by Elle Casey
“Oh.” I look at the spreadsheet a little closer. “Yeah, I guess it does look kinda … complicated.” I’m not sure she’s right about the whole annual report thing, but I do know it doesn’t look like the small business financials we studied in the couple of courses I took in my sophomore year.
“They’re not for this company,” she says.
“No, they’re not. How’d you know?”
She points to the screen. “That line-item right there. The one coded below the line.”
I lean in closer to read it. “Bendeck.” A shiver goes through me. “I’ve heard that name before.”
“Why would they code it below the line?” Quin asks.
“I don’t even know what that means, so how the fuck would I know?” I glare at her.
She holds up her hands in surrender. “Wow, bite my tits off why don’t you, it was just a question.”
I close my eyes and get a grip on my anger. “Sorry. I’m just on edge right now.”
“So what is this?” she asks, pointing at the screen. “Are you taking a summer course? Is this homework you’re doing on the job?”
“No.” I close the laptop. “This is a set of financials my father sent me on the sly.”
Her eyes bug out. “Say whaaaaat? When? He’s …” She grimaces. “He’s dead, though.”
“I know. He’s harassing me from the grave.”
“That’s so-so-so-so wrong, Teag. So wrong.”
“I know. And I really don’t want to talk about it, so can we just leave it for now?”
“How long have you known me?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Almost four years?” I say bleakly.
“And in all that time, have you ever seen me just let something go?”
“Ummm … no.”
“Yeah. So let’s just skip the part where you whine and complain how you don’t want to talk about it, and I cajole you and nag you and threaten you until you cave.”
“Cajole. That’s a good word.”
She grins. “I know, right? I have this app on my phone that gives me a word-of-the-day. I’m expanding my horizons.”
“Good for you.” I grin big.
“Wipe that shit off your face and tell me,” she says, going all stern on me. “Seriously. I have yoga class in a half hour.”
“Since when are we doing yoga?”
“Since I saw a dimple on my ass the other day. Now spill your nasty secrets, ho, or things are going to get ugly.”
I briefly consider giving it another round or two of the whining she just mentioned, but just as quickly decide not to bother. I’m too weak to fight Quin off and I don’t even know if I want to anymore.
“Fine. Let’s start with the Rebel fiasco…”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“SO WHAT YOU’RE SAYING IS, you almost slept with the boss, you wanted to sleep with the boss, but the boss got you naked and then left you in the dust?” Quin gives me a pitiful look as she waits for my confirmation.
“Yes,” I say, “that’s pretty much it in a nutshell. And now he’s in there with this chick who we saw at the club that night and she’s acting like she owns his ass, and it’s just depressing because she’s about ten feet tall and has blonde hair and humongous boobs pressed all up in his face.”
“Seriously?” Quin gets up and walks over to the door.
“Don’t look!” I whisper-scream at her.
She’s just about to turn the corner when the blonde comes walking in. They nearly do a chest bump before the girl squeaks and jumps to the side.
“Holy crap, warn a girl next time,” says Quin, her hand on her throat.
“Watch where you’re going next time,” the blonde says.
“You’re not ten feet tall,” Quin says, eyeing her critically. “Maybe five eight, though.”
The girl frowns. “I’m five nine and why the hell that matters I’ll never know, nor do I want to.” She walks around Quin and heads for the front door. She doesn’t even acknowledge my presence.
“Bye,” I say, refusing to be ignored.
She gives me a courtesy smile and pushes the door open. “Bye.” And then she’s gone.
“She is really pretty,” says Quin, coming back over to my desk.
“Thanks,” I say, slumping back into my chair, “that makes me feel loads better.”
“In a super model kind of way, though.”
“Oh, yeah, okay. That’s much better, thanks again.”
Quin rolls her eyes. “Argh, come on, you know what I mean. You’re real. She’s … plastic.”
“Like a Barbie doll.”
“Yeah, like that.” Quin brightens.
“So I’m like … what? A scruffy teddy bear?”
“Way more cuddly, don’t you think?” Quin asks, giving me a grin.
“Can we talk about something else and not the woman who’s screwing my boss and latest crush?”
“Sure. Let’s talk about your dad.”
I scoot forward in my chair, happy for the distraction as crazy as that seems. “So he sends me this toy car which turns out to be a USB drive. And I plug it in here and bam. Financials. And memos saying that he’s pissed about some shit that I see right here.” I point to the screen.
Quin comes around and squints at the line I’m touching. “That’s a below the line entry which is done to remove it from the regular calculations.” She takes a bite of another muffin, pointing to the screen. “You have inventory right there … if there’s something fishy going on, that’s another place that could be a problem. Did you see any other info about inventory?”
“What do you mean?” I’m so lost right now and it’s only a little embarrassing that I’m depending on a muffin monster to clarify things for me.
“What was going on with your dad’s company, like right before he died? Was he selling it, maybe?”
“No, not that I know of. But this one memo mentioned an IPO.”
