“Someone has to get out of bed at midnight if the video game in one of your locations goes down or the juke box gets broken?” she demanded, glancing around at the roomful of tools and machines.
“Yup. That’s why I hire people like Greg and Mac. In the beginning, I was the only one available to get out of a warm bed in the middle of the night. Played merry hell with my social life,” he added a little too politely, blue eyes glinting.
“I can imagine,” she retorted with what she hoped was a total lack of interest. Striving for a more neutral topic, she asked quickly, “Do you still have many of those traditional pinball games in the arcades and taverns? I thought the new video games had become the rage.”
“They have. I’ve pulled in most of the old-fashioned pinball machines and replaced them with the videos. That one I was working on when you started threatening to assassinate me with it is out of a truck stop. There were a few traditionalists still patronizing the place, so I left it there, but the owner finally said he wanted one of the newer games.”
“What in the world do you do with an old pinball machine?” she asked.
“I recondition them, take out the coin chutes and sell them to private parties who want one for their home recreation room. That’s what I was doing with that one.” He nodded toward the machine he’d been working on when she’d arrived.
“I see.” She took a gulp of her coffee, trying to figure out what to say next. How was she going to get the conversation back on track?
“Now that I’ve given you this brief glimpse into the life of an amusement-machine route operator,” he went on dryly, “why don’t you tell me a little more about the exciting world of accounting?”
“Such as?” she asked warily.
“Such as why you’ve undertaken the task of championing Ackerly Manufacturing,” he retorted firmly.
“You keep implying there’s something personal in it for me,” she sighed.
“And I’ll go on implying it until I find out what that something personal is. Come now, Shelley, if you’re asking me to forgo a hundred grand indefinitely, the least you can do is be honest about where you fit into the picture.” He lounged back against the workbench, watching her coolly.
Shelley hesitated, unsure how much to tell him, and then decided there was nothing wrong with the truth. “I want to use Ackerly to make my name in the consulting world,” she finally said quietly. “It’s my golden opportunity to gain a reputation as a consulting accountant who can handle situations such as impending bankruptcy. I have no intention of growing old behind a desk at Mason Wells & Associates. I want to start my own firm one of these days and specialize in helping firms in trouble.”
“That’s your sole motivation?” he persisted.
She shut her eyes in brief, controlled irritation. “My sole motivation.”
“You’re not sleeping with Dean Ackerly?”
She turned to face him boldly. “If I were, it sure as hell wouldn’t be any of your business!”
“I disagree. When there’s this much money involved, a man likes to know all the details.”
“You didn’t seem overly concerned about details when you loaned Phil Ackerly that money a year ago!” she pointed out accusingly.
“Phil was a friend, and I knew he needed the money. Besides, I owed it to him.” Joel lifted one shoulder dismissively. “He was the one who insisted on securing the loan with company assets.”
“You owed it to him!” Shelley stared at him uncomprehendingly.
“He gave me a loan when I needed it to get started in business several years ago.”
“He loaned you a hundred thousand dollars several years ago?” She was getting more and more confused.
“It was only five thousand, but at the time that much money was as out of my reach as a hundred grand was for him last year. Everything’s relative, Shelley. You know that”
“Did you pay back the five?”
“Of course. Within six months.” He looked surprised she should even ask
“So you made the loan last year more as a personal favor than as a business deal?”
“The favor was to Phil. It became an outstanding, uncollected debt as far as I was concerned the day he died and his son took over the firm.”
She drew a breath. “Then how about continuing to think of it as a favor to Phil’s heir for another few months?”
He grinned. “Not a chance.”
“You don’t like Dean Ackerly?”
“I’ve never met the man.”
“Then why not give him a chance for Phil’s sake?”
“I might have been susceptible to that sort of appeal if Dean had come back from California last year when Phil first realized he was in trouble financially. As it was, he seems to have ignored his father and the business until he inherited the firm. He didn’t show up when Phil needed him, so why should I care what happens to him now?”
“You’re being unfair, Joel. You don’t know enough about the situation to judge Dean’s actions,” she told him earnestly.
“Do you? You just recently inherited the account. How much do you know about the family situation?” he growled challengingly.
Shelley had the grace to blush. “It’s not my business to pry into such matters. I’m only concerned with trying to salvage the firm.”
“In order to establish a reputation for yourself,” he concluded.
“Is there anything wrong with that?” Her eyes met his determinedly. “You’ve certainly done all right for yourself. What objection do you have to others trying to do the same?”
“None. As long as they don’t try to use my money to do it with.”
“I’m not using your money to do it!”
“Sure you are. Asking me to defer collection on that loan is as good as asking me for another loan. Do you have any idea what the interest is on a hundred thousand dollars these days?” he asked mildly.
“You’ll get interest on your money,” she assured him quickly. “I’ll make sure it’s paid back with interest”
“How much interest?” he inquired.
For the first time since she had begun the conversation, Shelley allowed herself to hope. “That’s something we could negotiate,” she began tentatively.
“No we can’t I’d want the prime rate at least,” he retorted easily.
