Running the Numbers

by Roxanne Smith

  Jackass. Quit looking at her mouth. He blinked rapidly, working himself out of the stupor with some effort.

  “Duncan is going to take you house hunting personally to make sure you find a home you’ll like. He wants you to be happy here. The suite is temporary, and as close to a ‘house’ as his secretary was able to manage. And if I know Nina—which I do—she did her very best.”

  The flush started at his neck and spread. Her total sincerity amplified his embarrassment. All the work and time he’d put into being a better man, only to still be an ass when it mattered. He mumbled his apology, even less substantial than the one he’d planned in the first place, and stepped away, head down.

  “Duncan will send one of the file clerks to pick you up Monday morning. They’ll take you to get your rental car. See you.” She stuck a hand out the window in farewell, and the truck roared away.

  Her ability to go from fake to sincere ruffled his feathers. Something about the stiffly polite act gave Blake the distinct impression he was being mocked. He watched her drive away and decided it was probably deserved.

  Chapter 2

  Sadie shook her head with reverence and poked at the dying fire. “You nailed it, Nina. Nailed it with the hammer of truth, forged by the gods on Mt. Seriously. This guy is so vanilla it hurts my teeth.”

  Vanilla with chocolate sprinkles, maybe, but she wouldn’t go any further than that. Yes, his eyes were stunning, and yes, they’d run over her like melted honey, and yes, she’d felt the heat down to her pink painted toes.

  Somehow, the heat in his gaze, the fire she probably only imagined, was in direct odds with Blake’s demeanor. Distant, bland, cut-off. Affectations or a personality defect?

  Nina made self-satisfied noises over the line. “Told you, honey. Stiff and formal, like I said.”

  “Yeah.” Disheartened, Sadie slid the metal poker into the holder and dropped into the overstuffed chair closest to the ambient warmth. September nights were tricky in the mountains, some cool, some fair, some touched with the chill of upcoming winter. “The thing is, Nina, I saw a spark. I swear I did, and not just due to his crazy impressive jawline and those devastating eyes, both of which I was unprepared for, despite your warnings.”

  “I tried.” Nina’s tone took on a hefty dose of doubt. “Look, hon, a few quips an interesting man doth not make.”

  “I know, but I think maybe a little digging could unearth a real gem.”

  “Sure, and I bet Amanda is a bucket full of clever conversation behind her blank stare.”

  Sadie huffed and burrowed deeper into her chair. “You’re probably right. Besides, we’ve already been over this. If I was into Blake—which I’m not, because he’s a class-A jerk—there’d have to be something diabolically wrong with him. Thanks, Nina. You really help me put things in perspective.”

  Sadie smiled as Nina practically purred. “What else are friends for, sweetheart?”

  * * * *

  Blake settled into his new desk. It didn’t feel like his yet, even with his sparse belongings decorating the surface. According to Kennedy, his inherited secretary who was weird and flirty and giddy in a way that gave Blake a headache, the previous auditor was an old man with something of a hoarding issue and rarely saw the pristine cherry finish of the fine wood desk.

  A photo of Seth sat in one corner of it now. In the other, Blake’s daily calendar and a small novelty canister painted to look like a red London telephone booth. A gift from Quinn after one of her return trips from London. She relocated there with Jack after they were married. Seth, too, although they’d all done their best to keep Blake involved in his life.

  Blake picked up the canister, popped off the top, and tilted it toward his cupped palm. His wedding band slid out.

  His first wedding band, specifically. Not the second one, from Kira. Or the third, from Emily.

  This one, the plainest and cheapest by far, Quinn had given him on their wedding day, purchased from the local Wal-Mart jewelry counter because they were young, fresh out of high school, and just starting out. This was before Blake’s success and client roster went to his head—and other regions—and before Quinn made it big selling her horror novels as Clementine Hazel.

  Of everything he’d come to regret, walking away from Quinn reigned at the top of his list.

  Three failed marriages. Only one that haunted him.

  A light knock on his frosted-glass door made him look up to catch Kennedy poking her head inside with a shy smile.

  “Hey, you. I thought maybe I should give you the tour. You came in so early this morning, no one was here to meet you.”

