Page 7 of Devilish Bully
Spoiler alert: It hasn’t.
Double spoiler alert: I’m still not finished.
My stomach twists as I punch the numbers again and again, my calculator blinking the same impossible result. Three million. Gone. It’s too neat, too precise to be a simple mistake—tiny withdrawals that add up to a perfect, impossible number. Three million dollars unaccounted for.
For a billion-dollar company, it’s nothing. But for me? It’s a boulder on my chest. Accounting is supposed to be my thing—my passion, my precision—and I can’t let this go.
Mindy
I’ve got snacks on snacks on snacks! Are you coming back to join the team for audit check tonight?
No, I can’t leave Myra overnight so I’ll work from home. Call me whenever you need help with something.
Will do! PS—Don’t forget to fill out that survey. The board is threatening to deduct $50 off your next check for whoever doesn’t. O_o #hellonearth
I tiptoe past Myra’s room, listening for her steady breathing before I twist open a bottle of tequila. The cap pops sharp in the quiet, and I pour myself a glass with a hand that isn’t as steady as it should be. Maybe if I drink enough, the numbers will finally add up.
By the time I’m halfway through recalculating travel expenses, my inbox pings.
Subject: Rough Reminder. Quarterly Report
Of course.
Against my better judgment, I open it.
Miss Clarke,
I could’ve sworn I marked this report as being due this morning.
Have you died? Do I need to make funeral arrangements?
—Lucian Pearson
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, rolling my eyes as I type out a blistering response. Delete. Redraft. Delete again. A few sips of tequila later, I finally manage something with no F-bombs.
Good evening, Mr. Pearson,
No, I have not passed away, and I doubt you would care if I did…
Nonetheless, this was a very tight deadline for this big of a project, and I mentioned to my supervisor that I needed more time.
Thank you for understanding.
—Kendall Clarke
His reply lands before I can even take another sip.
Miss Clarke,
Iwouldcare if you passed away.
I would also show up to your funeral in hopes that you left some of your finished work with one of your family members.
The quarterly report needs to be in my inbox by midnight.
No more extensions.
I never said I “understood.”
