Free Unspeakable by Sandra Brown Page A

all the printed material tonight. Memorize it if I have to. All forty-six pages."
    If they thought he was going to spend an evening of his time plodding through all that shit about projections and phases, cost analyses and construction diagrams, they were wrong. He could swing this deal for them without having to know all the boring particulars.
    "You understand where I'm coming from, Glen," he said in his most persuasive tone. "I don't want to leave Corbett any room to maneuver. Before I approach him, I want to know the material forward and backward. That way I can counter any argument he raises with a fact that'll dazzle him."
    "If you're not up to this job, we'd like to know now."
    Emory's heart lurched. "But I am!"
    "You were a convenient choice for us because you handle Corbett's banking. You were already familiar with his finances. In other words, by using you we saved a step. But if you don't deliver you'll be replaced."
    "Please, Glen. This is as important to me as it is to you."
    "I doubt that. When will I hear from you?"
    "Soon." Not good enough. "Very soon." Still not good enough. "Immediately after I've talked to Corbett."
    "I'll be waiting."
    Emory was left holding a telephone receiver as dead as a limp dick.
    Uncomfortable with the analogy, he dropped the receiver back into place and spun his chair around to stare through the window that overlooked Blewer's Main Street. The bank had a second floor, but he was glad his office was on the street level. The windows were tinted so that he could see out onto the sidewalk but no one could see in. As he watched the pedestrian traffic, he amused himself by making obscene gestures to people he disliked and staring his fill at attractive women. Rarely could one walk past without checking her reflection in the darkened glass. He liked to pretend that when a cute working girl or shopper turned her head toward the glass, she was looking at him.
    Yesterday, he'd seen Anna Corbett coming from a block away. As she and her kid made their way down the sidewalk, they paused to gaze into various display windows. When she talked to the kid with her hands, he'd smiled.
    Emory had watched them cross the street and head toward the bank's doors, making it easy for him to ambush her in the lobby. She was a looker. Tidy, compact figure. Tight ass. Not much in the tit department, but the air-conditioning inside the bank had brought her nipples up. And to think that all that was being wasted on the old man. Everybody knew he fucked her. They had lived out there together for six years. Of course he fucked her.
    From Corbett's perspective, it made sense. But why would she settle for that grouchy old codger?
    Probably because she was deaf, Emory reasoned. That must be it. She thought her daddy-in-law was as good as she could expect. Emory meant to show her different.
    The thought made him smile.
    But the smile didn't last long. The deaf broad was a secondary conquest. First he had to deliver to EastPark Development what he had promised. He couldn't do it by being nice. He had tried that approach. His attempts to be Corbett's financial adviser and confidant had met with no success. Connaught and the others were getting impatient. Time was running out. But as long as Corbett met the scheduled payments on his loan, he could last for years. Emory feared that EastPark would hand this opportunity to someone else, or give up the project altogether and withdraw their offer. Then he would be screwed. He would be stuck in the loan department of this bank for the rest of his life working for wages.
    Since it was one of few banks still family-owned and -operated, his chances of advancement were nil. The president had two sons, each as humorless as he. All were tight-asses, sticklers about time and money and customer service. None of them liked him overly much. They could just as well fire him as not.
    Bottom line: He had to make that EastPark deal. He must convince Corbett to sell his ranch. But all inroads