Page 105 of Perfect Assumption
Before I respond, I save the database, email it to myself, and erase it from Ward’s drive. “Why don’t you show me instead?”
He yelps, “What the hell did you just do?”
“What? You didn’t think I was going to let you keep a hold of that data to eviscerate David, did you? I’ll present the information to Carys tomorrow as a discrepancy. This way, we won’t have ‘World Ward III’ at the office.” I air quote the play on his name.
Ward grumbles under his breath. I think I hear “punk” and “payback,” but I close the laptop lid before tugging my sweater over my head. His eyes grow round when he realizes I only have on a lacy bra beneath the heavy sweater.
He topples me onto my back. “You do realize I was complaining about David, right? You’re…”
“I’m what?”
“Everything, Angel. You are my everything.” Then Ward lowers his head and kisses me.
Soon contracts, databases, and even the fact we’re speeding through the night air is soon forgotten as love is remembered.
* * *
Carys’s face,red with fury from male duplicity and incompetency moments before, is having a hard time not laughing when I tell her about how I deleted the database in front of Ward on the flight home last night. Her shoulders shake as she whispers, “No more, Angie. I’m going to laugh in their faces instead of yelling at both of them.”
“It was brilliant, Carys. Here he was, all ready to say ‘nanny-nanny-poo-poo on you’ to David.”
Her first snicker escapes.
“But no. Erase.”
“Oh God. You didn’t just delete the file? You erased it?” She slaps the conference room table with her folio in an effort to mask her chortles.
“I don’t even think he knows the difference between the two. But getting him to promise to adhere to the rules was the real coup.”
“And not because you’re together?” Carys plucks the words from my mind.
“Exactly. Look at this.” I spin my laptop around.
Her jaw drops. “Three meetings this morning that he’s copied you on. My God, if he keeps this up and stops doing my husband’s homework, it will be a Christmas miracle.”
“Hallelujah!” I shout.
And we’re done.
Within thirty seconds, there’s a knock on the door. David pops his head in. “What’s so funny in here?”
“Your end-of-the-year bonus. Get. Out,” Carys growls the minute she spots her husband.
A very smart man, he reads his wife’s mood accurately. David doesn’t say another word before backing out and closing the door with a snap.
“Now, Angie, since you were the one who so brilliantly pieced this together, what should their punishment be? Because despite how funny it ended up, we could have ended up with some serious problems.” Carys sobers up.
She’s not wrong. We don’t need a reputation for erroneously billing clients, especially the kind of clients we deal with day in and day out.
I’m debating a few ideas in my mind that will keep both David and Ward out of my meticulous filing and bookkeeping when the door flies open unexpectedly. “Ho, ho, ho, darlings. Who else is getting in the holiday spirit?” Becks proclaims. He’s wearing a Santa suit fit so well, there can’t be a single stitch beneath it.
I drawl, “I can just imagine the headlines tomorrow. ‘Who wants to sit on this Santa’s lap?’”
“Are you volunteering, Angie?”
“Fuck you, Becks” is yelled by Ward from the vicinity of David’s desk.
And then Carys announces, “Ward, David, we’re ready for you both now.”
