Green Fire Read online

  “It means I’m dumping my present staid, conservative firm in favor of someone more in tune with my own way of doing business,” he said glibly.

  “Who is your present firm?” When he told her, she raised one eyebrow. “They’re one of the ‘Big Eight,’ Joel. Why in the world would you want to get rid of them?”

  “I chose the firm because I figured it would help to have one of the top multinational accounting firms listed on my income tax return as the preparer. Didn’t help,” he added with a philosophical shrug. “I got audited, anyway!”

  “They sent someone to defend you at the IRS audit, didn’t they?”

  “Sure, and they cleared everything with the Internal Revenue Service. I won the audit, but it cost me a fortune, and it proved having a big, expensive accounting firm’s name on my tax return wasn’t going to keep the IRS from scrutinizing it. So when you showed up in my life, I decided I might as well start working with an accountant who knows how to hustle. Someone,” he went on blandly, “who, because she needs some big accounts to get started when she goes into business for herself, will give me the attention I need and deserve. Between saving Ackerly Manufacturing and having a client like me, you’ll be in great shape to open your own firm.”

  Shelley stared at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “I never say anything I don’t mean. Ready to go?” He glanced at her cleared desk.

  “Joel, wait a minute. You can’t just walk in here and announce you’re going to be one of my new clients,” she gasped as the full implications of the statement dawned.

  “Why not?” He looked genuinely curious.

  “Because—because that sort of decision needs to be carefully thought out and carefully analyzed. You know nothing about my skills. You’re currently with one of the biggest accounting firms in the nation and—”

  “Bigger is not necessarily better in the accounting business, Shelley,” he noted gently. “There are a lot of other factors to be considered, not the least of which is getting an accountant who understands me. It’s rather like choosing a wife, you see.”

  “How many wives have you chosen using this technique?” she snapped before she could stop herself.

  “None yet,” he retorted easily, “but if the technique works when choosing an accountant, I may give it a try in other areas.”

  Shelley scrabbled for the silver-studded turquoise shoulder bag that she had worn with her white business suit, deliberately not meeting his mocking gaze. He took her arm as she came a bit reluctantly from behind the desk, and a moment later they were walking through the darkened outer office. Everyone else had already left for the day, apparently.

  He was absolutely right, Shelley thought as Joel handed her into the waiting Maserati. She might find him annoying on occasion and perhaps not quite what she would wish in the line of business partners, but having him for a client would be a major coup. An excellent way to start off a new firm, she reflected. His account, combined with the reputation for having salvaged Ackerly Manufacturing, would almost assure her success. She was mentally considering the potential brightness of her future when they cruised past her car in the parking lot

  “Joel, wait a minute. What about my car?”

  “We can pick it up after dinner,” he told her, pulling out into the busy afternoon traffic before she could think of an argument

  “Well, all right, I suppose that will work,” she agreed tentatively, her mind still spinning with his earlier announcement “Joel, are you serious about this business of switching accountants?” She turned in the seat to address his profile.

  “Yes.” He didn’t take his eyes off the flow of traffic, but he accompanied the affirmative with a nod. “We can talk about it over dinner.”

  A sudden thought made her chew her lip anxiously for an instant before Shelley said very carefully, “I consider myself fairly aggressive when it comes to accounting practices, Joel, but I’m not—” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “I’m willing to go into the so-called gray areas when filing an income tax return, but I…” Her second attempt to clarify her role dissolved.

  He threw her a flashing grin, his eyes laughing at her. “But you’re straight, right? You wouldn’t help a client, even a good one, break the law.”

  “That’s about it,” she said quietly.

  “You think I’d ask you to do that?” He sounded more curious than upset.

  “Would you?” There was no sense skirting the issue, Shelley thought grimly. They might as well know where they stood with each other right from the beginning.

  “Relax. I’m aggressive, too, but I do want to stay in business! I won’t be demanding anything unprofessional from you in the way of accounting practices. Satisfied?”

  “I only wanted to make certain we understood each other.” She smiled in relief.

  “I understand you perfectly,” he drawled. “And I think the reverse is true, too, although it may take you a while to admit it”

  “No cryptic remarks before dinner,” she warned him grimly.

  “Speaking of which, here we are. Are you sure you just want a salad?”

  “No fair tempting your accountant” Shelley eyed the little restaurant and inwardly stifled a groan. She loved Mexican food.

  He sighed. “Do you always make so many rules?”

  “No questioning your accountant’s rules or the number thereof. She knows what’s best.”

  “I can see we’re going to have a lot of fun together,” he muttered, parking the car in the tiny lot behind the restaurant

  Shelley never had a chance to inquire about a salad bar. Joel had taken the precaution of phoning in an order for both of them, and when the enthusiastic staff greeted him like an old friend and began producing homemade tortilla chips with two kinds of hot sauces, the fabulous tamales and several other specialties, Shelley gave up the battle.

  “I’ll get even for this,” she vowed at one point, tasting her margarita with undisguised appreciation.

  “Now who’s resorting to threats?” he complained, downing a taco in a few man-sized gulps.

