The Trouble With Temptation (Second Service Book 3) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Morgan Kincaid didn’t claim to be the best accountant in the world. Hell, she didn’t claim to be any kind of accountant. She had many passions in life—Superman, a couple of sci-fi television shows, any movie with a robot—but numbers were not one of them.

But she
could
add. Or, more to the point, tell when something wasn’t adding up.

That didn’t keep her from leaning forward and squinting at the spreadsheet on her computer screen.

Strangely enough, the move didn’t make the numbers change. There was more money in the club’s bank account than there should be. Far more.

But it wasn’t just the inflated balance that had her worried. There was always the chance—slim as it was—that the bank had made a mistake somewhere along the way. There were other problems as well.

Like the record of deposits she hadn’t remembered making, or the line in the budget that said the club had made twice the amount off liquor sales last week than their inventory would allow, or the inexplicable withdrawals for reimbursements she couldn’t find receipts for.

Something was wrong. Really wrong. And the thought of what she had to do next was making Morgan sick to her stomach.

She had to talk to her brother.

Gregg Kincaid
was
an accountant. More importantly, he was in charge of the club’s books. So if there was a mistake then he was the one who had made it.

And Morgan was praying that it was just a mistake.

Of course, there was only one way to find out.

Morgan groaned as she stood up from behind her desk. She didn’t want to do this. She’d already fought with her brother four times this week—a new record. They hadn’t even been at each other’s throats this much when they were working on opening Kincaid’s.

Then again, maybe if they had been, Morgan wouldn’t have found herself in this awkward situation.

Morgan loved her brother. She really did. But sometimes he drove her crazy.

After being banged up by the bad job market a little over a year ago, the siblings had agreed to pool resources and go into business as partners. Morgan had always dreamed of having her own place—a little pub with lots of tables and room for people to hang out and do their own thing.

Of course, Gregg had other plans. More hip plans. And as time ticked by, Kincaid’s became less Morgan’s cozy pub and more Gregg’s ultra-modern nightclub.

Morgan knew it was her fault for not fighting him harder over the changes, but he’d always given her the sad puppy dog eyes and told her that they could always open her place next, that this was his dream, his chance to be the man he’d always dreamed of being.

As kids, neither one of them had really fit in. Not that it bothered Morgan much. Somewhere between the distinctive Kincaid schnoz and her love of all things nerdy, she’d accepted that she was never going to be voted prom queen. And that was fine. She was comfortable in her own skin.

Gregg, on the other hand, never seemed to grow into his. The truth was, Morgan worried about her brother. A lot. He always seemed to be trying to prove himself and falling into trouble along the way.

Morgan had hoped that the club’s success would change him. Would save him in a way that she’d never been able to manage.

It hadn’t. If anything it had only strengthened his need for power and approval.

And that was before he’d started hanging out with the creepy guys.

Creepy
wasn’t exactly the right word. Creepy was for guys who catcalled from street corners and alleyways. These guys were scary as hell.

They’d started hanging out in the club about a month ago. Always at the same table in the back. Always dressed in the same finely-tailored black suits. Always with a wall of bodyguards between them and the rest of the club.

And Gregg was always there with them.

Any time she asked about them Gregg swore that they were just local businessmen that it would pay to network with, but Morgan wasn’t buying it. She’d seen enough Coppola movies to know what kind of
businessmen
they really were.

And if her gut instinct wasn’t enough, now the books weren’t adding up.

Suddenly, Morgan didn’t care how much they’d argued in the last week. Gregg owed her some answers. Some honest ones this time.

Morgan rubbed the top of the Captain Kirk figurine on the edge of her desk for good luck.

And apparently, it worked.

She opened the door of her office to find Gregg coming out of his. The second he saw her, he pulled out his keys and fumbled with them, trying to lock the door.

“Gregg,” Morgan said. “We need to talk.”

Her brother shook his head. “It’s not a good time.” His hands were shaking, but he finally managed to slip the key inside the lock and turn it.

“It’s really important.”

“Sorry.” Gregg kept his head down as he turned around, avoiding her eyes. He started down the hall. “I’m really busy right now.”

“It’s about the accounts,” Morgan called after him.

That got his attention. He stopped, then slowly turned around. “What about them?”

Morgan took a few steps toward him. “I was just taking a look at them, and there’s some strange things going on.”

“Why were you digging into the accounts? That’s my department.”

Morgan balled her hands and brought them onto her hips. She didn’t see any point of beating around the bush, especially when Gregg used that imperious tone.

“Because there’s been some weird stuff going on around here, and I think I deserve some answers.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Gregg said. The little lines around his mouth twitched as he spoke. Her brother had always been a terrible liar.

“Really? Because I can take you into my office right now and show you if you like.”

Gregg looked down at his feet as he shook his head. “I really don’t have time for that, Morgan. I have somewhere I have to be. We can talk about this later.”

“Where are you going?” she asked in exasperation as he started walking away again.

“Out.”

“This has to do with those men you’ve been hanging out with, doesn’t it? Are you meeting them now? Who are they?”

“Don’t worry about it, Morgan. I’ve got it all under control,” he said as he reached the back door. “We’ll talk when I get back. I promise.”

Yeah, right
.

Morgan threw her hands up in exasperation as the back door swung closed behind him.

She didn’t need this. She had enough trouble as it was.

