Leanne Banks: Trouble in High Heels

The nasty, edgy feeling built inside her so that she couldn’t sit still. “There must be some way,” she ventured. “Some creative accounting way-”

“Creative accountants and their clients often end up in prison.”

Lori glanced at him again. She was surprised they’d sent someone so young. He didn’t seem the least bit affected by her appearance. She wondered if he was gay. He didn’t look gay. Except for his suit, he didn’t look like an accountant, either. He was tall, with broad shoulders. His nose looked as if it had been broken, but he wasn’t ugly. He wasn’t handsome, either. Strong jaw, she noticed. She had the un-fun sense that he would be stubborn.

“There’s got to be a way around this,” she said.

He placed a file of papers on the coffee table. “I’m leaving you with a copy of the will and the amount of the allowance you’re due for the next six years. We can meet again tomorrow,” he said, then paused. “Provided you don’t start any new charitable foundations or go on any shopping sprees.”

She frowned at his dry tone. “I don’t like your attitude, Mr. James. I’m not sure I want to work with you. Perhaps I should call Mr. Hollingsworth about working with someone else.”

“Good luck,” Mr. James said in a confident tone that grated on her.

“Why good luck?” she demanded.

“Because everyone else said no to the job. I’m the only sap they could talk into taking you on. They’re all afraid you’ll turn them into mush and send their careers down the toilet.”

“I’m not that difficult to work with! I’m not rude or arrogant or-”

“No. You just come across as so sweet and helpless that you make men feel like they have to take care of you. They want to give you everything you ask for, everything you wish for.”

She didn’t like the image he was painting of her. She didn’t like it at all. “I’m not helpless.”

He cracked a half smile that didn’t reach his piercing eyes. “Here’s your chance to prove it.”

The following morning, Jackson James arrived just as Lori was eating the last bite of her breakfast of fresh fruit and granola. She made a face when Mabel told her he was waiting for her. After looking over the paperwork he’d left her last night, she’d barely been able to sleep. She truly hadn’t realized how much money she’d spent since Harlan had died. It was embarrassing. Most of the money had gone to good causes, but seeing the numbers in black and white was disconcerting, to say the least.

Now she had to pay the piper, face the music, suffer the consequences. Lori suspected that working with Jackson James would give new meaning to the word suffering.

There was another way, another choice. Unspoken and unspeakable, but available nonetheless. Lori considered the option for a half second and wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t that desperate.

Taking a sip of coffee, she braced herself for another meeting with this Scrooge with linebacker shoulders. She slipped her feet into her shoes and walked down the gleaming wood floor of the hallway to the parlor. “Good morning, Mr. James,” she said and waved him to a seating area. Choosing the ivory leather chair, she sat down. She noticed the navy suit jacket he wore today didn’t fit any better than the one he wore yesterday.

“Did you have a chance to look over the folders I gave you?” he asked, sitting across from her with a bulging briefcase.

“Yes, I did,” she said. “Things have been such a blur since my father died, I didn’t realize how many donations I had made.”

He gave a neutral nod, but disapproval emanated from his dark eyes. “That’s why we need to set up a budget for you, so you don’t get caught short in another year. It’s my job to identify possible areas where you can-” He paused as if searching for the right word. “Economize,” he said, his voice full of irony. “For example, I notice you spend a significant amount of money on clothing, particularly evening wear. Here’s an area that could be trimmed.”

“I wear the dresses once, then donate them to the women’s shelter,” Lori said and shrugged. “A Granger doesn’t repeat wearing a dress to a social event during the same season, and by the next season, they’re out of style.”

“I don’t think the women staying at the women’s shelter are going to have too many places to wear couture evening dresses,” Jackson James said.

“The evening dresses are sold, and the proceeds go to the women’s shelter,” Lori told him.

“Admirable, but not economical,” he said without missing a beat. “If you want to keep donating all your dresses, then you need to hit some sales.”

The housekeeper entered the room carrying a brown package and several envelopes. “Morning mail, Miss Granger.”

“Thank you, Mabel.”

Jackson gave Mabel a nod of welcome, then continued. “Now we need to pare down this list of charities you contribute to on a regular basis. Cat and dog groomers for rescued animals? I wasn’t aware cats allowed anyone to groom them.”

The way he said it made it sound silly. “For some rescued animals, mostly dogs, grooming can be a health issue,” Lori said, determined to keep a defensive tone from her voice.

“At a hundred dollars a pop?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t spend that much on a haircut for myself.”

Lori glanced at his hair and resisted the urge to point out that her stylist wouldn’t cut the top quite so short. “I can direct my resources toward one of my other charities for the time being.”

“And about this grooming for your dog? I think we can find something more reasonable than what you’re doing now.”

“Kenny gets nervous around water. He requires a special touch.”

“You can buy a bottle of dog shampoo and save five hundred dollars a month. Hell, I’ll give him a bath for five bucks a pop.”

She wouldn’t let him anywhere near her dog. He would probably drown Kenny.

“I’ll make other arrangements,” she said, picking up the stack of mail.

“Here’s a charity for cultural arts appreciation for preschoolers? Why would anyone want to take a two-year-old to the opera?”

“One of my sorority friends founded that charity. It sounded like a nice idea at the time,” she said, feeling more idiotic with each passing moment. The trouble was that everything sounded worthy and good at the time. She flipped through the mail.

“And what is this purchase of collectible teddy bears?” he asked.

Lori Jean winced. She’d gotten a little carried away with that one. “It’s a worthy cause. The fire department and rescue squads like to give children teddy bears when they have to be treated or taken to an unfamiliar place.”

Jackson James met her gaze. “Do the bears need to cost two hundred dollars each?”

Resisting the urge to squirm, she lifted her chin. “Of course not, but I sponsored an advertisement for that charity, and they needed some bears for the photo shoot.”

“For this price, you could have gotten real bears,” he muttered.

He was going to pick her to death, she thought as he continued. Mentally muting him, she caught sight of a return address on an envelope that snagged her attention. Virginia Dawson. Miracles in Motion Ranch. Lori tore open the envelope and read the letter. She felt a stab of grief at the news that Virginia ’s husband, Skip, had suffered a long illness and died. As she read on, a knot of distress formed in her chest. Virginia was going to have to shut down the ranch. She didn’t have the financial backing to continue. Miracles in Motion was a combination working/therapeutic ranch. Children with disabilities came to the facility to ride the horses.