Leanne Banks - Trouble in High Heels

Jackson pulled his brain out of its death spiral headed straight for his crotch and hardened his heart before another part of him turned hard. He met her gaze and extended his hand. “I’m Jackson James. I’ve been assigned to handle your account. Mr. Till has retired.”

She frowned. “I didn’t realize.”

Jackson nodded. “It was a surprise to a lot of people.” But not to the partners, since Mr. Till had royally screwed up.

She shot him a troubled glance. “Oh, well, would you like some whiskey?”

She looked as if she could use it. He shook his head. “I don’t drink on the job.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” She glanced around and set the drink down on a table and turned back to him. “Mr. James, then.” She shifted the dog to the other arm and shook his hand. “I’m Lori Jean. It was kind of you to make a house call. I do need to arrange for some additional funds.”

“We should discuss the status of your trust. You’ve talked to your attorney?” he asked.

She gestured toward a chair. “Please have a seat. Yes, I talked with Clarence. He said something about the possibility of a more recent will.”

“That’s right,” Jackson said, wondering if she was truly in the dark or if she was acting. It didn’t matter, he thought as he opened his briefcase and pulled out three fat files. He was ready to turn on the light. “A more recent will has been found, and your father stipulated that half of the trust will be given to you when you’re thirty and the other half when you reach fifty-five. Until then, you’ll be given a sizable annual allowance. Unfortunately, you’re twenty-four years old and you have spent your allowance through your twenty-eighth birthday. Some adjustments will have to be made in your spending.”

She blinked at him. “Are you sure? I probably spend too much on clothes, but most of my money goes to charitable foundations.” She lifted her shoulders and smiled. “I’m a philanthropist. Tilly always found a way to squeeze some money out of the trust for me.”

That was why Tilly had retired. Tilly had skated a fine line of getting the firm in trouble over how much he had allowed the Granger babe to get her well-manicured fingers on.

“Mr. Till didn’t have the information regarding the final will.”

“So are you saying that my father left me all this money, but I can’t touch it even for a good cause?”

“Exactly. You may live in the house and you will be taken care of, but there is a limit to the amount you are allowed to spend.”

Her eyebrows furrowed and she absently stroked her dog. “But what if it’s for charity?”

“There is still a limit.”

She gave a sigh of impatience. “But this is what I do. I’m a philanthropist. I fund worthy causes.”

“Not when you don’t have the funds.”

“What am I supposed to do until I turn thirty?” she demanded.

“You still have two years’ worth of allowance. If you budget your money-”

“Budget!” she echoed. “My father had so much money he couldn’t spend it fast enough. I can’t spend it fast enough.”

“You’ve made an impressive start,” Jackson muttered.

“Budget,” she said again. “I can’t believe this.”

“I can help you. That’s why I’m here.” It hadn’t taken long for Jackson to figure out exactly what his job was and why he had been chosen. His job was to say no to Lori Jean Granger because no one else could. His job was to teach the woman some real-world restraint, and the reason he had been chosen was because his bosses knew that when it came to heiresses who spent money with the same ease most people sent water down the drain, Jackson had no heart at all.

Lori didn’t like this accountant. She frowned as she watched his face, all stern lines and no-nonsense scowls. She wanted a different one. She wanted sweet old Tilly back. Tilly had chastised her about her donations, but after a double shot of whiskey, he’d always found a way to loosen the purse strings.

The attorney, Clarence, had left her several messages, but Lori had been away visiting one of her sisters and her brother in Philadelphia. Ever since Harlan died, she’d been trying to fill up the empty space inside her, but so far, nothing had worked. Being with her sister Katie and her family had helped a little, but Lori felt useless unless she was helping to fund her charities.

She had felt useless since her horrible horseback riding accident in college several years ago. She’d nearly died, and it had taken three surgeries and months of rehabilitation to put her back together again. Riding had been the passion of her life, and she hadn’t ridden a horse since. First, her father had forbidden it. Now, without him, she was too frightened. Scaredy-cat is what her sister Delilah would have called her, and Delilah would have been right.

Lori bit her lip and felt the beginning of an unwelcome but familiar edgy sensation. She was one of four offspring, and she’d gotten lucky with the sperm donor. She’d won the lottery when it came to fathers. Her father had not only loved and adored her, he’d also been loaded. The only thing he’d requested in trade for his devotion and riches was that she leave her mother, half sisters, and half brother behind. She’d been willing to hide her contact with her half sisters and brother until the accident. After that, she just couldn’t hide her desire to connect with them anymore, and she feared that was what had broken Harlan’s heart.

She’d felt guilty most of her life. Guilty for having a wealthy father. Guilty for having siblings he didn’t approve of.

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.”