In a Heartbeat (2 page)

* * *

The next morning, she walked through the double doors of Falstaff and Watterson, Certified Public Accountants, knowing full well her face broadcast her sleepless night. She blamed her confrontation with that man, the third something or other, for the weariness about her eyes.

Every time she’d drifted to sleep, steely gray eyes would haunt her, reducing her once again to the vulnerable, powerless invalid she had been before her transplant. She’d awaken with a start, reassured by the 10

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fierce pounding of her heart. As long as it maintained that steady, consistent thump, she was alive. She was strong. Then she’d close her eyes, and he’d be back. Intimidating. Powerful. She shivered.

“Angie, did you get the word?” Max, one of the junior auditors, greeted shortly after she dropped off her purse and audit bag in her cubicle. “Falstaff is looking for you.”

“Shoot.” An anticipatory tremor slipped down her spine. The grapevine had buzzed all day yesterday about one firing resulting from the weak economy. Angie wasn’t immune to the whispers. A surprise summons from the firm’s partner rarely meant good news.

Angie paused outside Falstaff’s office and sent a quick prayer skyward.
Please, don’t let him fire me. I need this job.
She pressed her hand to her chest, reassured by the steady beat of a stranger’s healthy heart. Truth be told, she’d work for the medical benefits alone.

She lifted a fist to knock on the oak doorframe, then noticed a few stray dog hairs on her jacket sleeve. “Oreo,” she grumbled, hastily brushing her sleeve before peeking around the portal. “Mr. Falstaff? You wanted to see me?”

“Um-hmm,” he spoke into the phone receiver pressed tight to one ear.

With his bifocals pushed up on his wide, balding head, he had the appearance of some mutant insect sporting four eyes. He gestured her in, then swiveled his chair toward one of the windows.

Angie slipped silently into one of the stiff-backed padded chairs immediately in front of his desk. She’d been in this office before, of course. No staff accountant managed to completely avoid this gut-wrenching experience. She glanced at the volumes of accounting and business texts lining the floor-to-ceiling bookcases and began to count.

She’d already estimated the number of ceiling tiles on earlier visits.

“I see.” Falstaff drummed his fingers on a manila folder on his desk.

“We were planning to begin our interim work out there tomorrow. Is that still on?”

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Donna Richards

Her eyes followed Falstaff’s repetitive tapping to the folder beneath, a folder with her name typed boldly on the tab. Her personnel file? She gulped, her pulse quickened.
What did I do?

“How about we meet first thing tomorrow morning? Good. My team will be there.” Falstaff’s chair straightened with a noisy squeal before he spun back to the desk. “I’ll look forward to meeting him. Take care, Jim”

He hung up the receiver, then slid his glasses down from their perch to rest properly on his nose. “That was Jim Owens, owner of Hayden Distributing. Sounds like they finally hired a new Chief Executive Officer.”

“A new CEO,” Angie said, nodding absently, her eyes locked on the folder. “I thought they would promote Tom Wilson. He’s been there forever.”
Why am I here?

“I guess John wants to shake things up a bit. You were planning to start out there tomorrow, weren’t you?” She nodded, her throat too constricted to speak. “I thought so. Looks like I’ll see you there, but that’s not why I called you in.”

He hunched forward, rounding his back like a man who had spent most of his fifty-plus years studying workpapers. “Jim Stevens turned in his resignation today.”

“He wasn’t fired?” Angela gasped, letting relief wash through her.

Resigned sounded much less threatening. Falstaff glanced at her quizzically, then opened the folder.

“According to your personnel file, you’ve got the technical qualifications to move into his old position.” Falstaff smiled across the desk. “You’re a very good accountant but we have several good accountants. You have limited management experience and virtually no marketing presence.”

“The Audit Manager position requires marketing abilities?” Still numb from his unsolicited compliment, she struggled to focus on his words.

“It does if you plan to be promoted beyond the manager position.”

Falstaff frowned. “These are hard times and if this firm hopes to survive, we need to attract new clients.”