“You gave the money interest-free to Phil Ackerly. It’s asking a lot to suddenly start charging the prime rate on it,” she murmured.
“The prime rate on my money is only the start of what I’d ask if I let you talk me into extending the loan.” He reached out and removed her now-empty cup from her fingers and tossed it into an overfull trash container. Then his gaze slid back to confront her questioning look. “I’d want to be kept completely briefed on the progress you were making or not making on saving Ackerly Manufacturing. That would mean regular, totally honest reports. I’d want a detailed, written plan of how you intended to go about the salvage operation in the first place, and I’d want the right to contribute to that plan or veto the parts I didn’t like. I’d want Dean Ackerly to know he can’t ride on his father’s friendship with me. I’m like the bank: I’m to be paid off regardless of what happens. I’d want total involvement every step of the way and the right to call the whole thing off if I decide it’s a hopeless task trying to keep Ackerly out of bankruptcy. That’s what I’d want in addition to the prime interest rate on my hundred grand, Shelley Banning.”
She stared at him. She’d known, of course, that the easygoing pinball-mechanic image was something of a facade, but she hadn’t quite expected the blue-eyed, hard-driving business devil underneath. “I think I’m beginning to see why you’ve been so, uh, successful in your business ventures, Mr. Cassidy,” she finally observed.
He continued to lounge against the workbench. “You didn’t think it was going to be simple or easy, did you?”
“No,” she admitted.
“Would you agree to the terms of such a deal, Shelley?” he pur
sued a little too gently.
“I don’t have a great deal of choice in the matter, do I?” Her lips turned downward ruefully. “Are you saying that if I do agree to your terms, you’ll lay off Ackerly Manufacturing until I can get the company back on its feet?”
“I’m saying I’d be willing to discuss such terms over dinner this evening,” he replied quietly.
Shelley went very still. “I’m sure you have much more interesting ways of spending your evening,” she tried carefully. Every sense was painfully alert now, not just her business-oriented ones but the much more fundamental, elemental feminine ones, too.
“The idea of letting you control a hundred thousand dollars of my money over the next few months suddenly puts you at the top of my list of interesting dinner guests,” he said, smiling. But there was a cool, flickering assessment in the steel depths of his eyes. Shelley could almost feel the probing glance as if it were tangible in nature.
“We can discuss business this afternoon right here in your office,” she said evenly. “Why do you want to do it over dinner?”
“Because I want to find out more about you, Shelley Banning. Not only because I’m thinking of letting you talk me into extending that loan but”—he broke off and then finished coolly—”because I think you and I have some things in common.”
“I doubt that,” she retorted with conviction.
“Let’s find out, shall we?”
“Mr. Cassidy—” she began firmly.
“Joel. I’ve already told you once.”
“Joel, I’m not going to be part of any business deal we arrive at,” she stated emphatically.
“No,” he agreed surprisingly, and then spoiled the effect by going on deliberately, “but if I’m right, what we may have in common transcends any single business venture.”
“What in the world do you mean by that?” She glared at him sharply, wary and uncertain.
“I think we’re both a pair of hustlers, Shelley,” he drawled dangerously. “You intrigue me because I think you’re a lady after my own heart. It takes nerve to walk into a man’s life and ask him to forgo a hundred thousand dollars. I like that kind of nerve. If you want to come to terms, have dinner with me this evening. Otherwise, forget the whole thing.”
She bit back an instinctive denial. What did she have to lose? Surely she could handle this man over dinner. “You drive a hard bargain, Joel.”
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he promised cheerfully. “I’ll pick you up around seven. And wear something nice. We won’t be going to any of my amusement-game locations!”
“Meaning those locations aren’t particularly nice?” she retorted.
He grinned, revealing the engagingly crooked tooth. “Meaning I want to keep my mind on doing business with you, not one of my location owners. Dealing with a charming little hustler such as yourself will require my full attention, I think.”
Abruptly, Shelley made her decision. Dinner was a small price to pay if she got what she wanted from him. Reaching into her leather shoulder bag, she withdrew her card and a pen. Hastily, she jotted down her address on the back of the pasteboard and handed it to him. “I’ll be ready at seven, and I’ll have an outline of my plans for Ackerly to go over with you at dinner,” she told him assertively, as if the idea of having dinner had been hers.
He raised one red brow admiringly as he took the card. “As I said, a born hustler. It’s going to be interesting working with you, Shelley Banning.”
“When it comes to hustling, Joel Cassidy,” she returned with acid sweetness, “I think you take the prize!”
“Only because I’m a little older than you and I’ve had a hell of a lot more experience,” he said, chuckling.
Unable to think of a suitably quelling reply, Shelley turned on her heel and walked out of the shop without glancing back.
Chapter 2
He arrived one minute before seven, but Shelley was ready for him. She’d given up on trying to second-guess the kind of place he might take her or the way he would be dressed. The white southwestern-style skirt she had chosen was full and flounced at the hem, and she had paired it with a long-sleeved black silk blouse trimmed with small turquoise buttons. Around her waist Shelley had looped a wide silver and turquoise belt. Black, high-heeled sandals and silver earrings completed the look, which she hoped was both chic and remotely cool. As she’d finished brushing her toast-colored hair into a tight, soft curve, Shelley had taken stock of her own reflection in the mirror.
