Page 33 of Lovesick
By some miracle, I could potentially move this work to my own cabin where I could control the environment a bit more. I hadn’t seen said cabin yet, for obvious reasons. Because I was secretly terrified of what I’d find.
“This table is good for now,” I said. While I set up my laptop, plugged it in, and booted it, Mark stood behind his desk and stared at the mess with a furrowed brow. He nudged a towering pile of papers with his toe and a hearty dose of what appeared to be fear.
“Ah, my questions shouldn’t take long,” I said. “I’d love to nail down your expectations for my work.”
“Right. Sure.” He gestured to the mess. “This is a good chunk of the paperwork that we need organized and put in the cloud, or whatever.”
I eyed it warily. “A good chunk?”
“The rest of it is boxed in the spare bedroom. Probably under the cot you slept on.”
“And how many boxes are there to go through?”
“Dunno.”
“How will I know which ones?”
“Just look through them. If there’s paperwork, go through it.”
“Okay.”
My brain almost malfunctioned. Knowing the Bailey boys as I did now, anything could be in those boxes. I’d have to deal with that later. What if it was personal in nature? What if it was alive—or had been once? I shook my head to clear my thoughts.
“Is this your first priority?” I asked.
“I mean ... you could start the website whenever you want.” He shrugged. “We’ll probably need that completed before we can build the investor dashboard. However, we could really use some space around here.”
“Website. Right. I almost forgot. What’s the URL again?”
“For which one?”
Which one? He hadn’t mentioned multiple existing ones.
“Adventura?”
“Oh, that’s just a page on a social media site. We’ll need to amp that up. Actually, we may have a Wordpass domain.”
“Self-hosted?”
He blinked. “Uh...”
I waved a hand. “Never mind that. What’s the URL?”
“I can’t remember off the top of my head. Should be in the paperwork.”
He couldn’t remember his own website?
“What paperwork?” I asked.
He gestured at the desk with two hands. “That paperwork.”
My fingers stiffened on the keyboard. He wanted websites created, I had no idea if he even had a domain, and I was facing years’ worth of paperwork shoved into haphazard piles.Somewhere in said paperwork lurked the most basic answers. Answers that he didn’t keep in his supposedly brilliant mind.
“Oh.”
His phone rang, startling me. “Oh, gotta take this.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Good luck, Lizbeth. Wi-Fi is pretty solid unless there’s a storm. Not sure where the password is, but it’s on the desk.”
“Wait!” I called after him. “What’s your priority? Where do you want me to start?”
