Читать книгу A Sultry Love Song - Kianna Alexander - Страница 11

Chapter 1

Joi Lewis shimmied over to her desk, the sounds of Kool & the Gang pouring from her computer’s speakers. The music filled her small office inside Citadel Security, the company she’d founded eight years ago. The late-morning sunshine flooding through her vertical blinds cast a glow on the cluttered surface of her desktop, and she chided herself for neglecting to clear it off—again. Since she needed to do the books for the previous month, there would be no more putting it off. So, with music to motivate her, she began digging through the mountain of papers, magazines and random items piled up on the black lacquer desktop.

Karen, Joi’s college classmate and business partner, poked her head into the office. Joi gave her a nod. She could see Karen’s lips moving, but she had no idea what she was saying. She continued to go about the task of cleaning the desk.

Karen started flailing her arms, to signal Joi to pay attention.

Joi finally looked up, still dancing. “What?”

Karen rolled her eyes, then cupped her hands around her mouth. “Turn down that music, please!”

Joy twisted the knob on her computer speaker and gave her partner a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Music makes things go by faster.”

Karen shook her head, folding her arms across her chest. Tall and curvy, Karen Russell controlled the cybersecurity aspects of Citadel’s business. She wore a peach knee-length sheath that hugged her figure and complemented her complexion, accessorized with several pieces of gold jewelry. Despite her ultra-feminine looks, Karen was as big a computer nerd as they came. “You know, you could just tidy it up at the end of each day. That way it wouldn’t get so out of hand.”

Joi waved her off. “You sound like my mom. Go do something technical while I finish this.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working on the October profit and loss statement?” Karen leaned against the door frame, awaiting an answer.

“Yes, and I will as soon as I get my desk clear. So, shoo.”

Karen shrugged. “Call me when you’re done.”

After Karen had left, Joi looked down at the uniform she wore every day: a pair of black slacks and a white button-down blouse embroidered with Citadel’s logo. While her position as owner left her free to wear anything she pleased, she chose to wear the same uniform her security guards wore. In her mind, it made sense. Plus, she didn’t spend nearly as much time as Karen did fussing over an outfit. That left her more free time to work, and to help raise Citadel’s profile in the community.

By the time the playlist finished half an hour later, she’d culled most of the unneeded items from her desktop. Ready to take advantage of the newfound space, she sat down in her black leather executive chair. She opened her accounting software and dove into the reports displayed on-screen.

It took less than twenty minutes for her to discover a serious problem. Her face creased into a frown, and she called out for Karen.

Karen strolled in from her office in the next room. “What’s up? Are you done running reports?”

Joi curled her finger in Karen’s direction. “Come over here and look at this.”

Karen dragged a folding chair next to where Joi sat, and joined her in peering at the figures that were displayed on the screen.

After a few moments of silence, Karen asked, “Are these numbers right?”

With a slow nod, she responded, “Yes. I’ve checked them three times.” While she didn’t maintain a pristine office, she did keep meticulous financial records.

In typical fashion, Karen grabbed the blond highlighted ends of her ponytail and began twisting them. “Crap.”

“Crap is right.” Joi turned away from the screen to look at her friend and business partner. “Losing that contract in September has had a bigger impact on our bottom line than we thought.” One of their small business clients, Wilma Clark, had retired and closed up her small boutique, leaving two of the guards without a regular assignment. The boutique sold designer shoes and accessories to Charlotte’s wealthier citizens. Mrs. Clark requested the guards after a break-in at the store. “It looks like Mrs. Clark’s last check to us bounced.”

A frown creased Karen’s brow. “That’s not like her. She was one of our first clients, and she’s never written us a bad check.”

“I know.” Joi shrugged. She knew Mrs. Clark well enough to know that the bounced check hadn’t been some malicious attempt at defrauding Citadel. “To be honest, I don’t feel right pursuing her for the money, either. She was such a good client, and now that she’s retired, she’s much less likely to be able to pay it anyway.”

“I agree.” Karen sat back in her chair, let out a soft sigh. “Is she even still in the area?”

