“Until the next time,” Leila said. “I wonder how many clients he tried this on? And why?”
“It lowers their tax bill, and the client thinks Kirkland is wonderful—until the ATO comes knocking.”
“When are you back in Sydney?” Leila asked.
“Nearly two weeks,” Allie said. “Lunch when I’m back?”
“You bet. Maybe I’ll have new and exciting news for you—like a new job, or Craig getting fired, or me finally seeing Hammie at breakfastanddinner on the same day.”
“That last one would be a great start. Send him and Lewis my love.”
“I will. I have to go. Bye, Allie. I’m already looking forward to seeing you.”
“You too. Look out for yourself at work.”
“I will.” Leila’s voice was grim. “Don’t worry.”
Allie ended the call and sat back amid the scattered brochures with a sigh. She had no doubt Craig would blame her for Richard Martin’s mess. She tightened her lips. What could she do to avoid that? So where did that leave her? She could call Richard Martin and proclaim her innocence—but why would he believe her word against that of a partner? She could call the Australian Tax Office as a whistle-blower and report Kirkland for their practices. But she didn’t have proof—only what had happened to her, and Leila’s story about Richard Martin. That wasn’t enough to go on. She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. She had to do something. The question was what.
She got up from the couch, poured herself a glass of water, and considered her scanty groceries. For a second, the memory of the burger at The Hollowman tempted her. But that burger would forever be entwined with the memory of Tarryn’s lips on hers. As they had been again today.
Allie pressed a finger to her own lips, remembering. Imagining where the kiss might have gone from there.
With a frustrated grunt, she closed the cupboard door. She’d get takeaway from Thai Dreams. She’d be less likely to run into Tarryn or have to talk with Jason about the festival.
Chapter 15
“I voted for you andthe event planner woman.”
Tarryn turned away from the feedstore counter where she was ordering hay for the alpacas and forced a smile at the person who’d spoken. Since the vote, it seemed half the town had said the same. “Thanks.” She swung back to face the feedstore’s owner.
“The hay will be delivered Tuesday,” Larry said.
Tarryn nodded, grateful to escape more wedding chat. “That’s great. Thanks.” She handed over her credit card and once the transaction was complete, fled the store. If she hurried, she wouldn’t be late for the planning session.
Sophie’s car was already outside The Hollowman when she pushed open the back door and entered the bar.
“Here’s our second blushing bride.” Phyll’s voice boomed out.
Tarryn winced but covered it quickly.
As well as Sophie, Phyll, and Jason, a grey-haired older woman dressed in motorcycle leathers sat by the counter stirring a black coffee as thick as tar.
“George.” The woman stood and shook Tarryn’s hand in a firm grip. “It’s my real name. My mother was an Enid Blyton fan.”
“Tarryn.” She nodded and smiled, easing her hand from the woman’s clasp.
“George is the celebrant for your wedding,” Phyll said.
A curl of irritation spiked. “Fake wedding.”
George shot her a half-smile. “It’s all the same as far as I’m concerned. The only difference will be the ceremony won’t be legally binding. Do you have vows or anything you want to use?”
“No,” Tarryn and Sophie said simultaneously.
At least they were in agreement over something.
George blinked. “Then we’ll go with the standard wording. Are you happy just to use first names?”