“Well, okay then, that’s like selling the company in a way. You’re selling shares to new investors, so you have to do all the financials, you know, like full disclosure stuff. But if you want to paint a very rosy picture so the shares have a high value, you can fudge the numbers a little. I mean, in theory you can, but it’s pretty hard to get away with nowadays.”
“Like how?”
“Well, inventory for one. You can manipulate the inventory levels and make the value better. And only someone who actually goes on-site and counts the material actually knows for sure if it’s correct or not. Also if there are pensions in there, you can tweak that info. Subsidiaries that aren’t performing and dragging the company down financially can be left off or manipulated. They can overstate interest coverage and change the leverage ratios of the subsidiary. That would work.”
I rub my temples. “You’re giving me the biggest headache of all time right now. I seriously don’t know how you know all this. I think my IQ just dropped like ten points trying to understand what you just said.”
“Listen, when you get scholarships, you have to get good grades or they cut you off. I had to pay very close attention in class. Besides, I like this stuff.” She turns the computer to face her better. “Want to give me a copy to look at? Maybe I can find something useful in there.”
I give her an expression of disgust. “There is something seriously wrong with you, first of all, and sure. Fine. Take a copy.” I pull a random thumb drive out of the desk drawer that I found during my clean up and move a copy of all the documents over to it. Handing it over to her, I can’t help but smile at the serious look on her face.
She takes the thumb drive and drops it into her purse as she points at the screen. “There is something seriously wrong with those financials. I’ll bet you a box of muffins on it.”
I shake my head. “No, I believe you. I’m getting a bad feeling about it too. Why else would my father send all that shit to me? He hardly ever even talked to me, so why would he send me all this private information about a compa
ny I have zero interest in?”
“Good question. What are you going to do about it? I mean, if I find something?” Quin asks, walking back around my desk and grabbing her purse.
“I don’t know. Nothing, probably. He’s dead. The company is in my step-mother’s hands now, so it’s over. It’s her problem now.”
Quin snorts. “Maybe she had him killed so she could own it.” She laughs after she says it, but that doesn’t stop my blood from running cold.
“That’s not funny, Quinn. Seriously.”
Her smile disappears. “Oh, shit. That was horrible. Why did I say that? I’m sorry.” She runs around the desk and grabs me in a tight hug as her purse swings around and hits me in the back. “I’m an asshole. I wasn’t thinking. I’ve been watching too many movies. He’s your dad, not just some CEO guy we don’t know. He died way too young, but he wasn’t murdered. He just ate too much saturated fat or something. Ugh, I’m an idiot.”
“Yeah,” I say, patting her hand. I’m not crying; I don’t have any tears left. “Don’t worry about it. Go to your yoga class, would you? I need to work so I don’t lose this fabulous job and I can’t do anything with you here.”
Quin stands. “You do have a fabulous job. You’re the queen of the entire office. And honestly, Tea, I don’t think all is lost with that boss of yours. If you like him, fight for him. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I could become homeless?”
“Poo. You’re not going to be homeless. This isn’t the only job in the world.”
I’m not going to say the lame, pitiful response I have on the tip of my tongue out loud, but I sure am thinking it. I’ve been around for over twenty years and met a lot of people from the lowest to the highest levels of society, and I’ve never met a guy like Rebel before.
Quin leaves and I stare at my computer screen, lost in thought. She asked what the worst thing that could happen is, and I can’t stop thinking about it. My answer is that I could never get to see Rebel ever again, and as sorry as it sounds, I would rather see him every day with my bruised ego riding side-saddle than never see him again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I NEVER WANT TO SEE Rebel ever again. After the rest of the week goes by without a single signal from him good or bad, I’m ready to explode with self-pity. This is so not how I usually roll. I’ve never been a walking sack of sorry assitude like I am now; I can’t even stand to be in the same room with myself. Something has got to give.
Rebel moving into Colin’s apartment to be his brother’s temporary roommate has only made things worse. Maybe it was supposed to be kind and chivalrous, but all it feels like is more rejection. At this point I know that no matter what he does, short of standing in front of me and getting completely naked, I’m going to take it as a bad sign. I just need to leave.
When five o’clock on Friday finally rolls around, I’m ready for a major break. I’m straightening my desk and gathering up my purse when Colin walks in. He’s maybe said five words to me since I met him, so I’m a little shocked when he stands only a few feet away and starts a deep conversation out of the blue.
“So, I hear you lost your dad recently.”
“Uh, yeah.” I put my strap over my shoulder and jingle my keys.
“Sorry about that. I lost my mom. I know how much it sucks.”
I ignore the lump in my throat. “Thanks.”
“So I was going out for a drink and thought you might like to go with me. We could talk. If you want.”
My mouth drops open, but words won’t come out. I’m not even sure what words should come out.
“Not like a date or anything. Just to talk about your dad or whatever.”
I feel like I might be walking into a trap, but he’s standing there looking as sincere as a guy possibly can, and I can’t help but be drawn to him. Maybe this is what Rebel was talking about when he called him Trouble.