  He half expected her to follow it up with a bat of her lashes. He adjusted his tie—another gift from Quinn; another remnant of the past he clung to—and nodded for Kennedy to enter. She was right. He should meet his new coworkers, appease their curiosity, and get back to sorting through Henry Rupert’s mess. The desk might be clear, but his files were a wreck.

  Blake stood and rolled his shoulders. “I should’ve thought to introduce myself earlier.”

  “Oh, it’s fine.” This time she did bat her eyelashes, long false things curving severely over deep-set green eyes the color of an evergreen pine. Her long face was framed by golden corkscrew curls that grazed her shoulders. Not his type.

  Actually, he didn’t seem to have a type. All three of his wives had been drastically different. Quinn, the tall green-eyed blonde. Kira, with her black bob and arresting deep brown eyes. Finally, Emily, the plain Jane of the bunch. Thick, brown hair and identical-hued eyes.

  She and Quinn were unlikely sisters.

  But sisters they were. Marrying Emily was probably Blake’s second biggest regret. The only thing worse than screwing up his marriage with Quinn by having an affair had to be marrying her sister in some misguided attempt to make things right. Then again, perhaps marrying Kira, his mistress, ought to take the prize for the biggest mistake. Really, he could forget about having a list—he regretted each blunder with equal fervor.

  He pushed the dismaying thoughts aside and followed Kennedy into the main office area, where the desks came together in a haphazard fashion. The nameplates he’d read this morning now had faces to match.

  Pearl Harris, payroll clerk. No obvious relation to Opal Montgomery, the accounts receivable and payable clerk, whose desk sat adjacent. Pearl was in her sixties, at least, with tight, silvery purple curls worn close to her head. Opal was a black woman, close to Pearl in age, with a long ponytail of straight, glossy black hair and intense streaks of red highlights. They both looked at him, unsmiling, but turned friendly and accommodating at his polite introduction.

  Kennedy’s smile held a measure of pride, like she was showing off a model horse.

  A Latina woman with flawless caramel skin strode through the office on her way to the front foyer with a lilac-colored folder. She was tall and curvy, with straight light brown hair falling past narrow shoulders.

  “Catalina! One second.”

  The woman paused at Kennedy’s frantic wave.

  Kennedy indicated Blake with a showy motion. “This is Blake Cobb, our new audit director.”

  Blake offered Catalina a thin-lipped smile, hoping his embarrassment at the way Kennedy announced him like a local celebrity didn’t show on his face. “A pleasure.”

  Brisk, Catalina took his proffered hand and smiled knowingly. Her eyes were a lighter hazel than his; more brown than green, and softer. “Likewise.” In an undertone, she added, “You’ll get used to her.” She winked, cast a side glance at Kennedy, and resumed her hurried walk.

  Blake smiled and hoped she was right. If he couldn’t acclimate to his enthusiastic secretary, they’d have trouble. Catalina disappeared from sight.

  A second later, a different woman appeared. Pale blond hair, long, straight, and gossamer thin, brushed their tips near a trim, swaying waistline. She entered his field of vision like a mirage.

  The roiling sense of déj�
� vu threatened to suffocate him. At the same time, he had the odd sensation of floating.

  Quinn.

  She stood there with Kennedy, and her mossy green gaze zoomed in on Blake over a button nose and thin, wide lips.

  No, not Quinn. But close. Similar enough to make Blake’s skin tingle. First Sadie, the Kira doppelganger, and now this? Virtual look-alikes of his ex-wives were populating his new environment like vengeful poltergeists. Blake swallowed and loosened his tie a smidge, suddenly hot under the collar.

  I thought Hell is for the afterlife.

  Little differences began to stand out as he reflected on the woman’s dizzying appearance. Her style, in particular, lessened the likeness by a degree or two. Quinn didn’t really do skin-tight pantsuits that left little for him to guess in terms of measurements. Nor accessories so bright they made his eyes water. Blake pretended not to notice the Day-Glo purple heels that matched the large hoops in her ears, or the overly large rings glaring from every finger.

  “You’re our new auditor.” The words were crisp and direct. So like Quinn. They were accompanied by a halfhearted lip curl that might’ve been a smile.