  The rest of the meal passed in a pleasant haze of tart margaritas and spicy food. The conversation was surprisingly easygoing for two people who were practically strangers, Shelley thought at one point. But perhaps that was the advantage of having a business association. It gave two people the feeling they knew more about each other than was actually the case.

  “Do you realize we haven’t actually discussed your amusement-company business or your real estate wheeling and dealing?” she finally observed as the dinner drew to a close. “This was supposed to be a business meal!”

  “We’ll get down to business after we finish,” he responded, blue eyes gleaming.

  “If you’re talking about another seduction attempt, I can tell you right now you’ll be wasting your time!” Shelley made a show of collecting her purse as Joel asked for the check.

  “I would never equate business with seduction,” he told her, contriving to appear hurt by the accusation. “I said we’d get down to business, and I meant it. Come on.”

  He grabbed her wrist and led her out the door as the staff bid them a cheerful good-by. But when they reached the street, Joel didn’t guide her toward the little parking lot at the rear; instead, he started briskly down the sidewalk.

  “Where are we going? And wherever it might be, you’ll have to slow down. I’m wearing heels.”

  “Sorry.” He obediently slowed his long, ground-eating stride and released her hand to put his arm comfortably around her waist “We’re almost there.”

  “Where?” She glanced around the street, which was rapidly being enshrouded by night. Most of the businesses were closed for the evening, but a few small restaurants and taverns were still open.

  “The shopping mall in the next block,” he explained, drawing to a halt to wait patiently for the light at the crosswalk

  “The shopping mall!”

  “I want to show you someth
ing.”

  He was obviously not going to enlighten her further. The mall in the next block contained a couple of department stores, several little shops and some restaurants, all of which were still open. A large number of people were thronging the wide, central corridor of the indoor mall, window-shopping or waiting for someone. Shelley had shopped there frequently, and she knew the stores well. She couldn’t imagine why Joel had brought her there that evening, though.

  “I’m going to put my foot down very firmly if you’re thinking of taking me to the ice cream parlor,” she told him as they started down the interior of the mall, which had been designed to resemble a Mexican plaza.

  “We can talk about ice cream later. Don’t be so greedy. I’ve fed you enough for one evening.”

  And then she saw where he was taking her, and a slow, rueful smile lit her eyes. “Don’t tell me; let me guess. Not content with corrupting my diet, you’re going to try to undermine my high moral standards!”

  The arcade was undoubtedly the single busiest location in the mall. It was obviously the place the kids headed for while their mothers went shopping, and it had probably done more to halt the whining of ten-year-olds than any other single invention in the twentieth century. No longer did they have to submit to being dragged through lingerie departments or long aisles of housewares. Mom could take her own sweet time browsing, secure in the knowledge that she knew exactly where to locate her offspring when the time came to leave.

  Bright lights dazzled the eye, sophisticated computer graphics flashed across rows of video screens and an incredible cacophony of sounds emanated from the simulated flight decks of starships and missile command centers. The young video-game players seemed blessed with an endless stream of quarters, which they plunked into the machines with the same abandon that adults pulled slot-machine handles in Las Vegas.

  “Your moral standards I will attend to on my own,” Joel promised, guiding her into the darkened arcade. It was difficult plowing a path through the ranks of kids competing eagerly for machines. “This is business.” He gestured with a sweeping hand. “And this,” he added politely as a man emerged from the back of the room, “is Rick Bradley, the man responsible for keeping all these young hoodlums in line. Rick, this is Shelley Banning.”

  “And for keeping them in change, too, I gather,” Shelley said with a smile, putting out her hand to the young, tawny-haired man wearing a canvas change apron around his narrow waist

  Rick rustled the quarters in his apron and grinned good-naturedly. “Wouldn’t want any of these young folk to miss out on the fun just because they didn’t have change for a dollar.” A faint southern accent underlined his words.

  “I’m sure their parents are most appreciative,” Shelley mocked, glancing at the rows of avid players.

  “Nothing comes free in life,” Joel told her, “not even a mechanical baby sitter. In any event, I figure I’m contributing to the kids’ education.”

  “Teaching them how to defend the planet earth against attacks by alien beings?” she asked, watching one youngster madly manipulating a control panel in an attempt to ward off just such an encounter.

  “No, no, no,” Joel chided, leading her over to watch the game from behind the boy’s shoulder. “You miss the point These games develop split second decision making and judgment. And just look at the demands it makes on eye-hand coordination.”

  “No doubt about it,” Shelley agreed soberly. “He will emerge from this arcade a much sharper, more coordinated kid, able to make rapid-fire decisions and return a tennis serve with skill and precision.”

  “And there is the added benefit that he will be able to defend earth in the event of alien attack,” Joel concluded.

  Shelley laughed, shaking her head in surrender. “What can I say? You’re clearly an unsung hero in the cause of American education.”

  “You can always find something nice to say about everyone if you try.” Joel leaned forward and tapped the kid on the shoulder as the game came to an end with the simulated roar of an exploding rocket and a brilliant display of computerized fireworks. “Which game do you like better? This one or the new one over in the corner?” he asked interestedly.

