by Amber Heart
Araceli held back the sigh that rose in her throat. She’d had a sinking feeling that she wouldn’t get out of all of this planning scot free, but somehow she hadn’t expected it to start so early. “Sure, Sil. I promise.”
“All right.” Sounding brisk now, Silvia said her goodbyes and Araceli hung up the phone.
It rang again before she could even put it down and she eyed it suspiciously. More requests from her sister or a legitimate business concern? She had to answer it either way, so she pressed the button slowly.
“Vasquez Accounting Services,” she said warily.
“Hello.”
The man’s voice was smooth and deep, with no discernible accent. She caught her breath, feeling her heartbeat pick up speed. She was an absolute sucker for a great voice, and this one had seemed to go straight through her.
“Hello,” she said, trying for the second time that day to sound professional. “How can I help you today?”
“I’m looking to speak with Arturo Vasquez.”
Always a bridesmaid, never the bride. Of course he wanted to speak to her uncle and not her.
“May I ask who’s calling?” The question was only half as professional as it sounded. She wanted to put a name with the delectable voice.
“Of course. It’s Donovan Sutton.”
The name wasn’t familiar to her, but she didn’t think that she needed to dig deeper. With a voice like that, he probably wasn’t selling anything. Hell, with a voice like that, she’d probably buy it too.
“Hold one moment, please.”
“Not a problem.”
When she stepped to the other side of the office, her uncle, Arturo Vasquez, looked up from a complicated document. The slight frown line that was always between his brows deepened when he saw the phone in her hand.
“Is that Miguel’s Bistro?” he asked, sounding annoyed. “Because if it is...” He smacked his hand down on the document. “We’re going to have words. He gives me this chicken scratch and expects me to make heads or tails from it--”
Ara held up her hand. “It’s not the bistro. And I’ll call and straighten him out later if you’d like me too.” Her uncle was all bluster. He was much too sweet to make their clients enact any real changes in the way they presented their documents. Araceli didn’t have that problem.
Arturo grinned. “Perhaps I will,” he mused. “I’ve been warning him for years...”
She held the phone up to draw her uncle’s attention back to the matter at hand. “This is a man named Donovan Sutton,” she informed him. “He didn’t tell me what it was about.”
The frown line grew even deeper. That wasn’t a good sign. It was odd for her uncle not to mention problem clients to her, but she supposed she might have missed hearing about this particular one.
“What--” she began, but her uncle simply held out his hand.
“I’ll take it,” he said. “Go back to your files before they fall all over the office and it takes you twice as long.”
So he didn’t want her to hear the conversation. She walked obediently back to her side of the office, but she worked as quietly as she could. Even with all her effort, she only caught a few words. Until the very end of the conversation.
“Very well,” Arturo said with a sigh. “If you’re so determined, then of course I’ll meet you. Yes, that will be fine. Yes. I’ll see you then.”
She saw him disconnect the call. Then she saw him rub his hand across his forehead and sigh. His shoulders slumped as he put the phone down onto his desk and he stared blankly at the paperwork in front of him. Worry settled into the pit of her stomach. What could this Donovan guy have said to make her uncle look like that?
Ara walked over cautiously. “Uncle Arturo?”
She usually didn’t call him uncle when they were at work, but something about the whole experience was so unsettling that she’d fallen back on it without thinking.
He glanced up at her, his dark eyes tired. “Yes?”
“What...” she took a deep breath, ordering herself not to be a coward. Even if it was bad news, it would be better to know. Then she’d know what she was up against. “What was that call about?”
Arturo let out his breath slowly. “I guess there’s no point in trying to hide it,” he said finally. “Take a seat, mija.”
Now she was even more worried, but she sat and forced herself to be quiet while her uncle gathered his thoughts.
“Donovan Sutton wants to buy our business,” he finally said.
Araceli laughed in relief. “Is that all?”
Arturo’s eyes widened. “What do you mean “is that all”?” he demanded. “This is our business, our livelihood!”
“Well, sure, but I thought you had six months to live, or that we were going bankrupt!” She informed him, her whole body feeling ten pounds lighter as the worry vanished like a puff of smoke. She waved her hand. “Just tell him no and move on.”
“It’s not that easy. He’s a powerful man.”
“He doesn’t have the power to buy something that the owner doesn’t want to sell,” Araceli pointed out.
“He’s the head of Ingram Norman Accounting,” Arturo went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “And they’ve been buying small businesses like mine up and down the coast lately.”
“Small businesses like ours,” she corrected. “Is that why he wanted to meet up with you? To cut you a check?” Arturo looked at her quietly and she felt her cheeks flush. “Well, it’s hard not to overhear,” she mumbled, contrite. “It’s a small office.”
