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“I can't do all your thinking for you, if you plan from going bankrupt you're going to have to start using your head.”
“What if I just hire someone to do my business planning for me? Like you.”
He snorted. “You couldn't afford me.”
“You're that valuable?”
“Yes, but you couldn't afford anyone. Lady, look at the business you're running. You're not exactly running an enterprise here.” The elevator came to a stop and Dexter stepped to the side to allow Laura to proceed him. He noticed the leather binder still tucked under her arm. “What else have you got in there?”
Reminded, she slipped her hand back in and retrieved a small bound binder. “I thought maybe you might need my accounts book.”
He let out a loud snort before snatching the book from her hand and flipping the pages disgustingly. Rolling his eyes heavenward, he proclaimed, “These are a mess. It’s no wonder you haven’t been able to get organized.”
At this, Laura felt her anger grow. “I do the best I can. I have more pressing matters to deal with than the day-to-day balancing of my accounts.”
“Now that.” He pointed an accusing finger toward her. “Is the kind of irresponsible remark that levels you incompetent to run a business.”
“So you think my business ethics need to be polished up, that doesn't mean I won't make it.”
“It damn well guarantees it! This isn't a board game, you don't get to pass GO and collect $200. You need a financial plan. You need something firm and concrete.”
They had stopped walking, coming to a halt at the end of the long carpeted corridor. “But that's where the difference comes between my organization and all the others you deal with. Nothing is firm and concrete in running a homeless shelter. It is built on the shaky grounds of the vulnerable spirits of these girls. How can I be thinking of the bottom dollar of my bank book every month, when Darcy's baby is crying non-stop because she has a wet diaper and we can't afford to buy any more. Or Kelly can't go home because her bastard of a father beats her. Then there's Ingrid whom I seem to forever discharging out of either the hospital or police station. We don't have the money for bail but I'll be damned if I'll leave her there. What these girls need is love and support, is it my fault it comes with a price tag?”
He reached up and ran his hands through the thick dark locks of his hair. “This is exactly what I mean. Everyone comes first. Hell, Laura, that's not how to run a business. If you don't think of yourself first, there won't be a business.”
She stared at him, an ugly heaviness weighing her heart. “I was wrong about you. I thought you simply had a cold heart, now I realize you just don't have one.”
She turned away, disgusted. “Let's get this over with.”
She thought she heard him sigh before following her down the corridor.
When they entered his office, Bridget stood up from the chair behind his desk, bringing them both to a halt. The woman had been completely forgotten the moment Laura said the word money. Dexter grimaced as he approached the blonde model.
“You'll have to leave Bridget, I've got business to deal with.”
For the first time, Laura approved of the crude tone of voice. There was an instant dislike for the woman who flaunted herself across Dexter's desk, and from the look she was now giving Laura, the feeling was mutual.
“Pooh, Dexter!” She pouted, producing full red lips. “I've been looking so forward to spending some time with you. Can't you cancel?”
“Goodbye Bridget.” Then, only because Laura was watching intently, he added, “I'll call you.”
He immediately regretted it though as the woman's face lit up tenfold. “Really? When?”
Sounding more aggravated than he pleased, he growled, “When I've got the time.”
This seemed to appease the woman who smiled happily and came over and planted a long wet kiss on his mouth. Laura looked away, not sure why the sight was so unsettling.
At last the kiss ended and Bridget stalked off proudly, angling Laura a look from the corner of her eye as she left. Laura watched her leave, then turned her attention back to his desk. Across from it, Dexter had put on his business armor once more before dropping down into the oversized office chair behind him. She couldn't help but smirk; a bright red smudge smeared his otherwise perfect upper lip.
He noticed the glee in her eye. “What?”
Instead of answering, she reached over and retrieved a tissue from a box on his desk. Her intention was too simply hand it to him, but found herself instead leaning across the polished wooden surface. Perplexed, he watched her movements skeptically.
Then, unexpectedly, she reached up and wiped the smear of lipstick from his startled lip. His reaction was surprising, full of deride and disgust. With a jerk, his head snapped back as if she had literally shocked him with an electric current, his features scarred in revulsion.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Offended, she dropped her hand. “Your girlfriend left a smear of lipstick.”
