by Addison Fox
“Well.” Grier hesitated, not sure if she should be annoyed at the lack of faith or fearful she’d have to sit with one or both of them opposite her for however long it took to sort through two shoe boxes of receipts. “I will leave everything as I found it, only sorted.”
“Oh. Okay.” Hooch nodded. “That should work.”
“And you can come pick it all up at the end of each session if you’d like.”
“Even better. I knew I liked you,” Hooch added as an afterthought. “It’s nice to look at you.”
Grier looked up from her laptop and the tax program software she’d downloaded the day before. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s like looking at your dad again. Well, a prettier version of him, but it’s familiar, you know? Friendly. Boy, do I miss him,” Hooch added with a last small sigh.
“You knew my father? I mean, I know you’d know him as a neighbor in town, but you sound like you really knew him. As a friend.”
“We both worked the pipeline, at different times. I was one of the geologists who surveyed the area about a decade before he was up there. Chooch and I did some traveling after that, but we all ended up settling around here. Your father was a good man, Grier. A real good man.”
She nodded, the words a lovely comfort as she watched the small smile dance across Hooch’s mouth as he remembered her father. “Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome. And, for the record”—Hooch leaned forward—“we’re all pulling for you on the whole will thing. Kate’s gotta get that damn stick outta her ass, if you ask me.”
“No one’s asking you, Hooch,” Chooch said, shushing him once again.
“I’m entitled to my opinion.”
It didn’t take a crystal ball to see the battle brewing, so Grier pointed toward the computer. “Why don’t we go ahead and get started.” She tapped a few keys. “I need your full names and Social Security numbers first.”
“Herbert Michael McGilvray,” Hooch announced, before wagging a finger at her. “But don’t go telling anyone what my first name is.”
“Oh, okay.” Grier questioned the need for secrecy over his first name as opposed to the actual contents of his return, which he apparently broadcast with glee, but held her tongue. It was her job to take down the information, nothing more. She then tapped in the Social Security number he rattled off and tabbed over to the next field.
“I assume you’re filing jointly?”
“We’re married, aren’t we?” Chooch demanded.
“Of course. I just needed to confirm.”
Chooch nodded. “I suppose you need to follow the prompts. Which is probably why Hooch fucked it up last year,” she added with a philosophical wink.
“Exactly.”
“Okay, Chooch. I need the same information from you.”
“Jennifer Mason McGilvray.” Grier typed as the woman counted off her Social, but looked up at the heavy sigh that accompanied the last digit.
“Everything okay?”
“I need you to keep my name a secret, too.”
Grier looked up, determined to nip whatever preconceived notions they’d walked in with firmly in the bud. “Everything we do here is a secret, just so you know. This is a confidential exchange of information that I wouldn’t share for two reasons. First, because it’s wrong. Second, because I could lose my license if I went around talking about my clients’ returns. All that said, I’m not quite following all the secrecy around names.”
“I sound like a cocktail waitress,” Chooch said, then added, “And Hooch is named after the shitty president who got us into the Great Depression.”
“You’d look awfully cute in a bunny outfit,” Hooch guffawed, and leaned over to give his wife a big smacking kiss on the cheek.
Grier wasn’t sure what the protocol here was as corporate tax clients rarely brought anyone along to the audit and, if they did, it certainly wasn’t to make googly eyes at them. With stoic reserve, she did her best to ignore the comments across the table and just kept typing. “Okay. Next step is your address.”
They made it through the next five minutes with relatively few comments and a minimum of fuss, although Grier figured she would have to live for a long time with the image of them discussing the joys of naked hot tubbing at their mountain cabin in Tahoe.
Grier looked up from the keyboard with a smile. “Okay. That wasn’t too bad. Why don’t you hand me those receipts and we’ll get started.”
Before the words were even out of her mouth, Chooch and Hooch had their shoe boxes open and upside down. As a mountain of receipts spilled onto the table, Grier held back the small scream that crawled up her throat.
“We left the other boxes in the car.”
“Other?”
“Well, yeah.” Hooch nodded, his gaze solemn and strangely knowing. “We didn’t want to scare you off before we got started.”
* * *
“How’s it going?” Avery asked.
Grier held up a hand as she walked through the swinging doors of the Indigo Blue’s kitchen. “You do not get to ask me that, especially since I know you’ve been spying on me with the conference room camera.”
“It didn’t look that bad, until Hooch dumped that fourth box on the table.”
Grier snagged a Coke out of the Subzero. “Do not make me breach my professional ethics by groaning and/or agreeing with you.”
“Seeing as how Hooch cackled his way through the lobby about all five shoe boxes and how he wouldn’t have to be going through any of them this year, I think you’re safe.”
“They are eccentric—I’ll give them that.”
“And proof positive of something my grandmother always said. There is a lid for every pot.”
The Coke opened with a satisfying pop as Grier snagged a few slices of bread off the counter and moved to stand next to Avery. “Thank God.”
Avery hip bumped her before passing over a bowl of egg salad she’d just finished stirring up. “I’ve got some file folders in the office if that will help.”
