Running the Numbers

by Roxanne Smith

  Blake hesitated for a fraction of a second—long enough to ask himself if he could keep a secret. Considering his past, he had to admit with uneasy acceptance that if there were anything he excelled at, it was keeping secrets. “Actually, Amanda, I’d just as soon not know.”

  Amanda gave him that smile again and took the arm he offered.

  He smiled back. He imagined Sadie and experienced the slightest brush of something that might’ve been regret before his elation took over. Things were finally falling into place.

  As they walked toward the lobby, Blake caught sight of Sadie and Wes standing side by side, with their arms crossed, watching as Amanda and Blake strode through the bookkeeping parlor. Sadie managed a very Amanda-like lack of expression and was the first to look away.

  Wes smiled, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out he liked seeing Blake’s attentions focused elsewhere.

  * * * *

  If ever she needed a week to fly by like a cheetah on speed, all Sadie had to do was plan a date with Amanda. Friday had come on fast, each passing day bringing her closer to dinner with her oddest, most unapproachable coworker. It seemed even more incomprehensible since Amanda and Blake had begun dating.

  The window of opportunity had officially closed. The whole week had been torture.

  Sadie had wrestled with guilt for having a crush on Blake and was hurt at being passed over for someone with all the personality of a shrub. Blake was on her mind constantly. His past ran through her head like a film strip, desperately trying to reconcile the deeds with the man. She wished for the freedom to feel him out, get to know him better, and try to understand. She had a feeling that, at the end of the day, Blake was a worthy investment, despite his previous bad judgment.

  Should she admit to Amanda she had small feelings for Blake now, before things got serious? Would Amanda still want her to come for dinner if she knew? Had Blake talked about Sadie to Amanda? Made comparisons, assured her he preferred her company?

  Her face reddened from the thought. She’d get this obligation over with and then give Blake and Amanda a wide berth from now on. Supposedly, there was some kind of fraternization policy at the firm, but no one had ever really tested it. Even when she’d been involved with Wes, Sadie had gone to great pains to keep it from ever coming to Duncan’s attention. Amanda didn’t seem to share the concern, and maybe Blake hadn’t been informed of the policy. Or, heck, maybe being Iris Avery’s daughter meant Amanda could do whatever the hell she wanted.

  Sadie gripped the bottle of white wine and knocked a second time. Come on. Don’t tell me I’ve been pranked.

  Finally, just when Sadie thought she might explode from nerves, the white door opened to reveal Amanda as undone as Sadie had ever dreamed to see her. Her hair fell flat and straight as usual, but she was sans the jangle and cacophony of her costume jewelry, and no loud clothing graced her tall, lithe body. Just an unadorned heather gray sweatshirt and fluffy white socks on her feet. Where were the confused clashes of colors, the jarring, clunky jewelry?

  Sadie pointed to the holes in Amanda’s light-washed jeans. “We must have the same stylist.”

  Amanda glanced down and almost grinned, morphing her face into a less robotic impression. She took the wine from Sadie. “I’m glad you didn’t dress up. I worried you might.”

  “Yeah, but I said—”

  “I know.” She softened the interruption with a flat smile. “But I can’t say it’s never happened.”

  Sadie stepped over the threshold and took in the stark quality of Amanda’s dwelling. It was as pristine and colorless as Amanda’s wardrobe was eclectic and gaudy. “Wow, Amanda. Nice place.” She removed her shoes, but even standing on the pure white carpet made her cringe. So white. So perfect. While Amanda closed the door, Sadie approached the only hanging item on the wall. A swipe of gray paint across a white surface inside a double-matted white frame. What was she going for? Asylum chic?

  Amanda beckoned her through a hallway, which led to the kitchen.

  Sadie was hit with a measure of relief straight away. A far cry from the sterile living room of perfection, the kitchen seemed lived in and used. The colorless scheme flowed through, but lavender dishes, on display in open-faced cabinets, added a muted feminine touch. Fresh hydrangea sat in a fat circular vase with a few inches of water.

  Simple. Elegant. A little stuffy, but only because Sadie imagined she could ruin the place with a single spaghetti dinner.

  Amanda set to stirring two pans on the stove, then checked inside the oven. “I’m glad you made it. I almost cancelled. It’s been a stressful week.”