He gave her a brief smile. “Yes,” he admitted. “That’s probably what he wants to do. He’s been calling me for about a month now, trying to pin me down to speak with him. He says that once I hear his offer, I won’t think of telling him no.”
Uncle Arturo wouldn’t hold up well under that pressure, Araceli knew. It honestly surprised her that he’d held out this long. He hated telling people no. But he loved his work and the accounting firm too. Surely he wouldn’t.... She chewed her lower lip, a little more worried now.
“You’re not going to sell,” she said, halfway between a question and a plea.
“No,” he said. “I certainly don’t plan to sell, I just can’t figure out how to get that across to him. He’s not used to hearing the word no.”
Ara frowned. Who was this guy to try to muscle her uncle out of his own business, anyway? If she’d known that when he called, she would have.... And that’s when the idea came to her. “Why don’t you let me go to the meeting?” she asked suddenly. “He won’t push me around.”
“Meaning that he will push me around?” her uncle asked wryly.
“Well...”
Arturo laughed suddenly. “Why not?” he asked, more of himself than of her. “After all, you are my successor. You have just as much say as I do. You go and talk to the man. Let him know that Vasquez Accounting Services will not go down without a fight!”
His eyes were sparkling again and Ara was glad to see it. He’d looked so old a few moments ago. Old and tired. She grinned and stood up.
“We won’t go down at all,” she said firmly. “I’ll give him hell, Uncle Arturo. Now let me get back to those files before they really do fall over.” The stack looked more and more precarious the longer she left it sitting there and she really didn’t want to have to put more than fifty client files back in order today.
He held up a hand to halt her. “Thank you, mija,” he said simply. “And, one more thing....” He thrust the paperwork from Miguel’s Bistro at her. “Call him and find out what he expects me to do with this, please.”
With a smile, Araceli went back to her desk to do as she’d been told. She was really looking forward to giving that presumptuous Donovan Sutton a piece of her mind. And...what was the point in lying to herself? She wanted to see the man attached to the voice.
Chapter 2
Donovan Sutton looked at the little Italian restaurant Arturo Vasquez had suggested yesterday with distaste. It wasn’t jus
t that the place was gaudy with the Christmas lights strung up haphazardly around the windows. Or that it was tacky with its massive green and red awning. It was also the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten food that came from a strip mall. Of course, it was probably the best this little town had to offer, he thought as he walked in and gave his name.
Nothing about the town had impressed him from the moment he’d arrived in the rental car he’d driven from the airport. It had been a longer drive than he’d wanted, after a longer flight than he’d wanted. He hated flying and there had been turbulence in the middle of the flight. He flexed his hands. They still ached from the white knuckle grip he’d had on the armrests. It didn’t help. They still hurt.
He was about to eat subpar food in a subpar town with a stubborn man after a hellish day. In short, Donovan would rather be anywhere but where he was. But he was stuck until he’d gotten Arturo’s signature on the documents he had in his jacket pocket.
At least the restaurant was clean on the inside. Tacky, with plenty of fake plants and candles in chianti bottles, but clean. He sighed and sat down in the chair the hostess indicated. She was gone in a flash with a promise to send a waiter over right away.
He mused that it shouldn’t take long. There were only a few other patrons in the restaurant. Most of them were involved in their own conversations but a couple of them looked his way every now and again. He read mostly curiosity on their faces and he could see why.
Donovan knew that he stood out here much more than he did in the city. Everyone in the restaurant, including the staff, wore jeans and casual shirts. He was wearing a charcoal gray, Tom Ford, three piece suit. The car he’d rented didn’t fit in well either, it was sleek and German and efficient and entirely alien among the work trucks and family cars he’d parked near.
“What can I get you to drink, sir?”
“Just water for now,” he said to the waiter. “I’m waiting for someone.” As the man turned to go, Donovan stopped him. “May I see a wine list?”
The waiter indicated a small piece of paper, water stained and propped against the salt and pepper. “It’s there, sir.”
“Thank you,” Donovan said wryly. Three red wines, three white wines, and an extremely cheap champagne filled the list. There were over ten different beers listed though. He decided that he’d stick with water and not offer any celebratory drinks when the deal was done.
Once the waiter was gone, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and glanced at the time, comparing it to his Rolex even though he knew his watch was right. Arturo Vasquez was late. As he was watching the seconds tick by, the phone rang.
“Hello, Gail. What’s falling apart now?” he asked his secretary without preamble.
“Nothing too much,” she said cheerfully. “I just called to make sure that you reached your destination without any trouble.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, remembering the flight. “But I’m here now and I’ve secured a meeting with the accountant.” He glanced at his watch once more. “Provided that the man shows up, that is.”
“Not everyone is as determinedly punctual as you,” Gail reminded him. “And it might be better not to point out his tardiness when he does show up. It took a month to even get the meeting; you don’t want to make him walk out on you in the first ten minutes.”
