Page 73 of All Bets Are Off

“I don’t… I…” Zach trailed off, obviously trying to make sense of his feelings.

“Just break it down for me,” I suggested. “I’m outside the problem. I might be able to help you.”

“Okay.” Zach sucked in a breath. “A few weeks ago—right around the time I asked for your hand in matrimony—I noticed that the department lines I was being fed didn’t add up to the whole that was being reported.” He smirked when he brought up asking for my hand.

I nodded. “I’m guessing each of your departments balances their own books and then they send over their numbers to be reconciled with the big budget.” That was a simple way of breaking it down, but it worked.

“Yes.” Zach bobbed his head. “So, the department heads said they’d all balanced their budgets, but when I added up their numbers, it was off. I asked them to do it again, but they came back with the same numbers. I was still trying to track the source when this month’s numbers came in and they were even more off.”

“So, we’re talking close to a million dollars?”

“Well, six hundred grand.”

“That’s close to a million to us peasants,” I replied dryly.

He poked my side. “Don’t take it to a weird place.”

Because he seemed so frustrated, and because I wanted to help, I took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I can look for you.” I don’t know what possessed me to make the offer, but once it was out, it felt right.

“You can?” He seemed surprised but not unhappy.

“That is technically what I do.”

“I thought you were a crusader for the downtrodden now.”

I gave him a dirty look. “If you don’t want my help?—”

He cut me off with a shake of his head. “I want your help. I mean… I’m not always great with the numbers. I want to push this, but I can’t be certain I’m right.”

“And you don’t want to admit that to anybody but me,” I realized.

He was rueful. “You can’t make fun of me because then you’ll lose that sweet, sweet d?—”

I slapped my hand over his mouth before he could finish it out. “Don’t ruin the moment,” I chided.

The sparkle was back in his eyes, and even though I couldn’t see his mouth because of my hand, I knew he was smiling. “I’ll help you any way I can,” I promised. “You have to help me first, though. I’m terrible at this.”

He nudged my hand away from his mouth. “Do you want to know why you’re terrible at it?”

“No. I just want you to fix me.”

“Ah, Livvie, you don’t need to be fixed. You’re perfect the way you are. You don’t like that you can’t control exactly where the ball is going to go, though. You don’t adjust well. If your first shot is bad, you assume the hole is over. You don’t try to regroup and make it better. You just want to move and start over.”

It was an interesting observation. “I guess I kind of do live my life that way, don’t I?”

He nodded. “Yeah, but we’re going to work on that too.”

I sighed. “Just show me how to hit the ball from the tee again. I’m convinced there’s some trick I’m missing.”

“There’s not.”

“Show me. I won’t be content until I fail on my own a million times.”

“Yes, I’ve figured that out too.” He leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth. “You need to unclench.”

“I’m not exactly good at that,” I admitted.

“I have a few relaxation techniques we might be able to try at home if you’re interested.”

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