  Indeed, it had. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had called it off. It’s sort of weird, anyway.” Sadie didn’t know what to do with herself. The large square granite island transitioned into a high bar on one side, so she took a seat on one of the saddle stools. “We hardly know each other.”

  Amanda pulled a baking sheet from the oven. Some kind of white fish, liberally sprinkled with fresh parsley and spices.

  The scent made its way to Sadie. Her stomach grumbled in response. She’d come hungry. In case she didn’t like Amanda’s cooking, she’d be compelled to eat no matter what. It was smelling like that wasn’t going to be a problem.

  Using potholders, Amanda slid the pan onto the countertop to cool. “I don’t make friends easily. When you offered to help me that weekend, I was extremely grateful, because there wasn’t anyone I could really ask. Being an Avery, people have little use for me unless I’ve got my hands in Mother’s pie.” She shrugged and turned back to the stovetop. “But then, I thought you might’ve offered for the sake of spending time with Blake. He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

  Sadie swallowed. “He’s okay.”

  “Later, I thought maybe you’d keep being nice to me after Duncan announced his resignation. Naturally, everyone will assume I know who’s taking his place.”

  Correctly, I bet. No way did Amanda spend weekends with her mom in Alpine without garnering some idea, but Sadie would die before she’d ask.

  For all her ambition, there were lines she wouldn’t cross, and bringing the boss’s daughter into it was a line, even if a slightly muddy one. “You’re head of bookkeeping. I wouldn’t ask you to divulge something that isn’t your job—or business, if I’m frank—to divulge.”

  “Agreed. It would be unethical on my part.” She pulled a glass serving bowl from a shelf and poured a mound of white, creamy pasta into it from the larger pot. “And Mother wouldn’t like it.” Amanda set the bowl of steaming pasta next to the fish and added a handful of fresh parsley from a small glazed bowl nearby.

  Sadie tried not to moan as the scent of parmesan and garlic wafted her way.

  “I had concerns about Blake, too,” she continued. “I thought you two were dating.”

  “Can I help with anything? Would you like me to make plates? Or set the table?” Sadie didn’t like where the conversation was headed.

  Green beans were drained in a colander in the sink and tossed into a second glass bowl with a dollop of butter and salt and pepper. “Of course not. You’re my guest.” Amanda pulled two pristine white dinner plates from another shelf and proceeded to compile food on them like they were going to be photographed for the cover of Food & Wine.

  Which they could’ve been. They were that pretty.

  Amanda straightened after turning a filet just so. “Blake asked me out on Monday.” Her straight face expressed an impish happiness. “After assuring me you two weren’t involved, of course. Also, you’ve had ample time to quiz me about Duncan but haven’t. Anyone who’s kind to me with nothing to gain from it…” She lowered her gaze and grew suddenly shy and more reserved. “Well, suffice it to say, I can use more people like that in my life. We should be friends.” She lifted the plates and nodded once, a resolute cap on a declaration that left no room for argument. Or even friendly debate. A distinct layer of pity coated Sadie’s recent opinions of Amanda. Usually
, she was too busy silently mocking her robotic nature to stop and think about how bad it would suck to be Iris Avery’s daughter in a firm where everyone was trying to get ahead.

  She followed Amanda into the next room, the formal dining room, where the table was already set with cloth napkins, forks, butter knives, small dessert spoons, wineglasses, and shorter glasses already filled with ice water.

  Sweet Jesus. She definitely hadn’t dressed for a black tie event.

  “Please, have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

  Sadie sat and tried not to touch anything lest she leave a fingerprint smudge on the white—white, white, white, so much white—tablecloth.

  Amanda returned balancing the bottle of wine Sadie had brought, a bowl of garden salad obviously prepared ahead of time, a decanter of some red oil-based vinaigrette, and two shallow salad plates. She showed no signs of struggle handling her haul. “There’s dessert. A chocolate mousse I prepared this morning before work, with raspberries. I don’t really enjoy chocolate, but I’ve seen you eat it. I used some of the raspberries to make the vinaigrette. I hope you like it.”

