Page 13 of Megan's Mate
Megan let out a heartfelt sigh. A kindred spirit. “Awful.”
“Sloan wants you to relax,” Amanda began, then laughed when Megan rolled her eyes. “But what does he know? Come on.” Ready to oblige, she pushed back from the desk, skirted it. “You’re practically next door.” She led the way down the corridor to another thick, ornately carved door. “I think you’ve got just about everything you’ll need. But if we’ve missed something, let me know.”
Some women felt that frisson of excitement and anticipation on entering a department store. For some, that sensory click might occur at the smell of fresh paint or the glint of candlelight or the fizz of champagne just opened.
For Megan, it was the sight of a well-ordered office that caused that quick shiver of pleasure.
And here was everything she could have wanted.
The desk was glorious, gleaming Queen Anne, with a spotless rose-toned blotter and ebony desk set already in place. A multilined phone and a streamlined computer sat waiting.
She nearly purred.
There were wooden filing cabinets still smelling of lemon oil, their brass handles shining in the sunlight that poured through the many-paned windows. The Oriental rug picked up the hues of rose and slate blue in the upholstered chairs and love seat. There were shelves for her accounting books and ledgers, and a hunt table that held a coffeemaker, fax and personal copier.
Old-world charm and modern technology blended into tasteful efficiency.
“Mandy, it’s perfect.”
“I’d hoped you’d like it.” Fussing, Amanda straightened the blotter, shifted the stapler. “I can’t say I’m sorry to be handing over the books. It’s more than a full-time job. I’ve filed everything, invoices, expenses, credit card receipts, accounts payable, et cetera, by department.” She opened a file drawer to demonstrate.
Megan’s organized heart swelled at the sight of neatly color-coded file folders. Alphabetized, categorized, cross-referenced.
Glorious.
“Wonderful. Not a cigar box in sight.”
Amanda hesitated, and then threw back her head and laughed. “You’ve seen Holt and Nate’s accounting system, I take it.”
Amused, and comfortable with Amanda, Megan patted her briefcase. “Ihavetheir accounting system.” Unable to resist, she sat in the high-backed swivel chair. “Now this is more like it.” She took up a sharpened pencil, set it down again. “I don’t know how to thank you for letting me join the team.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re family. Besides, you may not be so grateful after a couple of weeks in chaos. I can’t tell you how many interruptions—” Amanda broke off when she heard her name bellowed. Her brow lifted. “See what I mean?” She swung to the door to answer her husband’s shout. “In here, O’Riley.” She shook her head as Sloan and Trent trooped up to the door. Both of them were covered with dust. “I thought you were breaking down a wall or something.”
“We were. Had some more old furniture to haul out of the way. And look what we found.”
She examined what he held in his hands. “A moldy old book. That’s wonderful, honey. Now why don’t you and Trent go play construction?”
“Not just a book,” Trent announced. “Fergus’s account book. For the year of 1913.”
“Oh.” Amanda’s heart gave one hard thud as she grabbed for the book.
Curiosity piqued, Megan rose to join them in the doorway. “Is it important?”
“It’s the year Bianca died.” Sloan laid a comforting hand on Amanda’s shoulder. “You know the story, Meg. How Bianca was trapped in a loveless, abusive marriage. She met Christian Bradford, fell in love. She decided to take the children and leave Fergus, but he found out. They argued up in the tower. She fell through the window.”
“And he destroyed everything that belonged to her.” Amanda’s voice tightened, shook. “Everything—her clothes, her small treasures, her pictures. Everything but the emeralds. Because she’d hidden those. Now we have them, and the portrait Christian had painted. That’s all we have of her.” She let out a long breath. “I suppose it’s fitting that we should have this of his. A ledger of profit and loss.”
“Looks like he wrote in the margins here and there.” Trent reached over to flip a page open. “Sort of an abbreviated journal.”
Amanda frowned and read a portion of the cramped handwriting aloud.
“Too much waste in kitchen. Fired cook. B. too soft on staff. Purchased new cuff links. Diamond. Good choice for opera tonight. Showier than J. P. Getty’s.”
She let out a huff of breath. “It shows just what kind of man he was, doesn’t it?”
“Darling, I wouldn’t have brought it out if I’d known it would bother you.”
Amanda shook her head. “No, the family will want it.” But she set it down, because her fingers felt coated with more than dust and mold. “I was just showing Megan her new domain.”
