she could stop the reaction. Interesting. So she’d nabbed the newest owner right out of the box. Lucky her.
She considered how to play this. She could tell him straight out that she knew he was the club’s newest co-owner. But he’d likely shut down and wait for the troops before talking to her. Not productive.
The other option was to go along with his game, pretend ignorance and see how much he volunteered. He might play nice if he didn’t feel cornered. Yet not owning up to the fact that she recognized him was a lie of omission, and she didn’t know if she could accept that kind of near deceit.
He watched her, widening his stance. Not quite combative but not friendly, either. “So what’s the protocol?”
“What are you, ex-military? ‘Protocol,’” she said on a snort, mind racing to another option than the lie.
He whipped off his glasses, pale blue eyes alight with irritation. “You can be as much of a smart-ass as you’d like, Ms. Banks, but don’t lord your authority over me like I’m some two-bit chump here to take your beating.”
“Quite the speech.” She tugged at her sleeves, ensuring her wrists were covered. “Beaux Hommes is being investigated—”
“Based on what? Anonymous tip? Filing discrepancies? What was the red flag that sent you haring across the country to make my life hell?”
Drawing a deep breath, she forced the clenched muscles in her jaw to relax. “If you’ll let me finish?”
He dipped his chin once.
“Gracious of you. Thanks.” Even in her heels, this guy topped her by an easy two inches, making her have to stand up straighter and lift her chin in order to meet his gaze. “Everything is outlined in the letter I handed you, but I’ll summarize.”
“Gracious of you,” he parroted, his sarcasm as thick as cold syrup and just as distasteful.
“The IRS lives to serve.” Hands resting below her belly button, she gripped her opposite wrist. “Beaux Hommes had a variety of red flags—a radical drop in revenue, excessive expenses in relation to that annual revenue, a significant increase in employees disparate to the drop in revenue and tip reporting discrepancies on official documents.”
She paused, gauging his reaction. The guy actually appeared surprised by her list, but she’d seen too much over the past few years to buy a ticket to that particular show. Still, the expression on his face wasn’t the deer-in-the-headlights, oh-man-I’m-so-busted look most audit recipients sported. He seemed concerned but curious, and that curiosity threw her for a loop. She hated loops.
“Seems like an awful lot of suspicion for a single year’s return.”
Smart, she mused. Or it had been a lucky guess. “As I said, the letter explains everything.”
His eyes roved over her and she had the distinct impression he was using the borderline rude action to buy time to formulate his response. Too bad she didn’t feel like accommodating him.
Releasing her hands so they hung by her side, she blinked slowly. “This conversation has been great, but I have to speak to the manager on duty. Now.”
“I manage the dancers, and I’m the only one here. You’ll have to make do with me.”
His lie decided her course of action. He’d implied he was nothing more than a midlevel manager. She needed access to the files as soon as possible if she was going to close this case, so they’d play it his way. “Your day just gets worse and worse, doesn’t it? First, I’d like to see the operating ledgers, as well as P&L statements for the last three years. Digital or paper copies will be fine. Current and past employee files would be helpful, too.”
“I don’t actually work in this department.”
And there it is. The first blatant, outright lie. She’d learned that the guilty regularly manipulated the truth into something they thought would offer them the most hope of escape. Knowing this firsthand didn’t squelch the sting of disappointment that he’d followed the pattern, though. She had...what? Hoped he might be honorable?
“Get over yourself,” she muttered softly enough he didn’t hear her.
He looked over his shoulder at the large wall clock. “I’m guessing everyone has gone to lunch. If you want to come back in an hour or so, I can get you in touch with the general manager, Kevin Metcalf. He’ll be able to help you with whatever you need.”
“I’m not leaving until I see those files. I have my own computer, but I’ll need access to a dedicated printer and copier.” He looked at her blankly, and she sighed. “Do you have any idea where the P&Ls or ledgers might be?”
He sighed. “I’ll have to make a couple of calls.”
“Feel free, but I’m within my jurisdiction to begin my investigation even without your help. It’ll save both of us a lot of time if you’d point me in the right direction.”
He shifted to sit on the desk behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Should I obtain legal representation?”
Harper strolled to the desk opposite Levi and leaned a hip against it, considering him. “You’re free to do so, but retaining an attorney won’t stop me from looking over company files and copying relevant paperwork. Even a court-ordered injunction won’t be enough. The IRS has authority in this investigation, Mr. Walsh.”
His eyes flashed even as his lips thinned. “You’re making it very hard for me to want to comply.”
She lifted one shoulder in an approximation of a shrug meant to irritate. “Not my problem.” For some reason, needling him was entertaining. “My job is to uphold the law and execute the actions detailed in that letter.”
“Nice.” He ripped the envelope open, scanned the letter and made a very visible effort to keep himself from reacting. When he looked up, he’d mastered his emotions again. “I’m going to make those calls before I give you the proverbial keys to the kingdom. You can wait here or outside.” He shoved off the desk and stalked to a tiny room off the reception area, not waiting for her response before slamming the door behind him.
“I’ll be right here,” she murmured. He had an air about him, a subtle confidence she found inexplicably attractive.
Reminding herself what was at stake, she began mentally cataloging the office. Digging into her briefcase, she pulled out her iPad and began tapping in visible inventory and taking supporting pictures. Seven desks with one computer each, yet none of the desks had any paperwork on them, save for the very first desk, where the sole phone rested. There were four printers, only one of which was actually plugged in. The others had a faint covering of dust and a general air of disuse. Interesting.
Logging it all, she wandered through the desks, randomly opening drawers and searching for any signs of use. Again, only the first desk seemed occupied.
“Who sits here?” she called out.
Levi emerged from the small office, smartphone pinned between his ear and shoulder as he flipped through the letter. “Sure. That makes sense.” He paused, glancing at her as he spoke. “No, she’s not the most agreeable person I’ve ever met.” He laughed. “You’d