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He stood and paced behind the desk. “We need to look professional, act professional, and be on the lookout for extended service opportunities. We want to help the client expand his bottom line,” he smiled over at her, “and ours, of course. Take this new CEO, for example.

You should be thinking how you can make the best impression on him.

This, after all, is the man who’ll decide if we’ll perform the audit next year.”

Angie shifted uncomfortably, feeling the promotion opportunity drift away before it was ever really hers. She knew how to push the numbers, but salesmanship was something else entirely.

“Tell you what.” Falstaff braced both arms on his desk and leaned toward her. “Let’s make this Hayden job to be something of a test. If you can bring in the job, within budget and without compromising quality,
and
you make a good impression on this new CEO…I’ll personally recommend you for the Audit Manager’s position.”

A promotion? Her mouth numbed. Her lips refused to move. Not only wasn’t she to be fired, but maybe she’d even be promoted. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. The increased money couldn’t come at a better time. She’d be able to move out of her mother’s house and finally live independently like a normal twenty-six year old.

“Thank you, Mr. Falstaff,” she gushed as she accepted his

outstretched hand. She vigorously pumped it up and down. “I won’t disappoint you. I promise.”

“I’m sure you won’t.”

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Donna Richards

By the time she arrived at Hayden Distributing, Max had already set up shop in the conference room. Stacks of manila folders, a nondescript audit briefcase, and a network of power cables to feed their laptop computers covered a long oak table.

“Have you seen Falstaff?” she asked with a little trepidation. She draped her trench coat over the back of an adjacent chair.

“I think we’re the first,” Max replied, “I haven’t been here long myself, but Beth said…”

“Beth?”

“The receptionist.” Max smiled. “You probably waved to her on the way in here.” He tugged on the bottom of his striped tie. “I just spent a few minutes checking to see what’s new.”

Angela sighed. When Max turned on the power of those long lashes, few girls stood a chance. The receptionist would just be another in a long line of conquests.

“Hayden Distributing hired us to audit their financials, Max, not to flirt with their personnel.” She unpacked her own briefcase and added a stack of papers to the items on the table. “Just be careful you don’t get caught. You know the rules.”

“Relax.” Max leaned back with a lazy smile. “I’m just being friendly.

Besides, I doubt a receptionist makes key financial decisions. Even

“fuddy-duddy” Falstaff can’t believe Beth is a breech of independence.”

“Independence is an important ethical principal among accounting firms,” she lectured, crossing to the opposite side of the room. “If it even looks like you might have a reason not to be objective on the job, or that 14

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someone connected to the company could be influencing your decisions, you could be reassigned or fired.”

“Or both?” Max teased.

She smiled, mentally stepping down from the soapbox. “Just be careful.” She stooped, mindful of her short skirt, to rifle through the boxy audit bag on the floor. “Have you seen that folder with—”

The conference room door flew open, sending loose documents sailing on the sudden air current.

“Let me introduce our audit team,” Falstaff announced. Angela stood hastily, tugging discreetly at the back of her skirt.

“Angela, come over here,” Falstaff beckoned. “I want you to meet—”

“You!” The masculine voice sent a shudder of expectancy down her spine.

She looked up to familiar steel gray eyes. Shock lodged in her throat.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Her disgruntled passenger from two nights ago looked her up and down. “I thought you said your people were well-qualified,” he snarled to Falstaff.

“Angela is a wizard at analyzing data,” Falstaff said. “Very competent.

She’s—”

“So grateful to be assigned to Hayden,” Angela supplied, extending her hand for the ritual handshake. She forced a smile on her face.

“Pleased to meet you, sir.”

The memory of stumbling over the address two evenings ago warmed her cheeks.

His hand enclosed hers in a firm grip.
Please, please
, she tried to telepath
. Don’t say you’ve met me before
. His gaze bore into her, but she held her own, enthusiastically pumping his hand.

His brow rose. “Angela?”

“Angela Blake, the auditor in-charge,” Falstaff droned. “I assure you, her experience makes her uniquely qualified for this engagement. Max Keller over here is one of our newest hires.”