“I’m not confident an entire filing cabinet would help, but I’ll take what I can get.”
They moved to a small table with their sandwiches and sat in companionable silence for a few minutes.
“Did you get what Jack said last night?”
Grier glanced up. “About what?”
“About Ronnie being afraid of Roman. Do you think that’s true?”
Grier hedged on saying anything that might hurt Avery, but she also couldn’t bring herself to lie. “I can see Roman being an imposing figure for the other men around here. Sure.”
“Do you think that’s why I can’t seem to get a date?”
“Do you think that’s the reason?”
Avery reached down and toyed with the edge of her napkin, tearing off small pieces. “I didn’t think it was, but I’m starting to wonder.”
“Have you been interested in any of the men in town?”
“No one’s quite blown my skirt up, but I wouldn’t say no to a date now and again. But no one ever seems to ask. So it got me wondering after Jack said what he said.”
“Well, you could certainly go out with Ronnie if you had a mind to.”
“Grier, I wasn’t joking last night. I did babysit him and change his diapers.”
Grier couldn’t hold back a grin. “It does have the whole Padmé-Anakin vibe to it. Maybe he’ll turn into the Dark Lord of Indigo and you guys can have twins you shuttle off to the ends of the earth who then grow up to save the universe. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“You really are sick and twisted; you know that?”
“One of my finer points. But consider the positives. He is young and healthy and in his prime. It’d be a fun romp before the dark side of the force overtook him.”
Avery’s phone buzzed where she’d laid it on the counter and she picked it up, still laughing. “Mick. Hey.”
Grier tried to stamp out the quick interest that flashed down her spine like heat lightning, but fina
lly gave up. Even the man’s name did things to her.
Why was she fighting it so hard?
As Avery agreed to something and hung up, Grier couldn’t quite shake the image of lids and pots and how very well-suited she and Mick were.
Everything just fit when they were together. Like nothing else she’d ever known. It was comfortable spending time with him, even though she was wickedly uncomfortable the moment she got within a few feet of the man. Which made about as much sense as how Chooch and Hooch managed to fill five large shoe boxes with a year’s worth of receipts, but it didn’t make it any less true.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Mick’s got a visitor out at the airfield he’s bringing over. The guy apparently tried calling a few times this morning and didn’t get through and Mick offered to call and give me a heads-up.”
“Oh. That’s nice of him.”
“I think it was an excuse.”
“For what?”
“I think he’s curious how your tax session went.”
“Did you tell him the force has been sucking all life out of the vicinity and he should stay as far from its tractor beam as possible?”
Avery threw her half-torn napkin across the table. “You really need your head examined.”
“I know.” Grier picked up the napkin and laid it on the table. “Listen. I don’t want to shortchange what we were talking about. Are you really upset about what Jack said?”
“Not upset, exactly. I just don’t want to let life pass me by—you know. And a lot of days I feel like it is.”
“Yeah, I know.”
And she did, Grier acknowledged to herself. That subtle feeling that something was missing, like a kaleidoscope without one of its colors. You couldn’t quite tell it wasn’t there until someone pointed it out, but once they did, it was all you noticed.
“I’m thinking about going to Ireland.”
The rapid change in discussion had Grier leaning forward. “Ireland? What are you going to do there?”
“There’s this exchange program I looked into. I could go to Ireland and work in a town’s B and B and someone would come here and trade places with me for the same amount of time. It’d be short—only about three months. And then I could stay over there and travel a bit before I came home.”
The enthusiasm that marked Avery’s voice was unmistakable and Grier was caught up immediately in the excitement. “I think it’s a great idea.”
“It’s a change of pace and sort of scary to think about doing it all by myself, but it’s also scary to think about not doing it—you know?”
“It’s inspired, Avery. In fact, I really have only one question.”
“What’s that?”
“What are you waiting for?”
* * *
Mick shot a sideways glance at the suit he’d flown up from Anchorage on his morning run. The guy had been a model passenger—quiet, composed and not airsick—but something had struck Mick as off.
For starters, he couldn’t help but wonder what the guy was doing here. Italian loafers and expensive suits didn’t exactly scream Indigo, Alaska. Add to it the man’s reluctance to engage in any sort of conversation beyond whether the Seahawks had a decent shot in the play-offs and something rang Mick’s bells.
The Indigo Blue loomed ahead of them and Mick pulled into the parking lot. They had gotten that snowfall the night before and he wasn’t surprised to see Susan already had the parking lot cleared and ready for guests. “I called ahead. The Indigo Blue has your reservation and is ready for you.”
“Great.”
Mick found a spot and pulled in, cutting the engine.
“I can take it from here,” the guy said, and Mick realized he’d forgotten his name. He wasn’t sure why he even wondered about it as Maggie had likely broadcast it across town by now. It’d only be a matter of hours before the town’s curious would be partaking in a happy-hour cocktail at the Indigo Blue to speculate on who the new visitor was.
“I’ve got a few things to take care of inside, so I’ll give you a hand.” Mick rounded the back of his SUV and dragged the designer luggage from the trunk.