  “I can’t believe you’d do all this for me.” Especially since I might have a tiny crush on the man you’re dating. Plus, she hadn’t done anything to deserve it, besides a self-serving favor.

  Amanda set everything on the table and piled salad onto the plates, then opened the wine. “Cooking is how I handle stress. I’ve had this menu planned for a while. I’m happy to have someone to share it with.”

  Sadie liberally dressed her salad, fork in the other hand waiting to dig in. She paused and waved it toward the compiled dishes. “You cook like this regularly? Just another plain old weekday dinner for you?” Geez, how was she not thirty pounds overweight and hauling around a second chin?

  Amanda took her seat and tasted the wine. “Very good. How lucky you brought a dry white. It pairs well with the fish.” She set her wineglass down and reached for her fork. “Not usually pasta. You can see how much the recipe yields.”

  After that, Sadie didn’t ask any more questions. She was starved. She wanted to plow through the meal but ate relative to Amanda’s pace. Although, she did have seconds of the cheesy, garlicky pasta. She’d hardly cleared her plate when Amanda spooned dessert into the small bowls. She topped the mousse with fresh raspberries and a dollop of whipped cream she’d made.

  A short time later, Sadie licked the back of her spoon, certain she’d bust the button right off her jeans if she tried to stand. She sipped the dregs of her wine and eyeballed the bottle. One more glass ought to do it. Her gaze shifted to Amanda. Sadie had managed to drop a green bean in her lap and smear chocolate all over her pristine napkin, but Amanda was a slow, meticulous eater. Her napkin had only been used to dab unnecessarily at the corners of her mouth. Well, Sadie might’ve been careful, too, if she’d been wearing white, white, and more white.

  She looked around the room. White, white, white. Such an acute difference between this Amanda and the one who showed at work in the festive garb of whatever nation grabbed her attention that morning. “I’ve had enough wine to finally ask.”

  Amanda’s eyebrows rose slightly. Then she shrugged and went back to her dainty sips of wine and tiny scoops of mousse. “Okay.”

  Sadie lifted her wineglass to indicate the room. Now that evening had fallen, she noticed the chandelier over the table. Crystal with silver metalwork. Damn thing belonged on a showroom somewhere. “Your home seems a little different.” Was there a way to say this without offending her? “From your sense of fashion. Like, the clothes you wear. I expected something a little more…”

  “Colorful.” Amanda nodded and kept eating. Small bites, slow, measured, robotic. “I’ve been told I come off as sterile. Unapproachable. The bright colors and the flashy jewelry help me fit in. I learned early on it helps to fit in. I’m not naturally inclined toward big color, so I borrow from coworkers. I wear earrings like Opal does and bold colors like you.”

  Sadie sputtered. Wine dribbled down her chin. She reached for her napkin to add another blemish to it. “You got part of your style from mine?” She wanted to be flattered but was too offended.

  “Sure.” Amanda set her spoon down, lifted her wineglass, and leaned back. It was the most relaxed Sadie had seen her. “Your black hair in its simple cut allows you to be playful. Nothing clashes the way it can with pale blond. Take yellow, for example. It washes me out horribly. But you wear these deep, adventurous colors, like fuchsia and royal blue. You like black the way I like white, and it all works so well together. My real problem is I never know when to quit, and I get so frustrated some days. There are times I’ve closed my eyes, pointed, and wore whatever I landed on.”

  Sadie sat forward, trying to wrap her head around Amanda’s logic. She didn’t dress like a blind lady because she didn’t have a sense of style—a glance around her apartment said she had some to spare. She did it to fit in, and Sadie didn’t have the heart to tell her it only made her stand out. “Amanda, that’s… Well, that’s crazy. Don’t you think it’s better to be yourself? Maybe you seem unapproachable because you’re hiding behind crazy outfits instead of wearing what makes you comfortable.”

  Or because she had the demeanor of a sleep-deprived sloth. Sadie couldn’t fix that, but she could lend a hand in the fashion department.

  Amanda pressed her lips together and seemed to take a second to consider before lifting her gaze to Sadie’s. “I don’t want to alienate myself from the others.”