“Who’s the boss, me or you?” Donovan demanded.
Gail laughed. “Oh trust me, you are absolutely still the boss. I wouldn’t want the headache of trying to run this place. So tell me, what do you think your odds really are of getting him to sell?”
“I’ve got a check with his name on it and no intention of leaving until we’ve reached an agreement,” he said flatly. “This has gone on long enough.”
As he spoke he heard the bell above the door ring and he glanced up automatically, looking for the accountant. The person who’d walked in was about as far from his mental picture of Arturo Vasquez as it was possible for a person to be. For one thing, it was a woman. For another, she was gorgeous.
She wasn’t attractive in the full face of makeup and designer clothes with a bag that matched way that he was so used to seeing back home; but she was sexy in a quieter way. She moved with confidence, shoulders back and head high, her short brown hair brushing forward over her chin. She smiled at the hostess as they spoke to each other, apparently exchanging a joke. Her laugh was light and musical as it carried across the still restaurant.
“Mr. Sutton? Mr. Sutton? Are you still there?”
With a start, he came back to himself. He’d forgotten that Gail was on the phone. “Yes,” he said. “I’m here. Let me call you back when I know something.”
They exchanged goodbyes and he glanced up to see the woman walking toward him. He hadn’t expected to be approached while he was here, but it wasn’t unwelcome. He entertained a brief thought of taking her back to his hotel room once he’d closed his deal and liked the way it looked in his head.
It had been a while since he’d done anything so frivolous. The closer she got, the more attractive he found her. She was generously curvy and obviously fit and in her gray pinstriped pants and coral pink button up shirt, she was more put together than everyone else in the restaurant. The outfit hugged her body and the heels she wore added just enough height to make her legs look endless. Altogether, it was a very nice package. She stopped in front of him and he looked up at her, allowing a smile to tip one corner of his mouth.
“Hello,” he began, but she jumped in.
“Are you Donovan Sutton?” she asked, her voice crisp and far from friendly.
“Yes,” he said, more than slightly taken aback. How the hell had she known that?
“I’m Araceli Vasquez,” she said, making no move to shake his hand during her introduction. “May I sit down, please?”
“I...” He actually found himself fumbling for something to say for the first time in a long time. Then the importance of her name hit him. “Did you say Vasquez?”
“Yes,” she said, biting the word off. “May I sit down?” she repeated impatiently.
“Of course,” he said, waving to the seat across from him. “Am I right in assuming that you’re related to Arturo?” Possibly his daughter, he mused. Maybe he’d upset the old man more than he’d known and ruffled his family’s feathers. It had happened before and it usually cost a few extra thousand in his buyout offer to smooth them.
“I’m his niece,” she said, pulling out the chair and dropping into it, then folding her hands on the table and raising her eyebrow. “But more importantly, I’m his business partner.”
“And he thought that it would be better to send you than to come and deal with me himself?” Donovan asked, allowing her to see just a hint of his derision in his question. He’d sensed that the man he’d been speaking with for the better part of a month was a little on the timid side, but he hadn’t thought Arturo Vasquez would back out completely. He was a businessman, for God’s sake. If he couldn’t handle this, how did he run his firm?
“Oh, I insisted,” Araceli said. “Just water, please,” she went on to the waiter who had just arrived. Once he was gone, she turned back to Donovan, her brown eyes snapping. “Why don’t you tell me why you’ve been harassing my uncle for the past month.”
Donovan was tempted to ask whether she was an accountant or a prosecutor. That stare was more than a little unnerving. He took a drink of his water, trying to regain his equilibrium. He was used to being on top of these situations and he had to find his footing with this woman quickly.
“I haven’t been harassing your uncle,” he said once he’d swallowed. It would be best to deflect until he found her weak points.
“Yes, I’m sure you avoided the legal definition of harassment,” Araceli allowed. “But I’m also very sure that my uncle refused to sell you his accounting firm.”
“I don’t know that for sure,” Donovan said. “This was supposed to be our opportunity to sort it out, but since you’re here a
nd he’s not, it doesn’t look like it’s going to get resolved today.” He wanted to put her on the defensive, make her careless.
“When you first brought it up, what did he say?” she asked, ignoring his attack at her.
“Most people refuse a first offer,” he said with a shrug. “It’s just good negotiation.”
“Ah, so he said no.” Araceli took a drink of her water now, eyeing Donovan over the rim of the glass. “And the second offer?”
“He hadn’t really taken the time to listen to what I’m prepared to offer,” Donovan said smoothly. “That’s what today was supposed to be for. I’m assuming that you’re not authorized to make these decisions on his behalf, so I’m a little insulted that the two of you would waste my time like this.”