Counting on Love

by R L Burgess

  “Yeah.” She stepped back over to the mirror, adjusting her hair clip. “How annoying am I?”

  “Well, sometimes a bit annoying…” Mel smirked at her through the mirror. “Hey, shall we finish off the pamphlet for your seminar program after work tonight? I want to get it done before the next round starts. We could squeeze it in before dinner with the girls?”

  Zoe checked her watch. “Damn,” she muttered, surprised to see that it was already three o’clock. “I’d better motor if there is going to be an ‘after work’ today. But yes, that would be good.”

  At seven o’clock Zoe and Mel were still hunkered down in Zoe’s cubicle, making their way through a large plunger of coffee and a comprehensive review of the marketing material for the community financial wellness seminars Zoe had been running. Earlier in the year she had completed an online Diploma in Financial Counselling, qualifying her to provide emotional and practical support to people experiencing financial difficulty. It had been Mel’s idea. Hearing that Zoe was no longer entirely content with helping the rich get richer, Mel suggested she learn how to help the poor get richer too.

  Zoe had seized on the idea, researching on the Internet until she had found the right course. Combined with her masters in accounting she was perfectly set to design her own seminar series, covering the basics of the emotional and intellectual demands of managing one’s finances, including budgeting, getting out of debt, and planning for the future. She was running the sessions on Monday evenings from the office after some manipulation of Thomus.

  Naturally, he hadn’t been keen to support her idea, but Mel (to the rescue again) had convinced him that with the marketing department on board, they could really drive home a community service message that would look good for the company, and which would simultaneously enhance his own image. He had begrudgingly allowed her to proceed, as long as it didn’t encroach on her regular duties, of course. She had approached the local municipal council and struck a deal. They were pleased to be able to offer a free seminar series on such an important issue in conjunction with Azoulay House, agreeing to run advertisements in the local paper and manage enrolments, with Azoulay House supplying the venue and the course. Zoe had been ecstatic when fifteen people had shown up to her first Monday evening seminar. In a show of moral support, Mel had been attending too.

  “Do you think management even knows we’re doing this?” Zoe wondered, stretching out her shoulders and giving a wide yawn. She gazed at the complex graphic design program Mel was expertly manoeuvring on the computer screen.

  “If by management, you mean Reyna, then yes, for sure. I’d say she knows most everything that happens in her own firm.” Mel looked straight at Zoe, her normally clear blue eyes suddenly pensive. “God, you really have it bad for her, don’t you?”

  “I do not,” Zoe said primly.

  “Whatever.” Mel shook her head and changed the subject. “I think we’re good. We’ve got a full suite of marketing collateral to capture the essence of what you’re doing. I’ll run some of the posters off on the printer downstairs and you can take them to council tomorrow morning on your way to work.”

  “Yeah and I can see how many have signed up for the new series next week.” Zoe stood and stretched, wriggling her hips. “I think my bum’s gone to sleep. What time is it?”

  Mel checked her watch. “Holy shit, it’s after seven. We were supposed to meet the girls half an hour ago.”

  Zoe shrugged. “So we’ll be late. We’re always late.” She reached over to save their document and then flicked off the screen. “If we leave now we’ll make it in time for dessert.”

  Three cheerful faces, flushed with cheap wine and good spaghetti, greeted them as they walked through the door at La Travoletta.

  “You’re late,” Enid said, pointing at her watch. “If we’ve told you once, we’ve told you a thousand times, dinner is at seven.”

  “We ate without you,” Chiara chimed in.

  Travis said hi and pulled out a couple of chairs. “Sit,” he gestured.

  “Let me guess,” Enid said, pouring out two generous glasses of red wine and handing them across the table. “Working late?”

  “Yep.” Zoe took a gulp of the wine and grimaced as the vinegary liquid made her mouth pucker.

  They had never really graduated from cheap wine after their university days, everyone agreeing they had more or less developed a taste for it, so why waste money on the expensive stuff. Sometimes, though, she thought they could afford to lift the bar a little higher. Chiara slid a slice of pizza on to each of their plates and Zoe tucked in. She was ravenous. “Mel had a new proposal for the marketing material for my seminars,” she mumbled through a mouthful of pizza.

  “You what?” Chiara asked, her face confused. “That sounded like you said Mel proposed to you.”

  “She wishes. I was helping her with the seminar stuff,” Mel explained. “Now that she’s run a couple of sessions, we wanted to put together some proper collateral so we can advertise it more widely.”

  Zoe actually felt excited as she and Mel explained exactly what was planned out for the sessions. This program had brought a new element of inspiration into her daily grind. She loved her job, but she had also found herself searching for something more. At the end of the day her work revolved around helping people make money, which was fine, but she was enjoying bringing that skill to regular people as well, not just big business. The corporate world had a tendency to be a bit soulless, so it was refreshing to feel like she was also helping normal, day-to-day people.

