You owe the government another two hundred and thirty dollars, which can be added to your next quarter due, or, more wisely, I can file an amended return.
He swore halfheartedly.
How come we have to pay them in advance, anyway?
She gave him a light kiss in sympathy.
Because, Nathaniel, if you don't, the IRS will make your life a living hell. I'm here to save you from them. I'm also, if your system can take the excitement, going to suggest you open a Keogh a retirement account for the self-employed.
Retirement? Hell, Meg, I'm thirty-three.
And not getting a day younger. Do you know what the cost-of-living projections are for your golden years, Mr. Fury?
I changed my mind. I don't like it when you talk accountant to me.
It's also good tax sense,
she persisted.
The money you put in won't be taxable until you're of retirement age. When, usually, your bracket is lower. Besides,
planning for the future might not be romantic, but it is rewarding.
He slid a hand under the terry cloth.
I'd rather have instant gratification.
Her pulse scrambled.
I have the necessary form.
Damn right you do.
For the Keogh. All you need toOh.
The terry cloth parted like water under his clever hands. She gasped, shuddered, melted.
How did you do that?
Come to bed.
He lifted her.
I'll show you.
Just past dawn, Nathaniel strolled down the curve of the terrace steps, his hands in his pockets and a whistle on his lips. Dutch, in a similar pose, descended the opposite curve, both men stopped dead when they met in the center.
They stared, swore.
What are you doing here at this hour?
Dutch demanded.
I could ask you the same question.
I live here, remember?
Nathaniel inclined his head.
You live down there.
He pointed toward the kitchen
level.
I'm taking the air,
Dutch said, after a fumble for inspiration.
Me too.
Dutch flicked a glance toward Megan's terrace. Nathaniel gave Coco's a studying look. Each decided to leave well enough alone.
Well, then. Suppose you want some breakfast.
Nathaniel ran his tongue around his teeth.
I could do with some.
Come on, can't dawdle out here all morning.
Relieved with the solution, they walked down together in perfect agreement.
She overslept. It was a breach in character that had her racing out of her room, still buttoning her blouse. She stopped to peek into Kevin's bedroom, spotted the haphazardly made bed and sighed.
Everyone was up and about, it seemed, but her.
She made a dash toward her office, crossing breakfast with her son off her list of small pleasures for the day.
Oh, dear.
Coco fluttered her hands when Megan nearly mowed her down in the
lobby.
Is something wrong?