“Pleased to meet you.” She sounded anything but pleased and eyed him suspiciously.
Isabelle stood, showing off a floral-print dress that hugged her curves and emphasized her large chest. She plunged right into what was bothering her. “You think we’re spending too much money on our exotic blooms? Well, we are. But I can’t match the quality anywhere else and—”
“Isabelle, relax.” Daria hugged the supercharged woman. “I know you squeeze the best prices out of our suppliers. Ryker’s here to help with the paperwork, not look over your shoulder.”
“Good.” The woman’s eyes flashed a warning as she eyed him up and down. “I’ve been with the girls since they opened shop, and I don’t take kindly to interference. From anyone.”
Isabelle was defending her territory like a pit bull. If she’d noticed Ryker’s hand on Daria’s arm as they’d entered, she hadn’t reacted one way or another.
“But Daria is working too hard and we could use help around here.” Isabelle stared at him like a mother hen. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll treat my girl right.”
“I have every intention of treating her right,” Ryker agreed, deliberately making his voice husky so she couldn’t miss the innuendo. He almost chuckled as Daria stiffened and Isabelle’s brown eyes widened.
The older woman didn’t hesitate to speak her mind. “What’s going on here?”
“Ryker and I…” Daria looked at him, flustered. She could have won an Academy Award for the embarrassed act—except he suspected she really was embarrassed, which he found rather cute.
So he felt obligated to help Daria out before she blew his cover. “We’re involved.”
Isabelle didn’t say another word. She simply crossed her arms over her chest, closed her mouth, sat behind her desk with a thump and gave Daria a we-will-talk-later look that he fully intended to eavesdrop on.
Meanwhile, Ryker did his best to restrain a chuckle. He hadn’t enjoyed a mission this much in a very long time. Inserting himself into Daria’s world was fun and reminded him how much he loved his job. Constant challenges. Freedom. Not to mention the teamwork with some of the most skilled and loyal guys around. He knew he could call the Shey Group team members in to help at any time.
Right now he needed to assess the situation and lay out the groundwork. Once he came up with a plan, he’d contact Logan and bring in the other guys as needed.
Daria escorted Ryker from Isabelle’s office, clearly trying to cover her unease at their “relationship” by talking business. “My customer service specialist/floral designer is gone for the day. Cindy Parks’s scoping out a hotel ballroom and doing a final consult with Selena Diaz for her wedding to Brad Morrison next month.”
Daria spoke the name of the Spanish singing sensation and her movie-star heartthrob with the ease of someone accustomed to dealing with celebrities. He imagined her client list was the envy of her competitors.
Daria opened the last door at the end of the hall. “And in here is Sam Watkins, my bookkeeper.”
Sam’s tiny office had no window but lots of plants. Since his head didn’t clear the monitor on his desk, Ryker estimated the man’s height at around five feet five inches. He was maybe twenty-two. With thick-framed glasses chipped in one lens, Sam appeared every inch the nerdy bookkeeper. He didn’t even look up as they entered.
“Sam, I’d like you to meet Ryker Stevens, our new accountant.”
Ryker wondered if the bookkeeper might feel threatened as Isabelle had, but if Sam resented Ryker, he didn’t show it. In fact, Ryker couldn’t be sure the kid who stared at his computer screen with such intense concentration had even let Daria’s words register.
Sam nodded once to acknowledge them, then started typing furiously.
“Perhaps we could come back later,” Ryker suggested.
He expected Daria to agree. Instead, she walked behind Sam’s chair, placed her hands on his shoulders and massaged his neck in a sisterly manner. “Did you pull another all-nighter?”
“Had to. Exams. Next week.”
“Sam’s working his way through night college,” she explained to Ryker then directed her attention to Sam. “Have you had breakfast or, for that matter, did you have any dinner last night?”