“You are not a hustler,” she’d told herself out loud. “Hustlers are people who make their money in pinball arcades and slick real estate deals. Hustlers are people who insist on making a pass at a woman over dinner before they’ll talk business with her. Joel Cassidy is a hustler. And the pass, when it occurs, will be brushed off as if it weren’t worth noticing.”
It was with such sentiments in her head that she opened the door at one minute before seven to reveal Joel Cassidy, who definitely did not look like a pinball mechanic. He still wore the thin gold watch, but the denims and coarse cotton work shirt had been replaced by a cream-colored jacket and tan slacks. The hand-sewn leather shoes were every bit as expensive looking as the boots had been earlier in the day. The pelt of red hair was combed into neat, gleaming order. In spite of her warnings to herself, Shelley experienced the same tug on her senses, the same awareness of his casual power, that she had known that afternoon in the shop. The knowledge annoyed her for some obscure reason.
“Won’t you come in?” she made herself say politely, holding the door. “A glass of wine before we leave?” Anticipating an answer in the affirmative, she was already moving away from him, heading for the kitchen.
“Thank you,” he murmured behind her. “That would be nice.”
Shelley poured the chilled Napa Valley Chenin Blanc quickly, vitally aware of the way Joel was gliding around her living room, examining the surroundings. When she walked out of the cheerful, modem kitchen, she found he’d completed his perusal of the low, comfortable Spanish decor of her condominium and had come to a halt beside the puzzle table. Hearing her step on the brightly colored kitchen tile floor, Joel glanced up expectantly. Across the room she could see the assessing, anticipatory light in his blue eyes. Once again, Shelley reminded herself to play the game cautiously.
“You haven’t made much progress on your puzzle,” he remarked, taking the Chenin Blanc from her hand. He let his fingers lightly graze hers as he did so, and Shelley knew it was no accident. Irritated with herself for being so aware of the warmth in his casual touch, she took a determined sip of her own wine and contrived to step away from him on the pretext of glancing down at the puzzle.
“I just opened it up last night,” she explained easily, surveying the thousand interlocking pieces that eventually were to go together to form a scene of Venice. “I’m addicted to them, I’m afraid. Some people watch television; I do puzzles.”
He was suddenly close again, standing at her elbow to look down at the table. “I don’t think I’ve done one since I was eight years old. Looks hopeless.”
“There are tricks and patterns you learn after a while,” she told him offhandedly, idly reaching down to fit a small piece into the gondola emerging in the left-hand corner of the scene.
“There are tricks and patterns to everything, aren’t there?” Joel smiled with not-so-subtle provocation. “I’m looking forward to finding out which ones you’ll be using.”
“Which ones I’ll be using to help save Ackerly Manufacturing?” Shelley slanted him a deliberate glance.
“Which ones you’ll be using on me,” he growled softly in a voice that, Shelley was learning, had a way of sending shivers along her nerve endings.
“I’m doing business with you, Joel. I’m not playing games.” She wanted to make that point very clear.
“My dear little hustler,” he murmured, downing the last sip of his wine, “haven’t you learned yet that there is no real difference between the two?”
> ———
The restaurant was elegant, continental and located in the wealthy community of Scottsdale, on the edge of Phoenix. Shelley’s heart sank as Joel parked his white Maserati in the lot. She slid out of the white leather seat with a reluctance that couldn’t quite be hidden as Joel opened the door for her.
“Something wrong?” he asked with unexpected concern.
“Oh, no! It’s a lovely place,” Shelley hastened to assure him. She was there on business, wasn’t she? It took willpower to conduct business under any circumstances. Tonight it would just take a bit more than she had planned, that was all. Lifting her chin bravely, she allowed him to guide her into the plushly decorated restaurant.
“Are you sure you don’t mind eating here?” he demanded in a low voice as the huge menus were handed to them. He leaned across the table, forehead creased in growing consternation.
“I told you, it’s delightful,” she insisted, opening the menu to the list of salads. The trick would be not to open it past this particular page, she decided firmly. Between keeping her mind on business and refusing to read through the descriptions of the various specialties, she ought to be able to survive the evening.
“Look, if you’d rather go somewhere else, Shelley,” Joel broke in a moment later, “I won’t mind at all.”
“This place is fine. One of the best in the valley,” she stated resolutely.
“That was my impression, too,” he returned dryly. “But you look as if you’re being led to the scaffold.”
She glanced up, her most charming smile firmly in place. “That’s what thinking about business does to me, I expect”
“Then don’t think about it” He broke off as the waiter arrived for their order. “What would you like, Shelley?”
“I’ll have the hearts of palm and pine nut salad,” she said, smiling gamely up at the waiter, who dutifully jotted down her order and waited expectantly. “That will be all, thank you.”
Green Fire Page 2