  The boy glanced up at him with questioning blue eyes. “I like the new one best, but this one’s okay. There’s too long a line at the other one.” He turned back to his machine, fishing another quarter out of his pocket “And I still have a lot to learn about this one. I’ve never gotten beyond the third level.” There was blatant speculation in the boy’s expression as he innocently asked, “Did you want to play?”

  “Well, I was thinking of showing my accountant here how it works,” Joel said, smiling benignly down at the boy.

  “I hate to give it up because it’s tough to find another game open right now,” the young man said slowly, his light-brown hair a casual mop around his head as he looked at the crowded room. “But we could, uh, take turns.” There was now a definitely hopeful gleam in the boy’s eyes as he gazed upward at the redheaded stranger. He rattled the quarters in his pocket suggestively.

  “Never got beyond the third level, huh?” Joel shoved his hands into the back pocket of his jeans and eyed the video game reflectively.

  “No, sir. It’s a hard game,” the boy assured him earnestly.

  “Tricky, hmmm?”

  “Yes, sir. Want to play?”

  “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Steve. I’m ten.”

  “Okay, Steve, my name’s Joel. And I appreciate your offer to take turns.”

  “I was thinking,” Steve began cautiously, “we could sort of, well, compare scores when we got done, you know?”

  Shelley stifled a burst of laughter at the obvious ploy, but her eyes danced as Joel frowned consideringly and appeared to mull the idea over in his mind. She waited expectantly for him to decline the contest

  “Compare scores, hmm?”

  “Yeah, you know, see who gets the highest.” Steve nodded eagerly.

  “And what does the high scorer get?” Joel persisted.

  “How about a free game paid for by the one with the lower score?” Somehow Steve managed to make the idea sound ingenuous. He rattled the quarters in his pocket again. “My mom won’t be back for me for another hour.”

  “You’re on, kid. You go first.”

  “Joel!” Shelley’s disapproval showed in her voice. “Surely you’re not going to—to bet with this child on the outcome of a game!”

  Joel and Steve both turned to stare at her as if she were one of the alien invaders against whom they would be defending the planet.

  “Who did you say this was?” Steve asked with a frown.

  “My accountant,” Joel explained as they both turned back to the machine.

  “Is that like a girl friend?” Steve put his quarter into the slot

  “Yeah.”

  Shelley muttered something vindictive that went unheard amid the various explosions and other audio feedback coming from the video games in the arcade. It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d raised the level of her voice, however. Neither Joel nor Steve was showing any inclination to listen. Their total concentration was focused on the space war game being played out on the screen. If Steve paid half as much attention to his school work, he would probably graduate at the head of his class, Shelley decided, and in the same moment told herself it was highly unlikely the boy showed quite the same level of concentration in the classroom. It was highly doubtful any of the avid players did. Pity. A lot of talent waiting to be tapped.

  The game progressed fast and furiously as one alien invader after another was obliterated. Steve racked up a high score before losing his last defender and turned the machine over to Joel with an anticipatory smirk. Joel dropped a quarter into the slot and went to work.

  He was good, but not quite good enough. The alien invaders went down quickly, but not quite as quickly as they had when Steve had been in command of the console. In the end, it was the ten-year-old’s score that stood highe
st, and Joel admitted defeat with good grace.

  “Thanks for the game, Steve. I’ll see you around.” He shoved the payoff quarter into the slot, and the grinning kid went happily back to playing his free game.

  “Serves you right to lose after falling for such an obvious hustle,” Shelley muttered as Joel took her arm and guided her toward the arcade entrance.

  “I’m a sucker for fast cons.” He sighed, his gaze swinging rapidly around the arcade as they left “You should know.”

  “Joel!”

  “It looks like I’ll have to get some more machines like that one in the corner. The one Steve said he preferred. Look how the kids are lined up for it. That’s the trouble with this business now that the pinballs have been superseded by these new video games. There’s much more of a demand for the latest machine on the market. I’m having to replace the games far more quickly as they go out of favor. It was different with pinball. One pinball game stayed popular almost indefinitely.”

  “You sound so wistful!” she teased.

  “There are compensations with the new machines,” he admitted. “Every game is a paid game. They’re not designed to reward the player with free plays the way the old pinballs were. You can extend a video game, but you can’t win a free one the way you could on a classic pinball machine.”

  “Looks like your friend Steve has found a way to get himself an occasional free game,” Shelley observed wryly as they stepped out into the mall. “Imagine learning that sort of behavior at his age! And you contributed to it!”

  “For some of us it comes naturally, I suppose,” he said, grinning.

  “If you accuse me of being a hustler one more time, you’ll find yourself looking for another accountant,” she vowed, lifting her chin.

  “Don’t worry, I’m learning when to keep my mouth shut.”

  She threw him an uneasy, faintly suspicious glance, but he returned it with a charming smile that set her pulse racing. What in the world is wrong with me, she thought wonderingly. I have no business finding myself attracted to a man like this. And that was what was happening, she realized with sudden apprehension. She was attracted to this man, and that seemed abruptly a very dangerous situation in which to find herself. There were sound, logical reasons why people warned against mixing business with pleasure.