shouldn't matter. He and Nicki weren't going anywhere, relationship-wise. Since Tiffany, he didn't do relationships. But he couldn't deny that, for some head-scratching reason, he worried about Nicki. Yeah, it bugged the hell out of him that she might be fucking the hairy Italian jerk. But it concerned him more. Did she know she was sleeping with a guy who was probably a stone cold killer?
Resigned that he wouldn't get answers while standing in the hall, Mark brushed past Nicki and entered her apartment. Damn, she smelled good, like ... tangerine but lighter, with a hint more spice. Whatever it was, that scent kicked his libido into gear every time.
Without meeting his gaze, she shut the door behind him, then led the way to the little Old World living room.
He sat. She also sat, then rubbed her hands together. Nicki didn't often display a demeanor other than her usual brass balls. Her tense, out-of-sorts gestures only confused him.
If this was about Bocelli finding him trying to get a peek at her books--and he suspected it was--he had to somehow convince her to keep her distance from the dangerous prick ... without getting fired or blowing his cover.
The best way to fight fire was with fire.
"I'm glad you called me over here. I want to talk to you."
"I-I want to talk to you, too."
"I'm going to skip being a gentleman today and go first. Sorry." Mark plowed on, despite the fact Nicki looked taken aback. "Bocelli is more asshole than accountant. He doesn't need to be doing your books, Nicki."
She blinked several times. "You want to talk to me about my choice of accountants?"
"I know you have more sense than to hire that Stallone wannabe to take care of your money. Do you know anything about his background? Is he even qualified?"
Her frown reflected equal parts confusion and anger. "So he's not from H and R Block. What do you care?"
"I don't want to see him take you down the river. He could be cheating you, Nicki."
Holding up her hands to stay him, she said, "Look, you two don't like each other. I get it. He's made it really clear that he doesn't think you're qualified for your job, either. The two of you need to quit your macho posturing and stop telling me how to run my business."
"I think he's hiding something. I'm trying to protect you."
"That's crap. Both of you big he-men seem to think that I must have my brains in my boobs. This is so like every man I know." She gritted her teeth. "Listen, I started this club virtually on my own. You and Blade and my uncle all think you should tell me how to handle the operations because you got something dangling between your legs. I know why the other two think they have the right to boss me around. What's your excuse?"
Clearly, her uncle thought the familial connection allowed him to put his two cents in with Nicki. What was Bocelli's claim to fame here? Had Nicki just admitted that she was sleeping with him? Her words felt like a punch in the gut.
"Do I need an excuse to want to make sure he doesn't take advantage of you?" he countered, voice rising. "He's no accountant."
"And you are?" she shot back tartly.
Mark hesitated. "Yes."
Her stunned expression took some of the starch out of her spine. Bingo. "You're an accountant?"
"I'm a CPA, yes."
"Really?" The set of her full mouth showed her utter confusion. "Is that what you did in Florida when you worked for the bank?"
Not exactly, and not as Mark Gabriel, but why split hairs? "Yes."
"Why did you give it up?" Nicki's face softened, reflecting her confusion. "Why come here and take work as an exotic dancer?"
Actually, he'd finished his CPA shortly after leaving jail and going to work for Rafe. But Nicki couldn't know that, or it would blow his cover. She'd asked good questions that, if he didn't find good answers for fast, would make her very suspicious. Keeping his cover was paramount to catching Bocelli doing something illegal with her money.
"Long story. That life is behind me. It needs to stay there."
Ugh,
Resigned that he wouldn't get answers while standing in the hall, Mark brushed past Nicki and entered her apartment. Damn, she smelled good, like ... tangerine but lighter, with a hint more spice. Whatever it was, that scent kicked his libido into gear every time.
Without meeting his gaze, she shut the door behind him, then led the way to the little Old World living room.
He sat. She also sat, then rubbed her hands together. Nicki didn't often display a demeanor other than her usual brass balls. Her tense, out-of-sorts gestures only confused him.
If this was about Bocelli finding him trying to get a peek at her books--and he suspected it was--he had to somehow convince her to keep her distance from the dangerous prick ... without getting fired or blowing his cover.
The best way to fight fire was with fire.
"I'm glad you called me over here. I want to talk to you."
"I-I want to talk to you, too."
"I'm going to skip being a gentleman today and go first. Sorry." Mark plowed on, despite the fact Nicki looked taken aback. "Bocelli is more asshole than accountant. He doesn't need to be doing your books, Nicki."
She blinked several times. "You want to talk to me about my choice of accountants?"
"I know you have more sense than to hire that Stallone wannabe to take care of your money. Do you know anything about his background? Is he even qualified?"
Her frown reflected equal parts confusion and anger. "So he's not from H and R Block. What do you care?"
"I don't want to see him take you down the river. He could be cheating you, Nicki."
Holding up her hands to stay him, she said, "Look, you two don't like each other. I get it. He's made it really clear that he doesn't think you're qualified for your job, either. The two of you need to quit your macho posturing and stop telling me how to run my business."
"I think he's hiding something. I'm trying to protect you."
"That's crap. Both of you big he-men seem to think that I must have my brains in my boobs. This is so like every man I know." She gritted her teeth. "Listen, I started this club virtually on my own. You and Blade and my uncle all think you should tell me how to handle the operations because you got something dangling between your legs. I know why the other two think they have the right to boss me around. What's your excuse?"
Clearly, her uncle thought the familial connection allowed him to put his two cents in with Nicki. What was Bocelli's claim to fame here? Had Nicki just admitted that she was sleeping with him? Her words felt like a punch in the gut.
"Do I need an excuse to want to make sure he doesn't take advantage of you?" he countered, voice rising. "He's no accountant."
"And you are?" she shot back tartly.
Mark hesitated. "Yes."
Her stunned expression took some of the starch out of her spine. Bingo. "You're an accountant?"
"I'm a CPA, yes."
"Really?" The set of her full mouth showed her utter confusion. "Is that what you did in Florida when you worked for the bank?"
Not exactly, and not as Mark Gabriel, but why split hairs? "Yes."
"Why did you give it up?" Nicki's face softened, reflecting her confusion. "Why come here and take work as an exotic dancer?"
Actually, he'd finished his CPA shortly after leaving jail and going to work for Rafe. But Nicki couldn't know that, or it would blow his cover. She'd asked good questions that, if he didn't find good answers for fast, would make her very suspicious. Keeping his cover was paramount to catching Bocelli doing something illegal with her money.
"Long story. That life is behind me. It needs to stay there."
Ugh,
Similar Books