Ryker wasn’t sure he liked Daria rubbing the kid’s shoulders, sisterly manner or not. He forcibly relaxed his own tense muscles. Daria might be particular about whom she dated, but she certainly cared about her employees. Isabelle White had been ready to defend her boss. Jeanie clearly liked her. When Sam stopped typing and glanced up at Daria, he had puppy-dog adoration in his eyes.
Sam blinked. “Forgot to eat again.”
Daria sighed. “I want you to leave right now.”
“But—”
“Take the rest of the day off. Eat and get some sleep.”
Sam gestured to a stack of papers. “The bills?”
“Ryker will see to it.” Daria flicked off the computer monitor. “Go.”
“Okay. Okay. Sheesh. I’m out of here.” Sam pushed the glasses that had slipped down his nose back up onto the bridge. “And thanks.”
After Sam scooted out the door, Ryker flicked the monitor back on. “Are your computers networked?”
“Yes. Why?”
“It’ll make my job easier.”
Ryker slid into Sam’s chair knowing Daria wouldn’t rub his shoulders. He’d expected her to be a competent businesswoman. What he hadn’t expected was the care she gave to every element of her life. The guest room he’d slept in possessed more creature comforts than he had at home—a television, an alarm clock, even a fluffy terry-cloth robe. She’d stocked the bathroom with a basket filled with toiletries like dental floss and different shampoos in travel sizes, and he’d found a brand-new toothbrush waiting in the medicine cabinet, fresh towels hanging on the racks.
She pampered her guests, and she took care of her employees. While each office reflected the occupant’s own preferences, the furniture was new, the chairs plush and comfortable and the lighting good. Framed prints hung on papered walls with coordinating plants in planters and pots. The office didn’t so much look decorated as friendly and comfortable.
Ryker glanced at the program Sam had been using. Expenses, salaries and sales were clearly broken down for each store. “The kid knows his stuff.”
Daria peeked over Ryker’s shoulder, her warm breath stroking his cheek. “In another year, Sam’s going to be a CPA. I’ll be lucky if he’ll agree to work for me full-time.” She straightened and headed out of the office. “I’ll leave you to my bills. If you have any questions, ask Isabelle.”
“Isabelle?”
“She used to do the books before I hired Sam. She gave up the job when we bought the computer system, so she might not be that helpful after all.”
“Isabelle’s not good on a computer?”
Daria grinned. “She claims they were created by the devil to test our souls.”
“Then I doubt she has the ability to have altered your e-mail.”
“Good point. At least I can trust someone around here.” Daria’s tone was sarcastic.
He drilled her with a stare. “You can trust me, Daria.”
“Can I?” She searched his face, looking for something, but he hadn’t a clue what.
He sought to reassure her. “I always keep my promises.”
“Trouble is, you haven’t really made any, have you?”
TWO HOURS LATER, Ryker had a much clearer picture of Harrington Bouquet’s operations. As far as cash flow, the company was in great shape. Despite the incredible speed of their expansion, the stores turned an immediate profit after opening due to a worldwide clientele of wealthy customers who appreciated buying exotic flowers that couldn’t be purchased from other florists.
Daria offered several stunning species that had originally been found wild in Africa and Brazil. She’d cornered the market by cultivating the wild specimens in huge greenhouses that she owned; then she shipped the rare flowers worldwid
e. Harrington Bouquet was the only florist to offer Thundercloud Roses or Pink Snowflakes. Passion Perfect flowers, which came in a variety of colors, sizes and shapes, were all the rage, expensive and marketed mostly to the rich and famous.
In addition, the flowers could be ordered to arrive in vases of hand-blown Venetian glass, delicate gold-filigreed cachepots or custom-cut marble urns. Each Harrington Bouquet store had weekly standing orders to deliver fresh flowers to the homes and hotel suites of movie stars, the offices of the movers and shakers in many of the world’s capitals and even the cabins of ocean-going and luxury yachts when in port.
The company had even expanded into construction, flying their own team of workers to different cities to open the stores to Daria’s exacting requirements. Like Tiffany’s, the stores weren’t selling just product, but service, exclusivity and brand name.
