Chapter 2
Donovan Sutton looked at the little Italian restaurant Arturo Vasquez had suggested yesterday with distaste. It wasn’t just that the place was gaudy with the Christmas lights strung up haphazardly around the windows. Or that it was tacky with its massive green and red awning. It was also the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten food that came from a strip mall. Of course, it was probably the best this little town had to offer, he thought as he walked in and gave his name.
Nothing about the town had impressed him from the moment he’d arrived in the rental car he’d driven from the airport. It had been a longer drive than he’d wanted, after a longer flight than he’d wanted. He hated flying and there had been turbulence in the middle of the flight. He flexed his hands. They still ached from the white knuckle grip he’d had on the armrests. It didn’t help. They still hurt.
He was about to eat subpar food in a subpar town with a stubborn man after a hellish day. In short, Donovan would rather be anywhere but where he was. But he was stuck until he’d gotten Arturo’s signature on the documents he had in his jacket pocket.
At least the restaurant was clean on the inside. Tacky, with plenty of fake plants and candles in chianti bottles, but clean. He sighed and sat down in the chair the hostess indicated. She was gone in a flash with a promise to send a waiter over right away.
He mused that it shouldn’t take long. There were only a few other patrons in the restaurant. Most of them were involved in their own conversations but a couple of them looked his way every now and again. He read mostly curiosity on their faces and he could see why.
Donovan knew that he stood out here much more than he did in the city. Everyone in the restaurant, including the staff, wore jeans and casual shirts. He was wearing a charcoal gray, Tom Ford, three piece suit. The car he’d rented didn’t fit in well either, it was sleek and German and efficient and entirely alien among the work trucks and family cars he’d parked near.
“What can I get you to drink, sir?”
“Just water for now,” he said to the waiter. “I’m waiting for someone.” As the man turned to go, Donovan stopped him. “May I see a wine list?”
The waiter indicated a small piece of paper, water stained and propped against the salt and pepper. “It’s there, sir.”
“Thank you,” Donovan said wryly. Three red wines, three white wines, and an extremely cheap champagne filled the list. There were over ten different beers listed though. He decided that he’d stick with water and not offer any celebratory drinks when the deal was done.
Once the waiter was gone, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and glanced at the time, comparing it to his Rolex even though he knew his watch was right. Arturo Vasquez was late. As he was watching the seconds tick by, the phone rang.
“Hello, Gail. What’s falling apart now?” he asked his secretary without preamble.
“Nothing too much,” she said cheerfully. “I just called to make sure that you reached your destination without any trouble.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, remembering the flight. “But I’m here now and I’ve secured a meeting with the accountant.” He glanced at his watch once more. “Provided that the man shows up, that is.”
“Not everyone is as determinedly punctual as you,” Gail reminded him. “And it might be better not to point out his tardiness when he does show up. It took a month to even get the meeting; you don’t want to make him walk out on you in the first ten minutes.”
“Who’s the boss, me or you?” Donovan demanded.
Gail laughed. “Oh trust me, you are absolutely still the boss. I wouldn’t want the headache of trying to run this place. So tell me, what do you think your odds really are of getting him to sell?”
“I’ve got a check with his name on it and no intention of leaving until we’ve reached an agreement,” he said flatly. “This has gone on long enough.”
As he spoke he heard the bell above the door ring and he glanced up automatically, looking for the accountant. The person who’d walked in was about as far from his mental picture of Arturo Vasquez as it was possible for a person to be. For one thing, it was a woman. For another, she was gorgeous.
She wasn’t attractive in the full face of makeup and designer clothes with a bag that matched way that he was so used to seeing back home; but she was sexy in a quieter way. She moved with confidence, shoulders back and head high, her short brown hair brushing forward over her chin. She smiled at the hostess as they spoke to each other, apparently exchanging a joke. Her laugh was light and musical as it carried across the still restaurant.
“Mr. Sutton? Mr. Sutton? Are you still there?”
With a start, he came back to himself. He’d forgotten that Gail was on the phone. “Yes,” he said. “I’m here. Let me call you back when I know something.”
They exchanged goodbyes and he glanced up to see the woman walking toward him. He hadn’t expected to be approached while he was here, but it wasn’t unwelcome. He entertained a brief thought of taking her back to his hotel room once he’d closed his deal and liked the way it looked in his head.