  Blake tried not to stare, looking back and forth between the woman and Kennedy like he didn’t know where to rest his gaze. “That’s me. The new guy.” Idiot. “Nice to meet you.”

  Kennedy chewed the inside of her cheek as she glanced at the woman, then back to Blake. “New guy, this is Amanda Avery. She’s Mrs. Avery’s daughter”—here Blake caught a hint of defiant delight in Kennedy’s tone, as if Amanda being the boss’s daughter would put an end to his sudden and apparent fascination—“as well as head of bookkeeping.”

  “Lovely.” Blake felt like a dimwit the moment the word escaped, but Amanda seemed not to have noticed. In fact, she seemed rather blasé and distant. Busy, like Catalina, but not rushed.

  She offered him a final twist of her thin lips. Again, possibly a smile. “Likewise.” She strode away purposefully, leaving Blake staring after her like a dream he wanted to chase.

  Kennedy cleared her throat and spoke stiffly. Her friendly, flirty demeanor vanished. “You’ve met nearly everyone. Reba Garcia is our receptionist. Nina Walsh is Duncan’s secretary. We have two file clerks running around here somewhere. Xavier and Trish. Part-time, you won’t see them often. Lyle Thorp works over the hill, in the Idaho office. Mrs. Avery keeps her office at our Alpine branch.”

  She abruptly ceased talking. She paused and tilted her head like a dog might lift an ear to a whistle. Her brow creased in mock inquiry. “Do you hear that?”

  Voices. “Yeah…”

  Kennedy rolled her eyes in a self-deprecating manner, her friendliness returning. “I forgot someone, but here he comes now. And, if I’m not mistaken, they’re at it again. Meet Wes Black. Sadie’s nemesis.”

  The voices grew louder, and Sadie burst into the bookkeeping parlor behind a reedy, raven-haired man, shouting at his back. She clenched a stack of colorful file folders in one hand. The other gestured wildly. “You’re a thief, Wes. A slimy, underhanded thief.”

  Wes whipped around. His hair, long by typical office standards, was gelled back from a narrow forehead. “I haven’t taken the account, Sadie. I only asked Duncan to consider me. You’re not senior senior accountant, no matter how much you wish it was a legitimate job title. I’m as qualified as you are.”

  Sadie’s gaze narrowed. It pronounced her catlike features and prodded Blake into taking a closer look. She didn’t have the regal, high-born features Blake admired in Amanda. Sadie had something infinitely more cunning. It tugged at him and made him curious.

  “Don’t forget,” she growled at Wes, “I have the Kesh account. You’d think taking lead on the only billion dollar account in our entire firm would count for something.”

  Wes visibly calmed and held his palms up in supplication. “I’d be stupid not to ask for it, Sadie. I know you think I’m crap. I can tell by the way you shoot me down every chance you get. But I’m going to do my job, and if it means competing with you, so be it.” He turned on his heel, went behind the frosted glass door caddy corner from Blake’s, and slammed it shut.

  Kennedy blew out a plume of air. “Well, Sadie, that’s one way to say no to a date.”

  Sadie didn’t smile. She rolled her shoulders. “I’m having to get creative. The bastard won’t quit.”

  * * * *

  Sadie stood in her office doorway with crossed arms and watched Blake linger near Amanda’s desk, attempting conversation.

  He seemed different, talking to Amanda. Open, smiling, gabbing away. Why was he interested in Amanda, whose facial expressions ranged from vacant to slightly less vacant, while Sadie attracted losers and a weirdo like Wes? Wes, who wanted to steal the new million dollar Castley account from right under her, knowing full well Duncan had it slated for Sadie, and ask her to dinner at the same time.

  Behind her, Kennedy sat at Sadie’s desk, filing her nails again. “Why can’t I have a private office? Then I wouldn’t have to hide from Duncan all the time.”

  “Don’t you mean from Amanda and her bookkeeping minions?” Kennedy might sit clustered with the bookkeeping ladies, but she wasn’t part of the team. Pearl was friendly, Opal was clique-ish, and both adored Amanda to an unnatural degree.

  “I’d never hear the end of it if Pearl caught me tending my manicure, but you’ll never hear anyone utter a word when she slides her Sudoku puzzle onto her desk.” Kennedy huffed. “And it looks to me like Blake is about to become another Amanda Avery casualty.”

