Two Against the Odds Read Free

guess just by looking at her house.
    â€œWhat have you been doing with your receipts since then?” he asked.
    â€œThey’re around,” she said vaguely. Tossed in adrawer, tucked inside a novel as a bookmark, stuffed into a shoe box.
    â€œYou’ll need to locate them and the envelopes, of course.” He glanced about the room. “Where can I set up my laptop? Is there a table or desk I can use as a workspace?”
    â€œUm…” The coffee table, an old trunk she’d painted white, was covered in assorted debris—a used teacup, her sketch pad and box of charcoal and cat toys. The side table at his elbow was obscured by seashells and pretty stones she’d found on the beach. The dining table was strewn with magazines, newspapers and junk mail. And a framed seascape ready to be delivered to the local Manyung Gallery, where she sold works on commission.
    â€œI guess the dining table.” She got up and placed the painting on the floor, leaning it against the wall.
    Rafe set his briefcase on the table in the space cleared and removed a laptop. Lexie moved around him, gathering the newspapers and magazines. She was aware of how tall he was, at least a head higher than her. And he smelled good, spicy and warm. He was emitting enough pheromones to set her blood humming again.
    â€œPerhaps you have a computer spreadsheet detailing items purchased and the dates?” he asked. “I’d still need the receipts, of course, for verification.”
    â€œNo spreadsheet,” Lexie said. “My sister, Renita,is a loans officer at the bank. She tried to organize a bookkeeping system for me but I couldn’t be bothered filling in all those columns.”
    He turned his incredulous gaze on her. “Did you read the letter my boss sent you a month ago? Or any of his emails?”
    Shaking her head, she took a step back. Pheromones or no, she didn’t like an inquisition.
    â€œDid you listen to the messages on your answering machine, at least?”
    She rubbed at a spot of Crimson Lake paint on her knuckle. “I did. But when I’m working I tend to tune things out.”
    â€œTune out?” It all seemed too much for Rafe. With a grimace, he pressed a hand to his abdomen.
    â€œIs your stomach bothering you?”
    â€œIt’ll pass.” His voice was tight, his shoulders slightly hunched.
    â€œIs it an ulcer? My uncle had an ulcer.”
    â€œI’m fine.” He lowered himself onto the chair in front of his laptop, the lines of his face pulled taut.
    â€œI’ll make you a cup of peppermint tea.” Before he could object she strode out of the dining room into the adjacent kitchen. She filled the kettle at the sink. Crystals hanging in the window cast rainbows over her arms. People sometimes got exasperated with her for being scatterbrained, but she didn’t think she’d ever actually made anyone physically ill before.
    â€œMy stomach would feel better if you got me your records,” he called.
    â€œI’m working on that.” While the water heated she looked in the cupboard beneath the telephone where she stored cookbooks. Not surprisingly, there weren’t a dozen large envelopes stuffed with receipts and tax invoices. Where had she put those things?
    Ah, but here was a receipt for mat board that she’d bought last week. It was tucked inside the address book. Of course. Because she’d rung the gallery right after buying the materials for framing.
    Sitting on the tiled floor, she pulled out cookbooks and riffled through the pages. She found a few grocery store receipts itemizing pitifully meager provisions.
    â€œCan I claim food?” she yelled to the other room.
    â€œNo, it’s not a deductible business expense.” Already he sounded long-suffering and he’d been here less than an hour.
    She was putting back her mother’s copy of Joy of Cooking, which she’d borrowed to make quince