It had been a while since he’d done anything so frivolous. The closer she got, the more attractive he found her. She was generously curvy and obviously fit and in her gray pinstriped pants and coral pink button up shirt, she was more put together than everyone else in the restaurant. The outfit hugged her body and the heels she wore added just enough height to make her legs look endless. Altogether, it was a very nice package. She stopped in front of him and he looked up at her, allowing a smile to tip one corner of his mouth.
“Hello,” he began, but she jumped in.
“Are you Donovan Sutton?” she asked, her voice crisp and far from friendly.
“Yes,” he said, more than slightly taken aback. How the hell had she known that?
“I’m Araceli Vasquez,” she said, making no move to shake his hand during her introduction. “May I sit down, please?”
“I...” He actually found himself fumbling for something to say for the first time in a long time. Then the importance of her name hit him. “Did you say Vasquez?”
“Yes,” she said, biting the word off. “May I sit down?” she repeated impatiently.
“Of course,” he said, waving to the seat across from him. “Am I right in assuming that you’re related to Arturo?” Possibly his daughter, he mused. Maybe he’d upset the old man more than he’d known and ruffled his family’s feathers. It had happened before and it usually cost a few extra thousand in his buyout offer to smooth them.
“I’m his niece,” she said, pulling out the chair and dropping into it, then folding her hands on the table and raising her eyebrow. “But more importantly, I’m his business partner.”
“And he thought that it would be better to send you than to come and deal with me himself?” Donovan asked, allowing her to see just a hint of his derision in his question. He’d sensed that the man he’d been speaking with for the better part of a month was a little on the timid side, but he hadn’t thought Arturo Vasquez would back out completely. He was a businessman, for God’s sake. If he couldn’t handle this, how did he run his firm?
“Oh, I insisted,” Araceli said. “Just water, please,” she went on to the waiter who had just arrived. Once he was gone, she turned back to Donovan, her brown eyes snapping. “Why don’t you tell me why you’ve been harassing my uncle for the past month.”
Donovan was tempted to ask whether she was an accountant or a prosecutor. That stare was more than a little unnerving. He took a drink of his water, trying to regain his equilibrium. He was used to being on top of these situations and he had to find his footing with this woman quickly.
“I haven’t been harassing your uncle,” he said once he’d swallowed. It would be best to deflect until he found her weak points.
“Yes, I’m sure you avoided the legal definition of harassment,” Araceli allowed. “But I’m also very sure that my uncle refused to sell you his accounting firm.”
“I don’t know that for sure,” Donovan said. “This was supposed to be our opportunity to sort it out, but since you’re here and he’s not, it doesn’t look like it’s going to get resolved today.” He wanted to put her on the defensive, make her careless.
“When you first brought it up, what did he say?” she asked, ignoring his attack at her.
“Most people refuse a first offer,” he said with a shrug. “It’s just good negotiation.”
“Ah, so he said no.” Araceli took a drink of her water now, eyeing Donovan over the rim of the glass. “And the second offer?”
“He hadn’t really taken the time to listen to what I’m prepared to offer,” Donovan said smoothly. “That’s what today was supposed to be for. I’m assuming that you’re not authorized to make these decisions on his behalf, so I’m a little insulted that the two of you would waste my time like this.”
“We aren’t the ones who’ve been wasting people’s time, Mr. Sutton,” she said coolly. “You don’t seem to be listening to me, so there’s no point in continuing this. Hear this clearly, my uncle and I will not sell you our firm, no matter what price you offer.”
“You haven’t heard my offer yet,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. This woman, with her imperious gaze and her blunt tone, was annoying him more than anyone ever had. What right did she think she had to march into his business affairs and start telling him what would and wouldn’t happen? It wasn’t even her firm.
“I don’t need to,” Araceli said, her voice serious and unwavering. “There’s no price high enough and nothing that you could offer us to make us consider this. You’ll just have to go be king of the world somewhere else.”
“Would you care to order?” the oblivious waiter asked, refilling their water glasses.
