Kaitlin’s attention moved to his face, her lips pursing, green eyes narrowing. “What do you mean by that?”
He gave up and met her gaze. She was so damn gorgeous, feisty, challenging. Even now, he wanted to take her back into his arms and change the mood between them. “Just what I said.”
“What happened?” She jerked forward in her chair. “Am I out of the will? Did you find a loophole? Are you firing me?” Then she jumped to her feet. “If you’re firing me, you should have said something before…” She gestured with a sweeping arm, across the office to the spot where they’d kissed. “Before…”
Zach stood with her. “I am not firing you. Now, will you sit back down.”
She watched him warily. “Then what’s this about?”
“Sit down, and I’ll tell you.” He gestured to her chair and waited.
She glared at him but finally sat.
He followed suit, refocusing. This wasn’t going well. It was not going well at all. “A problem has come to light with my grandmother’s charitable trust.”
Kaitlin’s features remained schooled and neutral.
“There’s been some money—a lot of money—embezzled from the bank account by a former employee.”
He paused to see if she’d react, but she waited in silence.
Zach leaned slightly forward, his feet braced apart on the carpet in front of him, choosing his words carefully. “Therefore, I am going to have to shift some cash from Harper Transportation to the trust fund, or some of her projects will collapse, like the after-school tutoring programs and hot lunches.”
Kaitlin finally spoke. “Do you need me to sign something?”
Zach shook his head.
“Then what?”
“Harper Transportation’s cash flow will be tight for the next year or so.” He mentally braced himself. “So we may need to talk seriously about scaling back on the renovation—”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” She emphatically crossed her arms.
“Let me—”
“You mess with my emotions.”
“I’m not messing with anything,” he protested.
“Try to put me off balance,” she accused.
“I’m offering you honesty and reason.” He was. He was giving her the bald truth of the matter.
“One minute we’re kissing—” she snapped her fingers in the air “—next, you’re asking for concessions.”
His anger trickled back. “The two were not related.”
“Well, it won’t work this time, Mr. Zachary Harper.” She tossed her pretty hair, tone going to a scoff. “Embezzlement from dear ol’ granny’s charitable fund, my ass.”
“You think I’m lying?”
“Yes.”
What was the matter with her? He had documentation. It was the easiest thing in the world to prove.
“I’ll show you the account statements,” he offered. “The bank records.”
“You can show me anything you want, Zach. Any high-school kid with a laptop and a printer in his basement can fake financial statements.”
“You doubt the integrity of my accountants?”
“I doubt the integrity of you.” She came to her feet again, color high, chin raised, shoulders squared, looking entirely ready for battle.
Once again, he rose with her.
Though her hair was in an updo, she swiped her hands behind her ears, tugging at both gold earrings. “You’ve tried evasion, coercion, outright threats, theft, seduction and now emotional manipulation.”
He clenched his jaw, biting back an angry retort.
“Good grief, Zach. Granny, a charity and hungry kids? I’m surprised you didn’t add a dying puppy to the mix.” She tapped her index finger against her chest. “I am renovating, and I am doing it my way. And for that, you get half a corporation and a divorce decree. It’s a bargain, and you should quit trying to change the terms.”
Zach fumed, but bit back his words. He knew that anything he said would make things worse. A contingency strategy was his only hope. And he was all out of frickin’ contingency strategies.
Having apparently said her piece, Kaitlin squared her shoulders. She put her sculpted nose in the air and turned on her heel to leave.
As the door shut firmly behind her, Zach unclenched his fists. He closed his eyes for a long second. Then he dropped into his chair.
The woman was past impossible.
She was suspicious. She was determined. And she was oh, so sexy.
She was going to bring down a three-hundred-year-old dynasty, and he had no idea how to stop her.
“Plan C is a bust,” he informed Dylan, spinning the near empty glass of single malt on the polished, corner table at McDougals.