“So this is only a routine checkup?”

Ahnou winces. “Miss Mabon—Fern—have you received any letters from the IRS?”

My face falls blank as I try to school my features into something that makes me appear semi-competent.

“Yes, of course, I received them.”

“Did you read them?”

My stomach heaves as I fight the urge to throw up.

“If I can be frank, my mother handles my taxes.”

Along with other things.

The giant man frowns before opening up his briefcase. He pulls out a pair of gold-rimmed glasses from his pocket that he perches in the middle of his long snout as he reads something.

They look so adorably perfect on him that I can't stifle the giggle that escapes past my lips. His head jerks up with an inhuman sharpness.

“Is something amusing?”

“N-no,” I stammer. “It’s just that your glasses make you look very studious—they're cute.”

I clamp my mouth shut, my lips twisting into a grimace.

Shut up, Fern!

The Anubis only shoots me another lopsided grin that makes my heart flutter…along with other regions further south.

“I look like an old man with them on,” he grouses, and I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle another laugh because nothing could be further from the truth.

He looks like a nerdy sex god sent from above to taunt me—or maybe it's from below.

“Fern, has your mother always done your taxes?” I nod, and he continues. “In previous years, it doesn't say that they were prepared by anyone but you.”

“Oh, um, I mean my mom is my business manager, and she’s always filed them for me. Like on my behalf…so it was me but not. Wow. I sound like an idiot.”

I mutter this last part under my breath, glancing down at the floor as abject embarrassment consumes me.

Ahnou leans forward, one of his sharp black claws tipping my chin upward. “You're not an idiot.

Owning a business is no small task, and there are many rules and stipulations that can be overlooked or forgotten.

The IRS understands this and adjusts for it. I'm sure it never occurred to either you or your mother for her to say she prepared your taxes since she is not a legal tax preparation company.”

I swallow, my body tingling in awareness at his touch. “O-okay, good.”

It's the best I can manage under the circumstances. Finally, he breaks contact, and I sag back into the couch, relieved yet bereft.

“So is that the only thing you needed to check up on?”

My voice raises up at the end, betraying my inner anxiety worse than the blush that scorches my face.

“I'm afraid not. The real reason that you were flagged for an audit is because your taxes haven't been filed in over two years.”

A chuckle that sounds more like a hysterical cackle bursts free of me and echoes around us.

“That's not possible!”

Ahnou takes off his glasses and shoots me a sympathetic look. “I promise you, I'm not lying to you.”

This time when my stomach revolts, I know there's no holding it back.

“Please excuse me while I go make a phone call.”

And by phone call, I mean puke.

SNEAK PEEK CHAPTER TWO

AHNOU

Welcome to Cedar Peak Heights!

The sign elicits a chuckle from me. This far east in Virginia, the tallest peak around was likely an anthill anyone could piss over.

But humans were oddly territorial as they were sentimental. If one part of Virginia boasted mountain tops and panoramic views, then the whole state would.

Clearly the folks of Cedar Peak Heights decided to go big with the town’s name since they had nothing else to compete with the state’s western topography.

Which is a shame because the deciduous trees here might be some of the most gorgeous fall foliage I’ve ever seen.

For a town of just under five thousand residents, it has plenty of stores and restaurants. One in particular stands out—Sugar and Spice café, owned by my current auditee.

From the outside, it looks warm and inviting, the window bedecked with autumn decor in vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges.

In less than five minutes, I’m pulling into Miss Mabon’s driveway, and I wish my job was only moments away from where I lived.

Even though I’m a homebody, I spend over half the months in the year away doing audits. How I long for my own bed and kitchen—eating out gets old after a few weeks.

But I still have three more audits to finish this year before I can return to my house.

I contemplate the stately house while collecting myself. As an introvert, doing these yearly audits almost makes me want to quit my job.

One would think working for the IRS would be spent sitting in a cubicle, pouring over tax forms for hours.

It's not—something I learned the hard way.