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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 think she likes you!” Binky crowed.
Dane rolled his eyes. Of course she liked him, or rather liked 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 rouе 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 coffee shop. For a big guy, he moved easily through the maze of tables with a loose-hipped stride.
He stopped next to her table and stared at her. His eyes were blue, after all—cool blue like a spring sky. “Is this seat taken?”
As one final test, she raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Do you have a rose?”
He grinned. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s impossible to drink coffee with a stem between my teeth.”
Bingo. “Dane Weiss?” She stood and had the unusual sensation of looking well up into a man’s face. A welcome change from having short guys staring into her cleavage. “Keeley Davis.”
“Pleased to meet you.” He set his coffee on the table and enfolded her hand in his own large one. Her fingers, almost always chilly, tingled as he warmed them. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
Just long enough to get herself all hot and bothered. “Not at all. It was nice to get out of the office for a break. I usually push myself pretty hard.”
“Me, too.” He released her hand, and she missed his warmth. “Mind if I sit?”
“Be my guest.” She nodded at the seat across from her. He sat on the small wooden chair, testing his size on it first before settling all the way. It looked like a child’s chair under him.
“Cherry tart?”
“What do you mean?” Sugar hadn’t told Binky about her, had she? She promised she wouldn’t.
He gestured at her pastry. “I see you like cherry tarts.”
“Oh. Yes.” No reason to get defensive. “They’re my favorites.”
“Mine, too. I grew up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin, and we have several cherry trees in the orchard. My mom makes the best cherry jam, pies, tarts, you name it.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had fresh cherry pie.” She’d mostly grown up on snack pies her mother had brought home from the convenience store.
“You don’t know what you’re missing. The fruit explodes on your tongue, a bit tangy at first, but then mellowing into pure sweetness.”
Keeley tried not to gape at him. My God, the man should be narrating erotica audiobooks. Cherries exploding into pure sweetness on his tongue? She really, really wanted to see that tongue in action. “You sound like you miss it. Would you like some of mine?” She pushed her plate toward him.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t eat your sweets on you.”
Oh, yes, he could. “Really, go ahead. It’s a big tart.” And so, apparently, was she. Old habits died hard.
He smiled at her the way he’d smiled at the teenage counter girl. Friendliness, but nothing more. “Just a small taste.”
She didn’t want friendliness. She wanted him to feel the same achy awareness that he was stirring in her. And during tax season, of all times. “Take as much as you want. Big men like you have big appetites.”
He gave a quick blink at that statement, but broke off half the tart and took a bite with white teeth that had obviously received above and beyond the recommended daily allowance of dairy products. “Mmmm, not as good as Mom’s, but still delicious.”
“Isn’t it?” She swirled her finger through the cherry filling and slowly sucked it clean. He sipped his coffee, the only hint of interest a slight flaring of his nostrils.
Good grief, the only way she could be any more obvious was if she unbuttoned her boring, off-white blouse and flashed him her rack. But she did admire self-control. Such a rare quality in a man.
DANE DRANK his coffee, hoping his rain-dampened hair would mask the fact that he’d started sweating at the sight of Keeley sucking cherry filling off her finger. “So about the project.”
“Yes.” She flipped open her leather-bound notepad, all business now. “Tell me what’s going on.”
He quietly filled her in on Binky’s suspicions of his grandson and she nodded as she took notes. “I see,” she began. “The subject of your investigation is the chief financial officer who has access to pretty much every account in the company, but other people obviously have access as well.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“And you? Do you have access to those accounts?” She gave him a hard stare. “Any girlfriends who work there and have access to those accounts?”
He grinned. She was no fool. But if he were the thief, he would never hire a sharp cookie like her. “No, no girlfriends who work there. I’ve never worked there before and have had absolutely no access to any of their funds. I will as soon as I start as acting controller, but if you take the job you’ll be able to look over my shoulder and keep me on the straight and narrow.”
“I was wondering how you were going to get me in. Or can you download the accounts for me to look at off-site?”