Johnny, the club’s most popular bartender, hadn’t come in last night. Morgan had called every number she had for him, but he didn’t pick up. Now it was only six hours until they opened on a Friday night and they were still down a man.

Johnny may have been a flaky jerk, but he was a damned good bartender. The crowd loved him, and, as much as Morgan hated to admit it, they’d barely made it through last night without him. There was no way they’d be able to handle the weekend crowd unless she found one hell of a replacement, and quick.

On top of that, she still needed to take care of all the everyday tasks—the inventory, the ordering, the payroll.

Morgan let out a sigh that echoed down the long, empty hallway.

Well, none of it would get done if she stood around wringing her hands over her brother’s stupidity. She still had a business to run.

Besides, maybe immersing herself in work would take her mind off things. It was hard to drown in worry when her hands were busy.

Morgan ducked back into her office, grabbed her laptop, and walked through the swinging door behind the largest of the club’s three bars.

Morgan was deep into counting bottles when the front door of the club swung open a few minutes later. She popped up from behind the mahogany bar and squinted into the bright blast of light from the street outside.

“We’re not open yet,” she said, lifting a hand to shield her eyes.

“I’m not here for a drink,” a smooth male voice said.

A tall shadowy figure stepped inside. In the dim light of the windowless club, Morgan couldn’t discern his features. All she could make out was his form, tall and lean. His shoulders were straight, his head held high, his gait confident.

He might not want a drink, but he definitely wanted something.

Morgan slid her hand beneath the bar, feeling for the wooden baseball bat they kept there, just in case they didn’t see eye to eye on what that something was.

“Then what can I do for you?” Morgan asked.

“I’m here for the bartender job.”

Morgan’s brows pulled together. “How did you know we needed a bartender?”

“I’m a friend of Johnny’s.” The mystery man took another step, moving into a pool of golden light from the fixture above.

Morgan’s mouth fell open for a second before she caught herself. She closed her jaw with a hard snap.

Well, he certainly did have the look. His short black hair contrasted sharply with his light skin. A dusting of stubble lined his jaw and upper lip. Dark brows cut just above his grey-green eyes. Standing tall in his jeans and nicely cut suit jacket, he would certainly fit right in at Kincaid’s.

Who was she kidding? The women would eat him up. Morgan wouldn’t blame them. Whoever this guy was, he was damned tasty.

Still, something gave her pause.

“
You’re
a friend of Johnny’s?” She didn’t bother hiding her skepticism. Johnny might have been a decent bartender, but he was still a kid. One look and Morgan could tell that this guy was in a whole other league.

He tilted his head and flashed her a sly smile. Morgan felt her heart kick up a few beats.

Morgan thought she’d become used to this kind of practiced charm after nearly a year of running a nightclub. But this guy was good. Real good. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t buying what he was selling. She still appreciated the effort.

“Maybe
friend
isn’t the right word,” the guy clarified. “We used to work together. He called me this morning to tell me you had an opening.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Morgan laughed. “Though, I’m not sure how far throwing Johnny’s name around is going to get you. He’s not on my most popular people list right now.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “You’re not the first place he’s ditched out on.”

“And here I thought we were special.” Morgan let go of the bat and put out her hand. “Morgan Kincaid.”

“Tyler Daniels.” He shook her hand gently, letting his palm linger a second too long. “Everybody calls me Ty.”

Yep, he sure was a smooth bastard. He could play the part, but that was only half the job.

“Well, first things first, I guess I should see how you make a drink, Mr. Daniels.”

“I guess you should.”

Morgan traded places with him, giving him a long look as she hopped up on a barstool. Something about this guy seemed to be too good to be true.

“Does Johnny usually call you to mop up his messes?”

“Not exactly,” Ty said, sliding off his jacket and laying it across the bar. He unbuttoned his sleeves, and took a second to orient himself, as he rolled them up to his elbows. “But an opportunity is an opportunity. A guy could make a killing in tips in a place like this.”

“If he knows what he’s doing,” Morgan added.

Ty propped his arms on the bar and leaned forward. “Oh, I promise you. I know
exactly
what I’m doing.”

He flashed that wicked half-smile again and Morgan felt a hint of blush start to warm her cheeks. Lord, did this guy ever turn it off?

“Yeah, yeah. The ladies are going to eat you up.” Morgan pulled out her phone. “I’m more concerned with your drink mixing skills.”

“That’s what I meant.” The devilish gleam in his eye sparkled even brighter. “What were you talking about?”

Morgan tried to ignore the taunt by getting straight to business. “You have sixty seconds to make me a Manhattan, a Mojito and a Dirty Martini.”

She started the timer.

Morgan looked up to find that Ty hadn’t moved. He just stood there, looking at her as if she was the only woman in the room.

Which she was…but that wasn’t the point.

“The clock’s ticking,” she said, before her cheeks started burning any brighter.

“So it is.”

“You’re very confident.”

“I’m very good.” He finally pushed back from the bar and got started, his hands working in fluid, precise movements. He scooped ice into the shaker, poured liquor from bottles, and grabbed glasses, without taking his eyes off hers for more than a fraction of a second.

“You’re going to have to be if you want to work here. I can’t overstate how busy we can get on weekend nights. Our clientele aren’t known for their patience.”

He finished the Manhattan, topping it with a cherry before placing the glass on a coaster in front of her.