Sex By The Numbers. Marie Donovan

hair would mask the fact that he’d started sweating at the sight of Keeley sucking cherry filling off her finger. “So about the project.”

      “Yes.” She flipped open her leather-bound notepad, all business now. “Tell me what’s going on.”

      He quietly filled her in on Binky’s suspicions of his grandson and she nodded as she took notes. “I see,” she began. “The subject of your investigation is the chief financial officer who has access to pretty much every account in the company, but other people obviously have access as well.”

      “Yeah, that’s right.”

      “And you? Do you have access to those accounts?” She gave him a hard stare. “Any girlfriends who work there and have access to those accounts?”

      He grinned. She was no fool. But if he were the thief, he would never hire a sharp cookie like her. “No, no girlfriends who work there. I’ve never worked there before and have had absolutely no access to any of their funds. I will as soon as I start as acting controller, but if you take the job you’ll be able to look over my shoulder and keep me on the straight and narrow.”

      “I was wondering how you were going to get me in. Or can you download the accounts for me to look at off-site?”

      “No, you’ll have to do the audit on-site. It might tip the thief off if I come on board as controller-in-training and start taking specific account information home right away.”

      “So I’ll come in after hours and audit?”

      “Not exactly.” Dane took a deep breath. “Binky suggested you work at the company as my executive assistant.”

      She looked as if she’d swallowed a cherry pit. “You want me to be your secretary?”

      “My executive assistant,” he corrected, knowing semantics were futile.

      “Ha. Big difference.” She crumpled her napkin and tossed it on the table.

      Not good. If she turned him down, he’d have to find another reputable accountant, delaying Binky’s peace of mind even further. “The audit is your first priority. Believe me, I’m not going to send daily memos or write the company’s annual report.”

      “That would be fun. ‘Dear esteemed clients of Bingham Brothers, please disregard any minor discrepancies in your holdings. We are working diligently to discover which of our trusted executives has his or her hand in the till. Sincerely, the management.’”

      He laughed. Sure, it was an awful situation, but her humor helped lighten things.

      Keeley’s regretful expression was obvious. “I’d really like to help you, but I don’t think it would work. I’ve met Charlie Bingham several times at financial networking events. I doubt he’d recognize me immediately, but he would if I spent all day in his office for several weeks.”

      “Damn.” Dane frowned. He hadn’t considered that. Leaning back in his chair to give the situation some thought, he immediately straightened when one of the legs creaked ominously. Coffeehouse chairs were either made for skinny city guys who subsisted on caffeine alone or women like the one sitting across from him.

      Hmm. Under that bulky brown jacket, her tucked-in white blouse revealed a slender waist and her long skirt showed some firm calves, if not her thighs.

      She cleared her throat and his gaze flew to her face. Instead of the demure blush he expected at his less-than-subtle examination, she merely looked sardonic. “Did you get a good look?”

      Not hardly, but he wasn’t going to say that. “Don’t take this the wrong way—”

      “Oh, I love it when men start a sentence with that disclaimer.”

      “Okay, okay.” He backed off. “What I was going to ask, have you usually worn outfits like that when you met Charlie Bingham?”

      “No, he took me to prom. Of course, he’s seen my work clothes.” She peered over her glasses at him as if he were an idiot, but he forged onward.

      “What if you had different clothes?”

      “What?”

      “Not accountant clothes—younger, lighter outfits.”

      “More…revealing?” Her voice dipped into the husky range. She brushed her fingers over her blouse’s top button and unfastened it. She crossed her legs under the glass-topped table and hiked her skirt to her knee. She’d uncovered maybe three inches of skin in total, but Dane still found it arousing. She leaned forward, her attention totally on him. “Dane, do you want me to play dress-up for you?”

      “More like a makeover,” he managed to say, wondering where the sex-kitten persona had come from.

      Just as quick as he wondered, she switched back to frowning CPA. “A makeover? Who do you think you are? Pygmalion? Professor Henry Higgins? The guys from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?”

      “Hey! I meant disguise, not makeover.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “You know, like wearing contacts instead of glasses, maybe letting your hair down, wearing less brown…” His voice trailed off into a silent sigh. He’d handled this situation with all the finesse of the farm-fresh hayseed he used to be—or even worse, his dad’s bull Caesar. “Look, I’m sorry. I understand if you don’t want to take this job after this awkward beginning, but if you do want it, it’s yours, disguise or no.”

      Her eyebrows pulled together. “You don’t know me, and you’re trusting me with such a big project.”

      “I did check you out.”

      “You did? And what did you find?”

      “I verified your credentials, lack of criminal record, the basics.”

      “Ah.” She nodded, relaxing the tiniest bit.

      Had he missed something? His P.I. had done a routine check on her. Then he looked at her calm expression and decided to drop it. Maybe she’d gotten into trouble as a teenager, records he didn’t have access to. Unless she’d done juvie time for embezzlement, he didn’t really care. “And Sugar’s recommendation carries a lot of weight. That woman is a walking financial calculator.”

      Instead of reassuring her, she frowned again. “How do you know Sugar?”

      Ah, she was probably wondering if he was one of Sugar’s lap-dance clients. “Not from her work, at least not directly. She models for my sister Bridget’s lingerie line.”

      She grinned. “Oh, yes. ‘Bras by Brigitte.’”

      “Yeah. That’s it.” Silly fake-French marketing ploy, but sales were taking off.

      “I’ll have to look for some of her designs when I’m shopping. For my makeover.”

      It took him a second. “You mean you’ll do it? That’s great!”

      She raised a slim hand. “Don’t get all excited yet. Binky Bingham is going to pay me big-time.”

      “Hey, he wouldn’t expect anything less.” Binky was used to paying women lots of money.

      Her next words proved she knew Binky’s habits as well. “I don’t accept cash, especially tightly rolled fifties. He can write me checks at the beginning, middle and end of the audit, with additional billing if I get involved in legal proceedings.”

      “And he’ll pay for any clothing you may need to do the job.”

      She raised an eyebrow. “A clothing allowance? Maybe I will get one of your sister’s pricey bras. Sugar says they’re so comfortable, you practically feel naked.”

      A naked Keeley? Images of Keeley undressed like the brunette stripper from Frisky’s tumbled around his head. He never mixed business with pleasure, and Binky’s business was important. Dane didn’t need to ask himself what was wrong—he