Binky’s money. He shifted uneasily on the chair and adjusted his pants. Dammit, the naked girls were finally starting to get to him.
He gave the brunette stripper’s ass one last wistful gaze and turned to Binky. He owed the older man a great deal, and now was the time to pay him back. Maybe it would be a quick task to find the thief and then Dane could get to his personal business. “Okay, Binky. Tell me everything you know and how to get in touch with Sugar’s friend.”
Binky’s shoulders slumped with relief and his brown eyes misted over. “Thank you.”
Dane sighed and flipped open his BlackBerry. “You might not thank me if it turns out to be Charlie.”
Binky shook his head firmly, the fun-loving roué replaced by the hard-nosed businessman. “No one steals from Bingham Brothers and gets away with it. Especially not a Bingham.”
KEELEY ANSWERED her ringing phone. Good thing Sugar hadn’t convinced her to play hooky after treating her to lunch at the bistro around the corner. “Hello?”
“Keeley Davis, please.”
“Speaking.” But just barely. The deep masculine voice on the other end of the phone was making her speech processes a bit fuzzy.
“My name is Dane Weiss, and some mutual friends suggested we get in contact.”
Ah, yes, Binky’s lieutenant. Geez, he was making it sound like a blind date setup. Although if he looked as good as he sounded…back to the cloak-and-dagger stuff. “How sweet of them.” She leaned heavily on the word sweet to see if he was quick enough to understand.
“Sweet as Sugar, if you can afford it.”
She smiled at his dry tone. He’d probably met Sugar before, especially if he was a personal friend of Binky’s. “And you can’t afford it?”
“There are certain things a man doesn’t need to pay for.”
Keeley sat back in her chair and fanned her face. How true. She was about ready to give it up for this guy and she’d only been talking to him for thirty seconds. For the sake of her now-staid, CPA self, she hoped he was married, twice her age or gay. Or bald. No, bald would be fine as long as he kept talking. Well, somebody needed to keep talking. She realized their conversation had tapered off into a long, awkward pause while she’d been panting over him.
He seemed to realize the sensual bent of his words and hastened onward. “I’d like to meet with you to discuss this project. Where would be good for you?”
She could think of several places where Dane Weiss might be good for her but shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind. “You’re more than welcome to come to my office.”
“I’d rather we met in a social setting. This is quite sensitive material and I don’t want to be seen visiting an accountant’s office.”
“Sure, I understand. Let’s meet at the coffee shop a few blocks from my office.” She gave him directions to her favorite place.
“Sounds great. How about three o’clock?”
“Today?” It was already past one.
“Definitely. I want to meet you as soon as possible.”
Woof. Down, girl. “All right, three o’clock. How will I know you?” Now it really sounded like a blind date.
“I have a white shirt and red tie on today.”
Yawn. So did every other businessman in the city. “What, no rose in your lapel?” Oops, her smart mouth went off again.
“No, I’ll have it between my teeth.” His deadpan comeback startled her into laughter. “How will I know you?”
“I have brown hair in a bun, a brown suit and glasses.” Boy, that sounded boring. She frowned at her outfit. No time to go home and change. Oh, well. She was near the end of tax season and didn’t have much clean laundry anyway.
“Okay, Keeley. I’ll see you at three.”
“See you, Dane.” She hung up and drummed her nails on the desktop. No time for a manicure, either, noting her buffed natural fingertips.
Oh, well. It wasn’t as if she needed stripper nails like Sugar’s anyway.
2
KEELEY PUSHED through the bakery door and dangled her wet umbrella over the mat. A spring squall had broken over the city after her intriguing phone conversation and had driven rain under her umbrella, spattering her glasses and pulling damp strands of hair loose to straggle along her cheeks.
She probably looked like something the cat dragged in, but after all, accountants didn’t get paid for their hairdos, just what was under it.
The teenage girl behind the counter greeted her with a slight Polish accent. Yum, she loved Eastern European bakeries. None of that low-fat, high-fiber, no-taste nonsense.
Maybe one treat. Since she was sitting at her desk more and more, she had to be careful of her carb intake. Hmm, chocolate chip cookies, donuts, sweet rolls, apple crisps and—ooh, cherry tarts. With a delicious sense of irony, she ordered the tart and a skinny latte.
She put her change in the tip jar and carried her coffee and sweet to a table on the side wall, where she could watch the door without being in its direct line of sight. A tall potted plant blocked her a bit, but she’d manage.
She placed a napkin on her lap and carefully bit into the tart, the flaky crust breaking apart on her tongue. The cherry filling was better than the usual canned pie filling, with vanilla and almond extracts mixed in. Delish. She really needed to treat herself more often. After all, a few extra minutes—or hours—on the elliptical trainer would take care of it.
Not quite three o’clock. Keeley’d have time to finish her tart and get down to business with Binky’s buddy, Dane. The bell over the glass door chimed, and she peeped though the leaves like Sheena, Queen of the Jungle, sizing up her prey.
Rowrrr. A big blond guy walked in, black trench coat dripping on the floor mat. He flipped his wet hair off his forehead and wiped his eyes. Keeley couldn’t exactly tell at this distance, but she guessed they were probably blue. He had the total Nordic-god, lusty-viking-raider look going on, probably several inches taller than her own five foot eleven and three quarters.
He ordered a drink and took his change with a ring-free left hand, promptly dropping the coins into the tip jar. Not a cheapskate. Then he smiled at the girl behind the counter, and dimples popped up in his cheek. She blushed and stammered, and Keeley shifted in her seat. Come on, open that trench coat. She wanted to see if he had a gut like other big guys often did.
As if he’d heard her mental begging, he undid his coat buttons. No way. No way. The trim blond hunk wearing a white shirt and red tie couldn’t be Binky Bingham’s right-hand man. She’d imagined some older guy in his forties or fifties who just happened to have a voice as sexy and sinful as dark chocolate. This guy was some coffee junkie popping in for his afternoon fix.
As if he’d felt her astonished stare, he turned to meet her eyes. Keeley froze, hunter becoming the prey as he stalked toward her through the