“I don’t really know. She did mention having a son in Florida. But I haven’t seen her since she shut the boutique down, and that was three weeks ago.” Joi hadn’t really thought to question Mrs. Clark about how she’d be spending her retirement.

“So what are we going to do?”

The two of them sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments.

Finally, Karen gave voice to what they were both thinking. “If we don’t get another client quick, we are going to be out of business.”

A long sigh escaped Joi’s mouth. “We’ve got enough for payroll, and to keep the lights on for now, but not much more. We’ve got to drum up some business.”

Standing, Karen refolded her chair and tucked it into the back corner of the room. “I’m on it. I’m going to see what I can do to revamp the website, and to get us some social media attention.” She was out the door by the time she finished her sentence.

That was what Joi loved about Karen. They both shared an equal amount of passion for Citadel. Whatever the task, Joi knew Karen would always put in the necessary effort to accomplish their business goals. She couldn’t imagine what Citadel would be without her brainy college classmate as her partner.

And while Karen did the technical thing she was so good at, Joi planned to kick it old-school, and solicit some business using the tried-and-true method she preferred. Taking her desk phone out of its cradle, she opened her contact file on the computer and started to dial.

She spent the next hour going through her contacts, making calls and putting people on notice that Citadel now had an open slot for a new client. A few people said they would follow up with her within the week, but some flatly conveyed their disinterest. When she replaced the handset in the cradle, she leaned back in her chair and blew out an exasperated breath. Prospecting was the one aspect of running a business she didn’t care for, but she would do whatever it took to keep her company up and running.

Citadel was so much more than just her work. It was the realization of her dreams. She thought back to the fateful day in high school when she’d blacked a boy’s eye for calling her older sister a giraffe. Her mother had told her to find a way to turn her so-called aggression into a business, and she’d decided she wanted to own a security firm. She’d worked hard to get here, not just for herself, but for the women she worked with. One of her company’s policies was to hire female guards with a background in military or police work. While that policy dissuaded some businesses from contracting with Citadel for their security needs, Joi was proud of her business and everything it stood for. The former police officers and female veterans she employed as guards were just as capable as their male counterparts, and she would vouch for their abilities anytime, without hesitation.

A loud grumbling sound from her stomach reminded her of her need for food and pulled her out of her thoughts. Rising from the desk, she grabbed her red peacoat from the coatrack, and prepared to face the chilly November winds in pursuit of lunch.

* * *

With one hand in the pocket of his slacks, Marco Alvarez stood by his office window. His other hand held a mug filled with strong black coffee he sipped from as he viewed the cold gray November day. The frost clouding the glass pane reminded him of just how chilly it was out there, and how much he dreaded going back outside later in the day.

The chiming of an incoming video call split the quiet of the room, drawing his attention to the computer monitor atop his desk. Coffee in hand, he sat down in his desk chair and clicked the mouse to answer the call. “Good morning, Sal. How are you?”

The video window showed an image of Salvatore Perez. As president and chief executive officer of Royal Bank and Trust, Sal was about as serious as a man could be, but he always managed a smile for his childhood buddy. “I’m good, Marco. And how is the weather over there?”

Marco felt the frown crease his brow as he glanced back to the frosty window. “It’s deceptively sunny, and a sweltering forty degrees out there.” Even though he’d been living in the United States for over a decade, he still hadn’t adjusted to the cool weather that gripped the Southeast from November to January. Knowing that the Charlotte area was considerably warmer than points in the northern part of the country provided little comfort on chilly days like this one.

Sal chuckled, straightening his bright red tie. “I’m sure you know it’s beautiful here in Limón. Sunny, cloudless blue skies and temps in the seventies.” His gray eyes held a twinkle of amusement.

Marco groaned aloud.

In response, Sal chuckled again. “Homesick, my friend?”

“You know I am. I haven’t been home in almost three years.” Hearing his friend describe the gorgeous weather in his coastal hometown of Limón, Costa Rica, only made him homesick. “Stop torturing me, Sal, and get to the reason why you called.”