  Sadie couldn’t disagree. The two of them talked in quiet conference. Amanda wore a small smile, a nice change from her normal blank glare. “Have I told you how vanilla Blake is? Vanilla-flavored vanilla.”

  “About three times, yes.” Kennedy’s voice perked up with optimism. “But he’s still super hot.”

  Sadie was running thin on resistance to Blake. She’d spent about ten minutes chatting him up in the breakroom this morning. She sensed something more, something deeper, shimmering beneath his carefully cultivated exterior. She itched to scratch the surface. Which meant trouble, naturally. Best to talk herself out of her interest before it bloomed into infatuation. “Okay, but he’s also older than Nina made him out to be. At least forty.”

  Kennedy’s scoff rang through the room. “Your point? It’s all about the older, mature man these days. Brad Pitt and George Clooney are still at the top of their game, even with all these new youngsters showing up on the scene.”

  Sadie rolled her eyes, glad Kennedy couldn’t see her. “That’s outside the point. I’m saying, he’s exactly Amanda’s type, isn’t he? Quiet, boring, pleated.”

  “Pleated?”

  Sadie turned around to give her friend a pointed look. “You’re going to pretend you didn’t notice his pleated slacks?”

  Kennedy shrugged. “Whatever. Clothes aren’t static, Sadie. They change. Ha. Get it? Like, change clothes?” She paused in her filing to slap her knee.

  Sadie pursed her lips. “All the women in this firm, and I choose you for a best friend.”

  “I’d like to take credit, but even I can’t deny it is slim pickings around here.”

  Sadie turned her attention back to the bookkeeping parlor, where Blake was giving Amanda a shy little wave good-bye as he walked back toward his office. The other hand he kept demurely in the pocket of his oh-so-creased slacks.

  Even from across the room, past desks and lamps and bodies moving, Amanda’s uniquely expressionless face stood out like a splotch of gray in an otherwise colorful, vibrant world. Her outfit screamed, all right, but in agony. The neon purple made Sadie want to scrub her eyes with a Brillo pad. Not that Amanda wasn’t pretty. She was. A blah shade of blond hair, and eyes that Sadie was pretty sure were green, but might also be blue. Honestly, she couldn’t meet Amanda’s vague stare long enough to be sure. Amanda’s conversational skills began with the weather and ended with obvious observations, so the vac
ant expression wasn’t just an unfortunate physical attribute, like resting bitch face. It was more like a warning flag. Beware! Attempts to unearth anything resembling a personality will prove fruitless.

  Given all that, the way Blake was acting like a teenage girl at a boy band concert had Sadie mentally scratching her head. “Why do you think that is?”

  “Probably because you’re a little on the catty side. Honest, hardworking, dedicated, but definitely catty.”

  She’d hardly noticed she’d spoken out loud. Turning back to her friend, Sadie put her hands on her hips. “I’m not catty. I’m sassy, which is right up there with lip gloss in terms of necessities. No, I’m talking about Amanda. Why is Blake drawn to her? Why not me? Or you?”

  Kennedy harrumphed and brushed a runaway ringlet from her eyes. “Beats me. I’m the wrong shade of blond? I smiled, maybe, or gave some other indication I’m not a robot? He’s clearly into robots.”

  They held the same basic opinion of Amanda, but Sadie was better at keeping hers to herself. “I’m going to do some recon.”

  At this, Kennedy gave her a steady look, her head tilted slightly to one side. “What, exactly, are you investigating?”

  Fine question. With an answer Sadie didn’t want to share. Because, as she stood there watching super-starched too-serious Blake try to woo blank-faced Amanda, Sadie’s mind had wandered to the depressing list of her past relationships.

  Losers, users, abusers, the lot of them. Those were the men she attracted and who were attracted to her. What was she supposed to do? Were there request forms she could fill out and submit for a list of nice men? Hell, a boring guy would do. Then again, maybe she ignored and mocked boring men the way she ignored and mocked Amanda.

  What if, for once, Sadie didn’t wait for the next loser to find her but went out and made a little effort? What if she actively pursued a nice, boring man like Blake, instead of being a sitting duck for the next deadbeat to come along?