just that he was one of Binky’s protégés and totally trustworthy.”
Keeley snorted and Sugar giggled. Men were so naive. Nobody was totally trustworthy, especially when large sums of money were concerned.
“I WOULD HAVE BEEN happy to come to your office, Binky.” Dane Weiss leaned over the small table to shout into his elderly friend’s ear over the pulsing rock music. “Or your condo.” Penthouse, rather, overlooking Lake Michigan and the rest of the city. Binky had an entire floor in Lakenheath Towers, one of Chicago’s most exclusive buildings.
But Binky preferred a different kind of penthouse—the kind with naked women in it. “And miss the lunchtime show at Frisky’s? At my age, I can’t stay awake for the evening show.” He cackled and gestured expansively to the nubile chicks cavorting above them on the runway. One flipped over and slid down a pole using just her thighs, and Dane winced. He’d never figured how they did that without friction burns, but probably some trick of the trade involving baby powder.
It wasn’t as if he were a stranger to these places, having worked his way through grad school as Binky’s driver/personal assistant, but he did his best to ignore the buffet of female flesh literally spread in front of him. He wasn’t there for a lap dance—not that Binky would mind if he did partake.
Although the lunchtime dancers weren’t quite the A-string team in their G-strings, Binky didn’t care. With his overtipping, he was the life of the party. “Here, sweetheart, this is for you.” He slipped a fifty into the nearest girl’s garter.
Dane tried to stop him, not because Binky had to watch his pennies, but because the other girls spotted Ulysses S. Grant’s bearded scowl and flocked to Binky like seagulls on a leftover sandwich. The other customers grumbled as all the entertainment clumped around the oldest and richest patron in the club.
Binky passed each of them a fifty, accepting their coos and cheek pinches. Of course the old reprobate knew them all by name.
Dane checked his watch. He’d do about anything for Binky, but sitting in a titty bar wasn’t the best use of his time. Besides, Dane’s fashion designer sister Bridget still occasionally made costumes for her stripper friends here and would give him hell if she caught him. Something about being a hypocrite for complaining how she had put herself through school sewing specially designed outfits for the dancers. Time to move this meeting along.
Dane raised his voice and gestured at the disgruntled mob across the runway. “Okay, girls, thanks for visiting, but we have business to discuss.”
His meaning was clear. Dane figured his blond bulk helped put the point across. The dancers slinked off, Binky staring wistfully after them, his white hair mussed and cheeks marked with five different sets of lip prints.
“Dane, Dane, Dane, my boy. There is no business so urgent that one must disappoint the ladies.”
Dane wanted to say that the ladies were only disappointed by not getting another fifty in their garters, but kept his comments to himself. “On the phone, you said this was urgent.”
Binky sighed, his shoulders drooping. “I did invite you here for a reason—besides the entertainment. This was one of the only places I go where I am reasonably certain that none of my staff attend.”
Dane nodded in agreement. Bingham Brothers was, to put it charitably, a traditional financial organization. Hidebound and stuffy were other less charitable descriptions. But despite its moldy-oldie air, it had an impeccable reputation. Binky was still the chairman of the board despite his semiretirement. “What’s up, Binky?”
His friend leaned in. “I think one of my executives is stealing from the funds entrusted to us by some of our oldest and most vulnerable clients.”
That jolted Dane out of his complacency. “The trust funds?” Bingham Brothers managed money for the richest families in the nation, not just Chicago.
Binky nodded, misery apparent on his quivering lip. “It might even be Charlie.”
“Charlie? Your Charlie?” Charles Andrew Bingham VI was Binky’s grandson and a total prick, but Dane had never figured him for a thief. “But he’s the chief financial officer. Why would Charlie steal from his own company? Doesn’t he make over ten million a year?”
“It may not be the money, Dane. Charlie’s always blamed me for his father’s death.” Binky sighed. “As if I ever had any control over Quint. Reckless, foolish boy. I thought having a son of his own would settle him, but sadly that was not to be.”
Dane blew out a long breath. For Binky this wasn’t only professional, it was personal. Damn. “Who else knows about this?”
“I asked a friend for advice. She’s very savvy and gave me the name of a forensic accountant who can audit the accounts, if it comes to that.”
“Can you trust this friend of yours not to blab?”
“Of course. Sugar Jones and I have been dear, dear friends for years.” Despite his low mood, Binky managed to leer convincingly.
“Sugar Jones?” Dane fought back a groan. Sugar’s mind was one giant business plan. She probably knew to the penny how much money Binky had stuffed into her garter over the years. Plus compounded interest.
“You know her?” Whoops, now Binky was getting territorial on him, like a miniature white poodle protecting a favorite squeak toy.
Dane held up his hands in a gesture of appeasement. “Purely business. She models for my sister’s lingerie company.”
“Lovely!” Binky beamed, his face crinkling into a map of wrinkles. Friends again. “I’ll have to get her to model for me.”
Dane figured modeling lingerie was more clothing than Sugar usually wore. “Binky, what do you want me to do?”
“Welcome aboard, you’re my new controller-in-training.”
Dane’s jaw dropped. “But you already have a controller. Do you think he’s involved in the missing money?”
“Glenn? No, of course not. He’s wanted to retire for some time now but hasn’t found a successor to his liking. Now he has.”
Dane nodded. Glenn would do whatever Binky wanted. After all, Binky was still the boss.
“You’re between consulting jobs, correct?”
As usual, Binky’s sources were accurate. “I do have some downtime.” But he planned on sleeping in for once in his life, seeing the sights of Chicago and getting laid. Not necessarily in that order.
A pretty brunette swiveled by, her legs going for miles and her long hair playing peekaboo with her firm brown nipples. She caught Dane’s eye and tossed her hair back to reveal a killer pair of high, round tits.
Binky nudged him and passed him a fifty. “On me, dear boy.”
Dane demurred but Binky insisted, and Dane found himself offering the bill to the stripper, who wiggled her hips to sit on her high heels. He slipped the money into her garter, his finger skimming across her firm thigh. She ran her tongue around her lips and blew him a sultry air kiss. “Later,” she mouthed and moved off when no more tips were forthcoming.
“I
