. “Could you please bring us the hors d’oeuvres?”
“Right away, dear.” The older woman gave Jillian one last fond smile as she turned away.
Dax crossed the hall and opened the door of Charles’s study. Only she supposed it was his study now. She looked at him, uncomprehending, before she realized he wanted her to go into that room, rather than into the parlor opposite it, where guests were usually entertained. Or at least, where Charles, and Dax’s parents before him, had entertained. It was difficult to remember that this was Dax’s home now.
As she passed him and entered the room, he asked, “Would you like a drink?”
“A glass of sherry would be nice,” she said. He disappeared again, and she dropped her purse in a wing chair as she idly walked to the window and pulled back the heavy drapes. She couldn’t stand to sit in here in the dark, and it was still light outside. Perching on the wide ledge, she stared at the familiar scene without really seeing it.
Crossing her arms, she lifted each of her hands to the opposite shoulder and massaged her neck for a moment. If she spent much more time in Dax’s company, she was going to need a massage therapist on a permanent basis.
He returned with her drink, and one of his own, and walked across the rug to hand it to her. At the same moment, Mrs. Bowley bustled in with a small tray. She deposited it on the table beside Jillian and left again.
As he switched on the floor lamp behind the desk, Dax said, “Come sit down. There are some things I want to ask you about.”
She frowned as she settled into the wing chair, trying to ignore the way his casual olive pants pulled across his thighs when he propped one hip on the edge of the massive cherry desk. Across his definitely-all-man thighs. She swallowed. She should have smacked his face when he’d taken her hand in her condo.
Why hadn’t she? She couldn’t explain it, even to herself. It was as if she’d lost all willpower, all independent thought, when he’d looked at her with those lazy, sexy eyes of his. They’d told her, without words, that he was remembering how wild and incredible their lovemaking had been. And she’d felt her body softening, yearning for him even though she knew he despised her.
And she despised him, of course.
But it stung her pride that he’d been the one to move away. He’d been quick to spoil the magic in the moment, too, and old hurt rose in her throat. Why was he so determined to think the worst of her? It struck her that he’d been just as determined to condemn her seven years ago. It was almost as if he wanted to believe she was a woman with fewer morals than the owner of the infamous Chicken Ranch.
“What do you know about Piersall Industries?” The curt question scattered her whirling thoughts, and she had to consider it for a minute.
“Other than the fact that it’s your family’s business that manufactures steel beams for construction?” She shrugged. “Not much. If you’re hoping I’ll walk you through the family finances, you’re out of luck.” And she couldn’t resist adding, “Charles and I didn’t talk much about business when we were together.”
“Don’t be childish,” he told her. “You don’t need to prove anything to me. I already know about your affection for my brother. What I want to know is whether or not you can explain to me how Charles dug this company into a hole so deep I may not be able to get it out.”
She had been staring at him angrily until his last words penetrated, and she sat up straighter, unable to believe her ears. “What? You must have misread something. The company should be in great shape. Charles was always looking for charitable causes that would help offset the chunk of change the IRS demands. He’s been one of Baltimore’s most generous patrons of a number of community projects.”
Dax smiled grimly. “Yeah? Well, it looks like he’s been a little too magnanimous. Although it’ll be a while before I know for sure. He seems to have been the world’s worst record-keeper.”
“He hated that end of it,” she admitted. “Charles was a people person, remember? But he had employees to manage the finances. Have you talked with Roger Wingerd about this?”
“Not yet. I wanted to get familiar with the current setup before I started questioning people.” Dax rubbed the back of his neck as he picked up a thick sheaf of papers and handed them to her. “You probably won’t understand this, but it’s a copy of the quarterly financial report. It’s not good.”
“I studied accounting, remember?” she said examining the numbers with growing dread. “I’ve kept my C.P.A. certification even though I don’t practice any more.”
“Any more?”
She looked up, shooting him a grim smile. “I worked for Arthur Andersen for almost five years before Marina and I opened our store.”
One black eyebrow rose. “I’m impressed.” But his tone was mocking.
Refusing to respond in kind, she said, “Thank you.” Then she waved the report at him, concern mounting. “I’d have to see a lot more than this to get the whole picture, but it does look as if Piersall is in trouble.”
“In trouble?” Dax snorted. “If something isn’t done, this company will have to declare bankruptcy by the end of the year.”
She was shocked and for a minute she simply gaped at him. “My God, Dax. Do you realize how many people will lose their jobs if Piersall sinks?”
He pivoted and picked up another piece of paper from the desk top. “Four hundred, more or less, with about ninety per cent of them full-timers who would lose benefits.”
“I had no idea,” she whispered.
“Apparently, neither did Charles.” For once, Dax appeared unconcerned about continuing their verbal battles. “I was hoping you could shed some light on this.”
She started to shake her head, and then the light dawned. “No, you weren’t.” She drained her glass of sherry and set it on the table beside her with a snap. “You didn’t see my name on the list of employees, and you wanted to know if I’d been helping Charles to mismanage his funds. You jerk.”
Springing out of the chair, she stalked toward the door, but she’d forgotten how fast he could move. He was laughing as he took her elbow and steered her toward the dining room. “Caught by a master of deception. What can I say?” He barely twisted out of the way when she rammed her elbow backward toward his ribs. “Calm down, honey-bunch. I don’t recall making any accusations.”
“Then you had a memory lapse.”
“Anyway,” he said, staying out of range, “You can relax. I don’t think you had anything to do with the company’s problems.”
“How generous of you,” she said bitterly. “You’ll have to excuse me for thinking that you assessed my reaction before rendering such a magnanimous opinion.”
“But