The hefty cash profits that resulted from this strategy had left the company ripe to go public, if the owners wished to cash out. No wonder Mike Brannigan wanted to buy the business.
Ryker had known that Daria Harrington was wealthy the moment she’d stepped into his apartment, but he’d never have guessed that she and her sister had become so extraordinarily successful. He wondered how many other people knew the company’s financial strength and whether that success had anything to do with Fallon’s and Harry’s murders.
Daria had never mentioned whether she knew what Harry Levine did for a living. His wife’s travels had been a perfect cover for the CIA operative, and a real possibility existed that an enemy of Harry’s had gotten to him through Daria. Logan Kincaid had the connections to find out about Harry’s last agency assignment, and Ryker made a note to send an encrypted e-mail to his boss from his own computer system with questions.
Meanwhile, Ryker dug deeper into Daria’s computer network and learned that any kid could have hacked into her system. She had twenty-four-hour hard connections to the Internet and only basic firewalls.
A quick peek into her operating system told him that she updated her antivirus protection system regularly. But he knew how an expert could have hacked past the firewall into her system. He shut the remaining back doors, but his effort was like closing the barn door after the cows had escaped. The damage was already done. The trick would be to see if he could isolate the worm that had allowed the hacker access to alter her e-mails and discover who had caused the problem.
Ryker was in the middle of tracking down several possibilities when Isabelle knocked on his door and then entered. Isabelle didn’t wait to take a seat before she started talking. “She could use your help right about now.”
“She?” He saved his work and cleared his screen before facing Isabelle. “Daria? What’s wrong?”
“The evil one is back in her office.”
“The evil one?”
“Shandra Harrington.”
Daria’s stepmother had returned without her husband? And just why did Isabelle believe that Shandra was evil or that Daria needed help? It occurred to him that Isabelle might be lying or exaggerating. She could want him to leave his office so she could snoop around and see what he’d been up to. But even an expert wouldn’t be able to find a crack in the software now.
Supposedly Isabelle didn’t like computers, but that would be a convenient story to give out if she wanted to hide the damage she’d done. But Isabelle had been with the firm for years. It was unlikely she’d have kept her computer skills a secret for all that time if she really did have them. Most likely, the woman was exactly what she seemed, Daria’s friend and mother figure who knew how the company worked from the inside out. Isabelle knew where the loyalties lay, where the bodies were buried. And if Isabelle thought Daria needed help, then he was wasting time here when he could be with Daria.
He came around his desk. “Thanks for giving me a heads-up. I’ll see what I can do.”
“YOUR FATHER’S TURNED into a tightwad,” Shandra complained in the thick Boston accent that always seemed affected to Daria—as if Shandra wanted to remind the world that her ancestors went back to the Mayflower. While Shandra hadn’t been a good stepmother, she hadn’t been so bad either. Shandra hadn’t hit them or deprived them of material things. She was never deliberately cruel. She’d simply washed her hands of her stepchildren to concentrate on pleasing their father. Even Peter took a back seat to Rudolf. The woman was the epitome of shallow and spent her days going from her personal trainer to her cosmetologist to her dress designer.
Daria had to give her credit. Shandra loved Rudy Harrington. She didn’t just love his money or the power he could command, Shandra loved Daria’s father with her entire heart and soul and lived to win his approval, hence her pathetic attempts at age fifty to look as if she was still twenty. Of course, Daddy didn’t fully approve of anyone except Peter, so Shandra had set herself an impossible task.
Daria wished the woman would leave her alone. Two visits in one week was unprecedented. With a possible murder charge hanging over her head, Daria didn’t have time for petty marital squabbles right now. She had an urgent phone call to return from her main warehouse supplier in South America, several messages from her attorney and a hundred day-to-day details of running Harrington Bouquet to take care of.
But Shandra looked as if she was about to come unglued. Her mascara had run, forming dark smudges under her eyes, and her lips quivered with tension. Still, Daria couldn’t quite buy her act. She knew Shandra could turn on the tears like a spigot.