Araceli pushed her chair back. “No thank you,” she said. “I’m leaving.” She stood, looking at down at Donovan. “I hope you’re prepared to take what I’ve said very seriously, Mr. Sutton. I’d rather you didn’t waste any more of our time at Vasquez Accounting Services.”
And with that, she was gone. Donovan could only stare after her in silent amazement. His whole body had gone tense and hot. Everyone in the restaurant was staring now. He tossed some money down on the table and walked out. The woman was walking down the sidewalk, her head down against the wind. He watched her get into a small blue car at the end of the parking lot. The last thing he wanted was her getting hysterical and saying that he was following her, so he waited until she’d pulled out onto the road and disappeared from sight before he went to his own car.
He jerked the door open and cranked the car, speeding out of the lot toward the hotel room he’d rented for the night. As he drove, he dialed his secretary.
“Gail? Extend my hotel stay here for another week,” he said, his jaw set and his tone grim.
“You have a few appointments over the next few--” she began.
“Rearrange them,” Donovan ordered. “There’s nothing that can’t be put off for a week or so. I’m buying this firm. No matter what.” He disconnected the call and drove on, his mind spinning with plans.
When he got to the hotel, he was relieved to see that it lived up to the photographs online. He normally didn’t enjoy staying at boutique hotels, but if it came down to it, he preferred them to a motel. Those had been the only other options in this town. He tossed his bag into the corner when he got into the room and pulled his laptop from its case.
Kicking his shoes off and dropping down onto the bed, Donovan typed in the wifi password and pulled up the accounting firm’s website. When he clicked the “get to know us” tab, Araceli Vasquez smiled out at him from a small photo.
According to the information on the page, she’d gotten her master’s degree in accounting the previous year. She was twenty four years old, which made her six years younger than him. He skimmed the bio of her quickly, trying to find some information he could use.
He couldn’t help the fact that his eyes kept going back to the photograph, though. She was just so damn beautiful. It was distracting. And it wasn’t important. No matter what she looked like, and no matter what she thought about him, he was going to have her uncle’s company and she was going to have to get used to it.
Donovan pushed one hand back through his hair, and then rubbed his eyes as the words on the computer screen began to blur on his third read through of Araceli’s qualifications. Exhaustion was finally catching up with him. It had been a long and frustrating day.
He turned the computer off and plugged it in to charge. Then he grabbed his toiletries and headed for the bathroom. The water pressure was good, which he appreciated. It was always a crap shoot in hotels.
He stepped under the spray, wincing slightly at how hot it was but then sighing as his muscles began to relax. He soaped up, still wondering how best to beat their resistance. He wasn’t about to let his mentor down by failing now.
Oliver Ingram, the last original partner of Ingram Norman, might be gone, but Donovan wouldn’t let the man’s faith in him be in vain. He’d do more with the company he’d inherited than anyone would have imagined. He would make it the biggest accounting firm on the west coast and then start spreading eastward, till he had the whole country. And after that, why not go global? He hadn’t made a bad start. In a little more than a year, he’d acquired more small accounting businesses than he could count. Some of them were turned into branches of Ingram Norman. Some were simply shut down so that they wouldn’t be competition. That was what he’d planned to do with Vasquez Accounting, actually.
It was in such a small town that it wouldn’t be worth the money to staff the place. Ingram Norman had a certain clientele that they served. Wealthy, trendy, bougie types. Movers and shakers. No one of that type was breathing in the dust of the Santa Ana winds out here, that was for damn sure. And he had no interest in managing small accounts.
Of course, he wasn’t going to tell the man he was going to shut the firm down. Donovan was always careful not to make promises of that type. He stayed away from definitives.
Well, except for the amount of the check he was willing to write. For most of the firms, it was the most money they’d ever seen at once, and certainly more than they’d ever expected to get for their little businesses.
So why wasn’t that motivating Arturo and Araceli? Donovan was frustrated to find himself right back to square one. He had to find a way to get them on his side, to make them see that they were making a big mistake in not working with him. But how was he going to do that?
Donovan rinsed off and turned off the taps. As he wrapped a towel around himself, he realized that Araceli was the key. If she wanted to sell, then Arturo would agree. Which meant that he had to see her again. But even as he groaned in frustration at the thought, Donovan felt something deep in his chest that felt strangely like anticipation. Maybe even a little excitement.