  “Look, Amanda, all you need to do is take your inherent sophisticated flair and sprinkle a dash of color on it. Like the lavender dishes in your white, white kitchen.” Sadie drained her glass and pushed it away. “You know what? You’re right. We should be friends. And to commemorate our first official day of friendship, we’re going back to an old classic.”

  “Classic? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  She stood, slightly off-kilter from her second glass of wine. “Refill that wineglass and point me in the direction of your closet. We’re gonna play dress-up.”

  Chapter 7

  November had arrived in style, dumping mounds of snow the day before the mandatory office party, where they all showed up to prove they were festive and full of the autumn spirit. Sadie set a bag of chips next to the impressive spread of real food others had brought. She bit her lip, considered it, then ripped the bag open and dumped the contents into an empty plastic serving bowl.

  Look at me, domestic goddess.

  She brushed crumbs from her hands, turned away from the table to rejoin the party, and nearly collided with Amanda. “I’m so sorry. Here, let me help.” Sadie took the covered dish from Amanda’s neatly groomed fingers, unable to resist a whiff. “Oh, man, is that stuffing? I live for stuffing.”

  Amanda answered in her typical deadpan fashion. “It’s not Thanksgiving without stuffing.”

  Sadie nodded sagely. “Then again, it’s not Thanksgiving. Don’t you think it’s odd to have a party today and then turn around tomorrow and eat all the same stuff with our families?”

  “Duncan feels obligated to throw a party for the employees. He’s rather sentimental about holidays. Also, he’s leaving in the spring. I imagine he’ll miss everyone and would like to make a few memories while he can.” Amanda smoothed the foil cover on her dish.

  Her clothes were different, as they had been lately. Cream colors, light grays, and white, white, and more white. Plus, of course, a touch of color here and there. Bold red shoes or a glittering bracelet. It pleased Sadie tremendously, and she got a wealth of satisfaction every time Amanda snuck her a small grateful smile. This usually came after some complimentary remark on her improved appearance, which had changed drastically since their dinner weeks ago.

  The outside changes led to inside changes. Amanda seemed happier and more at ease with herself.

  Occasionally, Sadie questioned if they were all changes for the better. She’d noticed Blake looking har
assed a time or two, after dates with Amanda. But that was none of her business. She followed her new best friend’s gaze across the room, unsurprised it had landed on Blake. “I bet you’re right about Duncan. He and Zoey are doing the smart thing, waiting for winter to pass.”

  Amanda nodded absently. “Hmm. Plus, Mother’s glad to have such generous notice. It’s given her time to go over her options.”

  Sadie’s gut twisted. She was painstakingly careful not to bring up the promotion around Amanda. Somehow, they’d formed a weird, nebulous, yet genuine friendship. Sadie had no clue how it had happened. Blake had dropped out of her life like a plastic bag in a windstorm, to be replaced by his girlfriend. Kennedy, on the other hand, had formed quite the bond with Blake.

  New lines were being drawn in the office, and Sadie didn’t know how she felt about any of it. Outside of her career, which she had mapped out down to her fortieth birthday, she wasn’t much of a planner. She went with the flow, and this was where the great river of life had taken her.

  Blake wasn’t meant to be. She’d accepted it, for the most part. It bothered her at times, like when she noticed he wore a forced smile or an unguarded frown. Sometimes, he seemed lonely, and she longed to fix it. But that was Amanda’s job.

  Unfortunately, the whole forbidden fruit thing made him more appealing. Her crush was snowballing. He looked good in a pair of slacks, but she daydreamed about the Saturday morning he’d been shirtless, scruffy, and wearing loose jeans riding low on his hips.

  Heat crept up from her chest and she cleared her throat, pushing away the enticing image. “I guess Blake will be spending the holiday with you at the ranch, huh?” Sadie covered her acute interest in the answer by filling a small plastic cup with warm cider from a Crock-Pot on the far end of the table. Any minute now, everyone else would come streaming by to fill paper plates with too much food.

  A golden turkey, still steaming, several varieties of stuffing, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, yams with marshmallows, and a multitude of pies, pumpkin and apple among them, were crammed together, hot and ready for whenever Duncan gave everyone the okay. First, of course, there had to be mingling, with Styrofoam cups of punch and cider. Then, like every year before, Duncan would insist they each take turns saying what they were grateful for.