The woman had never before asked for her help either, so obviously she believed this marital spat was important. Daria tried to make her voice kind. “Maybe you’re spending too much money.”
“No more than usual.” Shandra removed a lace hankie from her purse and twisted it between her manicured fingers.
“The stock market’s down, and Dad doesn’t like to dip into his capital.” Even in retirement, her father would live off dividends and interest, preserving the principal he considered sacrosanct. She knew how her father managed money because while Rudy might not have been a loving father, he’d taught his daughters how to administer their trust fund. He’d also been furious when his daughters had dipped into the capital to start Harrington Bouquet, but that was best forgotten.
“Rudy even told Peter he couldn’t buy that new Jag, and you know he never denies Peter anything.”
“Maybe Dad’s tightening the purse strings to force Peter to take on some fiscal responsibility.”
Daria couched her words with care. She had no doubt that every word she uttered would be repeated verbatim to her father. Although she had long ago given up trying to please the man, she saw no point in antagonizing him either. And besides, Shandra might repeat this conversation in front of Peter, and Daria didn’t want to hurt her brother.
Shandra dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “Something’s wrong. Rudy let Boris go.”
The butler? The news startled Daria, but didn’t overly concern her. She considered having a butler to open the door and lay out clothes an affectation. “Boris must be nearing eighty. Don’t you think it’s time he retired?”
“But we didn’t replace him.”
“You know how particular Dad is about who works in his home.” Father and daughter were alike that way. “Boris has been his butler for forty years. It may take time to replace him.”
A knock on the door followed by Ryker’s entrance didn’t surprise Daria. All morning she’d been overly aware of him working down the hall, wondering when she would see him.
When Ryker entered, even Shandra seemed to notice how terrifically his shoulders filled out his suit jacket. He strode over to Daria and brushed her lips with his in a casual greeting. Her stepmother’s eyebrows lifted in interest, watching them. For a moment, Shandra stopped wiping her eyes.
Daria forgot that the kiss was simply playacting. There was nothing casual about her pounding heart or racing pulse. Nothing casual about how she wished Ryker would wrap his arms around her and hold her for a few minutes. However, s
he kept her thoughts secret and her demeanor casual.
“We’re almost done here,” Daria told him, hoping Shandra would take the hint.
As if on cue, Shandra released more tears. “No. We can’t be done.”
Ryker angled his back against a wall with a view of both women’s faces. Yet he stood close to Daria as if silently telling Shandra that he’d back Daria—no matter what. Normally, Daria wouldn’t have needed the support, but she felt a bit out of her element here. Shandra had never come to her about family problems before.
“Do you want me to talk to Dad?” Daria asked Shandra, knowing that the phone call would be unpleasant and ineffectual. Her father didn’t take kindly to her asking about his business although he never hesitated to question her about whatever he liked.
Shandra wrapped the hankie around her index finger, then slowly tugged it loose. “Talking to that man is useless.”
“Then what exactly do you want me to do?”
“Could you make me a loan?”
A loan? For what? Shandra had been wealthy in her own right before she’d married Rudolf. Why would the woman need money from Daria?
Before Daria could figure out how to respond, Ryker leaned forward, entering their conversation. “How much money would you require?”
“A few hundred thousand?”
“And how would you repay the funds?” Ryker asked.
Shandra’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s not your concern.”
“Maybe you’ve forgotten that I’m Daria’s new accountant and business consultant.”
“This is family business,” Shandra insisted.
“True, but if Daria wants to make a loan, the funds would come from the corporation.” What he’d just said wasn’t true. Daria had plenty of personal funds, but she remained silent, sensing that Ryker had spoken the lie in order to seek information. “That means it’s my job to protect the company’s assets. Do you have collateral?”
“I turned over my money to Rudy to manage a long time ago. But you can have my jewelry. I’ll have fakes made. Rudy won’t ever know.”
Defending the Heiress Page 7