“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 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, stiffening 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 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?”
“No.”
That single bald word made Jules’s eyes burn with threatening tears. She wasn’t a crier. Even as a little girl, she’d rarely cried. It was just that Mr. Espina had been her only hope of getting the kind of job she needed to afford the kind of lawyers she needed. Her tough, sixteen-year-old brother had actually cried on the phone with her the night before—cried and begged to live with her. If Sam was breaking, God only knew how bad it was getting for him and the younger kids. This had been her one clear chance to get the money she needed to help them. Staring at Mr. Espina’s expressionless face, she felt the last of her dwindling optimism being sucked out of her, leaving Jules hopeless and planless and heartbroken.
She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to shock herself out of self-pity. This wasn’t the end of her dream. This couldn’t be the end. She’d keep fighting for her brothers and her sister until the youngest, Dee, turned eighteen. Even if Jules was broke and lawyerless, she’d still do whatever it took to get her siblings out of that house.
Jules stood as well as she could on shaking legs and said, “Okay. Thank you, Mr. Espina.”
“Sit.”
This time, she managed to resist the compulsion to obey and moved until she was standing next to the table. Digging in her purse, she pulled out a crumpled ten and laid it next to her untouched water. Even though Mr. Espina hadn’t been much—or any—help, he had met with her. Also, he hadn’t killed her. The least she could do was buy his beer.