Again, something tickled along the back of his neck, but Mick couldn’t quite lay claim to what it was. He set the suitcase down next to the truck and the guy grabbed it with a muttered thank-you.
With a shrug, Mick followed him in. His passenger had been officially delivered and wasn’t his problem any longer.
The light melody of women’s voices floated toward him as Avery and Grier materialized from the hallway that extended off the lobby. Without conscious thought, his gaze zeroed in on Grier. Today she wore a bright blue cashmere sweater, which he knew would be baby-soft to his touch, over a pair of black slacks. The look was professional without sticking out as too fussy, unlike the suit he’d flown up here.
She fit in, he realized, as his gaze drank her in.
And more to the point, she fit with him.
Mick moved forward, curious to see if he could get her to share lunch with him. The itch that had ridden the back of his neck grew stronger and the moment expanded as if in slow motion.
The suit he’d driven up—Jason, that was his name—moved into his line of vision, walking right up to Grier and wrapping her in his arms.
Grier wrapped her arms around him in turn and her voice was crystal clear. “Jason.”
Chapter Nine
“Jason.” Grier realized where her arms were and tried to pull away without looking too obvious. “What are you doing here?”
Jason gave one last squeeze before letting her go and smiled, if his strained expression could really be called that. “I’ve come to get you.”
“I’m sorry?” Grier dropped her hands and tried to suck in air without being too obvious.
What the hell was Jason doing here? In the middle of Alaska? How had he found her?
As her gaze alighted on Mick’s and Avery’s twin looks of puzzlement, Grier put on her most patent society-girl smile.
The one that screamed she could conquer any social awkwardness.
The one that could level a social climber in one fell swoop.
The one that she prayed would convey to Mick that she was really, really sorry and would explain everything the moment they were alone.
“Get you?” Mick asked softly.
Before Jason could answer, Grier forced the introductions. “This is Jason Shriver. Jason,” she said, extending a hand toward Mick and Avery, “you know Mick as he flew you up. And Avery Marks is the manager of the hotel.”
She didn’t miss the wealth of questions in Avery’s gaze, but she also knew her friend was too much of a professional to do anything about it now. “Jason, I’ve got your reservation over here. Let’s get you settled in.”
Jason ignored the offer as he finally clued in to the male competition that filled the lobby with testosterone-laden awkwardness. “Yes, back. I’ve come to get Grier to bring her back home to New York.”
Mick’s voice was quiet. Commanding. “And why would she want to leave?”
“We’ve got some unfinished business to fix. If you’ll excuse us.”
Grier saw the light of battle hit Mick’s eyes and she quickly cut in. “Actually, Jason, this is my home for the next several weeks. I’m sorry if you came all this way instead of just making a simple phone call to ask me what I wanted, but I’m staying put.”
“Can we at least talk?”
“Why don’t you get checked in and I’ll come find you later. I’ve actually got a client commitment this afternoon.”
“Client?”
Grier knew the stab of enjoyment she got at his puzzled expression was small and terrifically petty and she’d be damned if she’d spend one moment feeling bad about it. “Yes, I’m doing some tax returns while I’m here.”
“Isn’t it a bit early?”
“It’s never too early to prepare properly. I’ll see you down here later. Say four? At the bar?”
“That�
�s fine. I need to catch up on some e-mails, anyway. The Glazer-Brown project has kicked into high gear.”
She nodded and wanted to scream in frustration. Of course he had e-mails to catch up on. And of course he’d have to mention the high-profile project she’d been assigned to before.
“Then I’ll see you later.” Turning toward Mick, she added, “Do you have a few minutes?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Mick focused all his concentration on the seemingly random piles of paper that covered the conference room table from one end to the other to avoid the driving desire to punch something.
Hard.
“Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll explain.”
“I think I can figure it out for myself.”
“No, you only think you can. Sit.” As if catching herself, Grier added, “Please.”
He took a seat at the head of the table and folded his hands over his stomach. “I’m all ears.”
“First, I have absolutely no idea why he’s here. Although I suspect my mother had something to do with it.”
Mick didn’t miss the way her hands fisted at her sides on the word “mother” and felt his stomach muscles relax ever so slightly.
She’d been blindsided and while he didn’t appreciate what she’d been blindsided with, he couldn’t mistake the stark look that covered her beautiful features and had her shoulders as stiff as the ice over a frozen lake in winter.
She was mad. And a little hurt, judging by the slight quaver that tinged the edges of her voice.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me who Jason is.”
“My ex-fiancé.”
Whatever he’d expected, that wasn’t it. “I didn’t realize you’d ever had one of those.”
Her strained laughter was tinny to his ears. “You mean that little tidbit hasn’t managed to make its way around town?”
“No. Nor have you bothered to share it with me.”
“I haven’t shared it with a lot of people actually. The reasons why we are no longer engaged fall squarely into the camp of trite and embarrassing with a side of mortification.”
“How so?”
Grier began to pace the edge of the table, running her hands lightly over the tops of the leather chairs. “I caught him getting a blow job. At the office. From our temp receptionist.”