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Donna Richards

Renard’s hand squeezed hers. “We’ll discuss your ‘unique

qualifications’ at another time.” Smiling tightly, he dropped the handshake. A shiver tripped down her spine. She hadn’t left the frying pan yet.

“What exactly constitutes interim testing?” he asked.

Falstaff jumped in to answer. “We need to test our understanding of your accounting systems to make sure our year-end procedures will be effective.”

He addressed his question to Angela. “So you’ll be—?”

“Flowcharting your systems, interviewing your personnel. Once we’ve documented how paperwork flows through the company, we’ll run a few checks to see if our understanding is correct.”

“I see.” He stepped back and considered her. Angela felt the familiar wavering in her knees. The man made the very air ripple with authority.

“I need to acquaint myself with the systems as well. No need to make unnecessary demands on the department heads by doing two interviews.

I’m meeting with Tom Wilson in his office at ten o’clock. Be there.”

“But I’ve already scheduled an appointment for –”

Falstaff interrupted. ‘‘Excellent idea, Henry. Angela will be happy to accompany you.”

Her mouth hung open. Henry? Didn’t that woman call him Phillip before? Renard raised an eyebrow in her direction.

“Are we through here, Bill?” Renard asked. “I want to talk with Jim Owens before he leaves for the airport.”

“Mr. Owens is here?” Angie asked. She knew he owned the company, but she had never so much as seen the man.

Falstaff clapped Renard on the back as if they were old friends and not recent acquaintances. “He came in to introduce his new CEO.” He turned to Renard. “I’ll walk you down the hall. I need to head back to the office myself.”

Renard nodded curtly to each of them. “Ms. Blake. Max. It’s been a pleasure.” They were gone as quickly as they had arrived. The conference 16

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door closed quietly behind them. Angela leaned on the table for support, expelling her captive breath in an audible sigh.

“What was that all about?” Max asked.

“What do you mean?’’ She took a deep breath, catching the lingering traces of a deep woodsy scent,
his
scent.

“That Renard guy looked at you like he wanted to tie you to the rack.”

A fit description, she thought. “I’ve met Mr. Renard and his date before under unflattering circumstances.”

“Unflattering for who? You, or the avenging warrior?”

Avenging warrior, how apropos. She closed her eyes. That Brooks Brothers suit was a thin layer of civilization over a more primitive individual determined to mete out punishment.

Punishment!
Her eyes flew open. That squeeze before he ended the handshake. Those steely eyes that broadcast his disapproval of her to everyone in the room. Punishment was exactly what he had in mind, and ten o’clock was the time for execution.

Renard waited till the door to the conference room closed before allowing himself the slightest suggestion of a smile. So the little minx was moonlighting as a limo driver. No wonder she stood her ground so courageously. He had to admire her for that. In fact, he’d backed down out of appreciation of the elfin chauffeur’s stalwart principles and the knowledge that Elizabeth might have had drugs, even though she swore to him she’d abandoned the practice. That disturbing thought pulled the smile from his face. He’d have to deal with that possibility later; he had more immediate concerns at the moment.

Falstaff, who had been talking nonstop about the weather, the town, and who knows what else, extended his arm for the obligatory handshake. Renard brought his thoughts back to the present and responded accordingly. He had just a few minutes to catch Owens before his interview with Wilson.
Our interview
, he amended with a tiny burst of anticipation and a quick glance down the hall towards the conference room.

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Donna Richards

After cramming an hour’s worth of review in the fifteen allotted minutes before their “shared” interview, Angie sat on the edge of a padded office chair utilizing a tiny corner of the controller’s desk for her notepad. Renard, she noticed, had no qualms about taking up vast quantities of space. He leaned back next to her in a similar chair, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. His highly polished wingtip nearly brushed her kneecap.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Tom Wilson, a distinguished, gray-haired gentleman with a faint southern accent, appeared at the doorway with a full coffee mug in hand. “My meeting with Purchasing ran a little long.”