Sal’s smile faded a bit as he returned to his businesslike demeanor. “Right. I wanted to see how much progress you’ve made in hiring a permanent security firm for the Charlotte branch.”

Marco ran a hand through his straight dark locks. “Not as much as I’d hoped. I’ve had a few proposals, but so far none have moved me.”

“You know, the board members and I agree that the bank is well established now, and that it’s time to bring on a private, dedicated security staff.”

Marco nodded. “I agree. Frankly, I’m tired of dealing with the temp agencies. The branch has more than enough depositors now to justify hiring permanent security.” The Charlotte branch, where Marco served as president and executive of operations, had been open for five years. During that time, thousands of accounts of all types had been opened there, for both business and personal use. Other than a branch in New York City, it was the only branch on the East Coast. Royal Bank and Trust was an international company, with five worldwide branches, and Marco was proud that his branch was thriving despite its smaller market.

Sal sat back in his chair. The fabric of his dark suit crinkled as he rested his elbows atop his desk and tented his fingers. “I’ll need you to hire someone ASAP, within a week if possible. Can I count on you, Marco?”

He knew it would be a stretch, but he still felt confident he could get it done. “Sure, Sal. I’m on it.”

“Oh, and one more thing. Be mindful of the budget. The board has approved a yearly amount for the contract, and you should be careful not to accept a bid that will exceed it.”

“Got it. Anything else, Sal?”

“Not at the moment. But I’ll check back in with you at the end of next week. Have a good day, Marco.”

“You, too.”

The video call ended and the screen faded to black. As quiet settled over his office again, Marco wondered how he was going to find a security firm to take on the job of protecting his bank branch. If it were left solely up to him, he would have sought a private security firm much earlier. But the board’s primary concern was that the branch met certain profitability goals first. When the Charlotte branch had hit the benchmark for the fiscal year ending this past summer, Marco had been thrilled.

He’d been looking for a firm for almost a month, and now he had only a few days to find someone. It would be a difficult feat to accomplish, but Marco had set his mind to more difficult things and succeeded. He was determined not to disappoint the board, or Sal. He felt extremely fortunate to have such a good working relationship with him. Sal knew him better than most people in his life, and was the closest thing he’d had to a brother while growing up in Costa Rica.

Marco picked up his hands-free headset and put it on. He figured his best bet was to call up his friends and colleagues in the local financial sector and see if anyone could offer a recommendation. The size of his budget for the contract dictated that he’d need a smaller, local firm as opposed to a state-or nationwide one.

After seventy solid minutes of making calls, Marco removed his headset and looked at the names of the three firms he’d jotted on a notepad atop his desk. He used the intercom system to buzz his branch manager.

A few moments later, Roosevelt Hunter opened the office door and entered. Roosevelt, a tall, fit black man in his fifties, was Marco’s next in command. “What do you need, Marco?” Having been employed at the branch since it opened, Roosevelt had finally started calling Marco by his first name, as he’d requested from day one.

Marco tore the top sheet from his notepad, and handed it to the branch manager. “Roosevelt, could you contact these three security firms and solicit proposals from them?”

Taking the offered paper, Roosevelt nodded. “I’m on it. What day do you want them to come in?”

Marco scratched his chin. “If anyone can have their proposal drawn up and ready to present tomorrow after lunch, let them know they’ll have a leg up.”

One of Roosevelt’s brows rose. “You mean you want to sit through security proposals on a Friday afternoon?”

Marco chuckled. “Not really, but I’m on a tight deadline here, so I don’t have much of a choice.”

Roosevelt gave him a mock salute. “Whatever you say, boss. I’ll get right on it.” He turned and left the office, closing the door behind him.

Marco glanced at his gold wristwatch. It was a quarter till one, but he’d become accustomed to taking his lunch later than most. He didn’t have any desire to go out, so he grabbed his smartphone and placed a call to have his food delivered. After he hung up, he eased his chair closer to the desk, and started on the stack of paperwork on the desk awaiting his signature.

After all, the forms weren’t going to sign themselves.