The words fly out before I can think to stop them. “Rebel warned me to stay away from you.”
Colin scowls. “Fuck him.”
The smile on my face starts out small, but by the time I respond, it’s blazing its glory all over the room. “Yeah, okay.” I nod in respect. “Fuck Rebel. I’d love to go out for a drink. Where?”
“You can drive. Just give me a sec to clean up.”
He disappears into the bathroom with a backpack over his shoulder, and the sound of running water comes through the closed door.
I sit down and fiddle around with my pen. My stomach has butterflies or something equally unsettled inside it. It feels like a bad idea to take Colin up on his offer, but logically-speaking, the misgivings make no sense. It’s just one beer with a person who is nice enough to want to talk to me about my deceased father. And I know Colin’s mom was important to him; Rebel told me that much.
What could go wrong with a simple conversation about people we loved who have passed away? Nothing. Nothing at all. I don’t find Colin remotely attractive and I’m sure he feels the same way about me. That blonde girl is definitely more his style.
He comes out dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and his hands mostly free of engine oil. I’ve learned from working here that none of them can completely get rid of it. He’s passably handsome, but nothing like Rebel. I hate that I’m comparing them like that. It’s pitiful how Rebel is now my measure of all things guy-like.
“Ready?” he asks, gracing me with a superstar smile.
“Yep.”
“Let’s take your car. You can either bring me back after or I’ll just walk.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, following him out the door.
“Brewskies. Just a few blocks south.”
Following his directions, we arrive at what I would consider a skid-row kind of place, but one that Colin knows well. He waves to different people as we enter.
The interior is really dark, the only illumination coming from neon beer signs and the lights over a couple of pool tables in the back of the room. We sit at the bar and Colin orders us each a beer after exchanging greetings and playful barbs with the grizzly bartender.
He turns to face me on the stool. “So, what’s your name, where d’you come from, what’s your sign, what are your goals, are you seeing anyone …?” He grins and cocks an eyebrow up at me.
I roll my eyes. “Oh boy.” I’m probably in over my head at this point, but I push through. Screw the rules and being worried. I’m going to have a beer and have some fun too. I deserve it after the week I’ve had.
“Okay, so my name as you know is Teagan Cross, I’m from California, I’m a virgo, and my goal is to not be homeless. Is that everything?”
“You forgot the best part.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Whether you’re seeing anyone.”
I press my lips together, trying to figure out the best way to deal with this. “I’m not, but that’s not relevant.”
“Not relevant to what?” He grabs the beer that was just set on the bartop and takes a long drink. He easily drains half the mug before I even get mine to my lips.
I take a sip and grimace as it goes down before I answer. “To why we’re here or to our relationship.”
“What if I want to set you up with someone? I’ll need to know if you’re spoken for or not.”
I laugh, imagining the mess he’d hook me up with. As if I couldn’t find one of those on my own. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want you to do that.”
“Why? You think I don’t have nice friends?” He finishes his beer.
I’m afraid of where this might go, so I decide being blunt is my best defense. “I thought we were here to talk about dead relatives. What happened to that?”
He signals the bartender for another drink. “Nothing. Just breaking the ice a little before we get to the heavy stuff.”
I breathe a little easier with his explanation and smile. “You’re seriously aware of the power you have over women, right?”
“What’s this now?”
I wiggle a finger at his forehead. “Your eyebrows are all scrunched up and you’re doing a good job of looking lost and innocent, but we both know it’s an act.” I take another swig of my beer. “Cut the crap and fess up. You’re trying to work your magic on me.”
He attempts to hide his grin behind his fresh beer mug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re not called Trouble for no reason. Let’s not play that game, okay? I’m still grieving over my dad or whatever, and I’ve had a hell of a week at work, and I’m just not in the mood to be some guy’s meal. I’m liable to go all Fatal Attraction on the next dude who shows any interest, so trust me, you don’t want to go there.”
“Wow.” He puts his beer down, and for the first time, I think he’s really looking at me and actually seeing me. “That was a mouthful.”
I take a few big gulps of my beer and burp out the carbonation. “Yeah. I’m on a hair trigger tonight. Don’t piss me off.”
“I like you.” He grins big.
I smile back. “I like you too. As long as you’re not trying to make a move on me.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “I promise, I’ll keep my hands to myself. Scout’s honor.”
“Were you a scout?”
“Hell no.”
“I didn’t think so.” I hold up my beer. “Here’s to honesty, beer, and forgetting things that suck.”
He bangs his mug against mine, making some beer spill out of both of them. “Here, here.”
We both gulp down the last of our beers and slam the mugs onto the bartop, grinning and burping like fiends.
Two beers later for me and five later for him, things go from happy, giggling, goofing around smartassery to a big hairy belligerent mess, all over a single look.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“YOUR DAD SOUNDS LIKE HE was a real dick,” says Colin, his words not slurred in the least. I can’t say the same for mine.