“Mr. Espina…” Jules’s voice cracked on the last syllable. Clearing her throat, she forced her fist to release the crumpled handful of her skirt and tried again. “Mr. Espina, I need your help.”
Mateo Espina didn’t say a word. In fact, he didn’t even twitch a muscle. It was a struggle not to stare at him. He was just so different than his brother that it was hard to believe the two were actually related. For over two years, Jules had worked for Luis Espina, and she’d never, ever been this nervous. Luis was a chatterbox who wore a constant, beaming, contagious smile on his round face. His brother, on the other hand, was all hard lines and angles, glaring eyes and stubble. Even the tattoos peeking from his shirt collar and rolled-up cuffs looked angry.
Jules realized she’d been staring at him silently for much too long, and she had to hide her cringe. It had been almost impossible to set up this meeting with Mr. Espina, and she was crashing and burning not even five minutes and ten words in. As she opened her mouth to say who knew what, a bored voice interrupted.
“What can I get you?”
Although Mr. Espina ordered a beer from the server, Jules stuck to water. The meeting would be hard enough with all of her wits about her. Besides, the sad fact was that she was broke. Drinks were the last thing on her stuff-I-need-to-buy list. Lawyers were number one. Good lawyers. Miracle-working lawyers.
“I was hoping,” she said, “that you could give me a reference.”
There was a reaction to that. It wasn’t much of one, though—just the slightest lift of his eyebrow and twitch of a small muscle in his cheek.
“Although I wasn’t charged with anything, I lost my CPA license and all my clients when Luis was investigated.” The remembered terror and humiliation of being questioned by the FBI made her hands shake, and she clutched them together to keep them still. “I didn’t give them any information about Luis’s finances, though, even after they’d told me I’d be able to keep my license and my business if I did. My clients’ confidentiality is sacred.”
Instead of looking pleased by that, Mr. Espina’s entire face drew tight, stiffened into a hard mask. His voice was smooth, deep and as cold as ice. “Are you threatening me, Ms. Young?”
Horror flushed through her, turning her blood cold and then hot enough to burn. “No! No, God, no! I’m not an idiot! I mean, it was probably dumb of me to work as Luis’s accountant when I knew he wasn’t great at…well, coloring inside the lines, but I’m not trying to threaten you! I just wanted…”
The sheer futility of what she was attempting flooded her, and she started to stand. “Never mind. I’m sorry to have wasted your time. I’ll figure something out.”
“Sit.” Something about his clipped tone made her obey before she realized what she was doing. “What do you want?”
“A job.” Once again, the command in his voice had her answering before she considered whether it was wise to be so blunt. “I know Luis would give me a reference and, well, new employer contact information, if he wasn’t…” She paused, trying to think of a polite term. “Dealing with more serious concerns right now.”
Those dark, dark eyes regarded her over his raised beer bottle for a long time. Jules let him stare, determined not to break again. “You want me to hire you?” he finally asked.
“Oh, not you!” she blurted, and then cringed. “Sorry. That came out wrong. I’d be happy to work with you, of course. It’s just…I have expenses, so I need to have more than one client—unless I find a single client with extensive accounting needs. I was thinking I could work for some of Luis’s colleagues, since they’d probably not care about the whole FBI thing, as long as I know what I’m doing and can keep my mouth shut.”
Mr. Espina didn’t hurry to answer her. Instead, he eyed her for another painfully long time before finally speaking. “Anyone specific in mind?”
“The Blanchetts?” she suggested tentatively. Most of Luis’s business associates had been names on a computer screen to her. At best, she’d met a few in passing. “Maybe the Jovanovics?”
He choked—actually choked—on his beer when she said the second name. Carefully placing the bottle on the table, he sat back and closed his eyes for several seconds.
“So that’s a no on the Jovanovics?” Disappointment flooded her. They’d been her best prospect. With their hands in what seemed like every not-quite-legal pie, their empire was huge. She’d imagined that the Jovanovics needed a good accountant—and a discreet one.
“It’s a no. On the Blanchetts, too.”
“Oh.” Her disappointment was quickly heading toward despair. “Is there anyone you could recommend?”