Chapter Eight
“I don’t care if she said no!” Allen Beaufort screamed into the phone line. “Just get her to refinance with that higher rate, otherwise you not only lose this client, but you lose your job as well.” He slammed down the receiver and ran his hand through his hair as he leaned back in his reclining office chair.
“Idiots,” he seethed, looking out the window of his sixth-floor office. How could everybody be such idiots? Granted, this new one was just starting out, but my God, when he first started he had no problem talking clients into anything. High interest rates? No problem. Hidden fees? No big deal. Balloon payments? Piece of cake. All this new girl had to do was promise to fix a problem if the client refinanced with a higher rate. Jesus, it should be a cake walk. It would be for him. Maybe he should just do it himself.
No. The girl had to learn, and he couldn’t run a profitable lending business if he had to run around wiping everyone’s noses. Lately however, that seemed to be all he was doing. Especially when it came to his female employees. They seemed to have the most trouble in getting things done. They often complained of feeling dishonest or doing things that went against their morals. Jesus. Most of the time he fired those people. He really wished he could hire all men, because the women were too weak. Wasn’t that the case when it came down to anything though?
Christ on a cracker.
But he had to keep employing women. It made him look good and the clients, especially the ones who were more hesitant, seemed to respond better to them.
His phone beeped and his secretary came on over the speaker. Speaking of women, boy was he glad he’d hired her. She was as sexy as she was efficient. “Mr. Beaufort, Tom is here to see you.”
“Tom?”
He heard her muffle the phone as she spoke to the visitor. “He said he has the information you’ve been waiting for.”
Right. Tom.
“Send him in.”
A few seconds lapsed before the dark oak door to his office opened and the young kid with the long blond hair walked in. Allen wanted to yank him by that hair and force him into a barber’s chair for a good haircut, but he’d been assured by his contact, Nico Fritz, that this was the go-to guy for surveillance so he left it alone.
“Sit,” Allen barked as he leaned forward in his chair. He rested his elbows on the desk and waited. The kid didn’t look good, wouldn’t meet his eyes. So he knew the news was bad. “Spill it,” he said.
Tom hesitated and readjusted himself in the seat. He had on a ball cap and a tank top with a bright pair of board shorts. He looked like he should be on a beach, not hunting down his ex-wife. But maybe that was the point.
“Well?”
Tom cleared his throat and finally crossed an ankle over his knee. He bobbed his Nike-covered foot. “She’s gone.”
Allen blinked, unsure if he heard correctly. “I’m sorry, I must’ve misheard. What did you say?”
“She’s gone, sir.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
He visibly swallowed and again shook his foot. “She’s, uh—not at home or—anywhere.”
“She has to be somewhere. Surely you know that. I mean, the woman doesn’t go anywhere but to the goddamned store and that apartment of hers. So, you’re mistaken, my friend. She is not gone. ”
“I can’t find her. I’ve looked everywhere. I—lost her on the way home from the grocery store yesterday. She—”
Allen held up his palm to stop him. “You lost her?”
“Yes, sir. She—pulled out in front of traffic and sped off. I couldn’t follow. And by the time I did—she was gone.”
Allen chuckled softly, fuming inside. Hot blood spread beneath his skin and he swore he could literally burst into flames at any second. He slammed his hand down on the table and the beach boy jerked. “She’s gone and she’s been gone since yesterday?”
“I—I waited it out at her apartment all night, thinking she would eventually return. I didn’t want to bother you—”
“You didn’t want to bother me? Have you lost your fucking mind, Tom?”
Tom didn’t speak. He seemed it wise not to answer.
Allen stood, palms on his desk. He leaned forward. “You’re supposed to be the best. I’m paying you as if you are the best. So what the hell is going on here, Tommy? Are you the best or are you just a fraud, sent here to take my money?”
“I’m the best—sir. I swear.”
“Then I suggest you get the hell out of my office and you go find my ex-wife before I come across this desk and rip your goddamned throat out.”
Tom stood and trembled. He backed away toward the door. “Yes, sir. Right on it, sir.” He ran into the door, struggled to pull it open, and walked out. Allen collapsed into his chair and picked up a pencil. He snapped it in half with his thumb and threw it across the room. Then he picked up the phone and dialed.
Tom might be the best at surveillance, but he knew someone who was better at something far worse. He grinned as the line was answered.