  She knew her friends found it hard to understand, but Zoe truly loved working as a financial adviser. She loved the puzzle of making the numbers fit together, the excitement of following trails of figures to an answer that was often surprising. Sometimes she felt like a detective, deciphering clues, unearthing missing numbers, and then solving difficult financial problems.

  Her friends thought her job was dry and boring. Travis had once described it as “sitting around with a calculator,” but for Zoe, it was far more than that. Her solutions had allowed clients to prosper and make the most out of their innovative ideas. What she loved the most was working with clients who were trying to achieve exciting outcomes, like breakthroughs in health care, technological developments, and enhancements in community development. She loved helping businesses manage their finances, so that they could really focus on their creative development.

  “Well, I never thought I’d say this,” Enid said, tucking a strand of her golden hair behind her ear. “Your program actually sounds interesting! I think even I would like to come along, and I hate talking about money.”

  “But that’s the whole point,” Zoe exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. “I want to help people overcome their financial fears and see it as a tool so they can get on with their lives.”

  “Yeah,” Mel said seriously. “It seems like half the battle is won just by taking the fear out of it.”

  “Count us in,” Chiara said, giving Travis a gentle poke in the ribs. “We could use a little help in that department.”

  Travis sat up straight, knocking his knees under the table. Next to the petite Chiara with her lithe, dancer’s body, he looked like a gangly beanpole. “We’ll definitely be there. If we’re ever going to get a house deposit saved, we could really use some advice.”

  Zoe beamed at her friends. It had taken forever for Travis and Chiara to admit their feelings for each other, and it still filled her with joy to see them so happy together.

  “Careful,” Mel warned. “Zoe will give you too much advice if you let her. She’ll probably start with, ‘if you’re trying to save for a house deposit, don’t waste all your money on cheap booze and eating out at restaurants with your friends.’ At least that’s what she told me.”

  “It’s probably true,” Travis mused. “Ah well, you can’t win ’em all. So, what does the esteemed Thom-arse think about it all?”

  “Actually, he hasn’t mentioned it since he authorised it. It�
�s entirely possible that he has forgotten about it. The only time I’ve mentioned it to him was when he approved it, and that was after Friday drinks when he definitely had more than a couple of champagnes in him.”

  “Speaking of, who wants a top up?” Enid waved the bottle. “We’ve got another one of these to get through people, so drink up.”

  “Me, please,” Mel said, passing her glass over the table. “And can we order dessert now? I want ice cream.”

  “We all ready for the Tough Mudder run next weekend?” Enid asked.

  Travis groaned. “My hamstring is still playing up.”

  “We’ll carry you through Trav,” Mel said. “We can give you a chair lift if your hammy gives out. Or Chiara can throw you over her shoulder, fireman style, and run you through to the finish line.”

  Zoe grinned, enjoying the mental image of Chiara powering for the finish line with a lanky Travis draped across her. People always underestimated Chiara’s strength because she was so slight, but as a professional dancer her muscles were phenomenal and Zoe knew she could outmatch any of them in the strength department.

  “Would you do that for me, babe?” Travis asked, and Chiara kissed him on the nose in answer.

  “These events are definitely not as easy as they were back when we were at uni,” Zoe said.

  “Easy for you to say,” Mel replied. “You’re still running almost every day. The only place I’m running to is flab town.” She poked at her nonexistent belly.

  “Get out, Mel,” Enid said. “You haven’t got an ounce of flab on you.”

  “Maybe you could do a little less wining and dining,” Zoe teased.

  “Actually, Zoe.” Chiara drew out the words, a shy smile breaking over her face. “Speaking of wining and dining. Did you get my message about Petra?”

  Zoe fiddled with her wineglass. “I did.”

  “No response?”

  She took a slow sip of the Burgundy and straightened the napkin in front of her. “Not really.”

  “She really wants to meet you! Trust me, you’ll love her.”

  “Yeah,” Travis agreed, nodding so enthusiastically he reminded her of one of those bobbing dogs on a car dashboard. “She’s smoking hot too. Not as smoking as you, babe,” he added quickly, dropping a kiss on Chiara’s cheek.

  “She sounds great,” Zoe replied, trying to appear casual. “I just, well, I’m pretty busy with work at the moment.”

  “You are not,” Mel chimed in.

  Enid smirked. “You can’t use that excuse. Work is the whole reason we’re trying to set you up with someone. It’s time you blew out the Reyna flame and got yourself a real lover.”

  “There is no Reyna flame,” she said quickly, feeling her cheeks redden.

  “Yes, and there is no wine in your glass,” Enid countered. “And there’s no food on this table, and no people in the restaurant either. Are we talking opposites?”

  Chiara smiled gently at Zoe, her dark eyes warm with understanding. “We’re not asking you to marry Petra, just have a drink? If you don’t hit it off, there will be no hard feelings. If you do… Well, we can cross that bridge if you come to it.”

  “Can I think about it?”

  “I wouldn’t advise it,” Enid said. “Thinking seems to be the problem here. I suggest we just say yes and get it over with.”

  “It’s not exactly ‘we,’ though, is it?” Zoe huffed. “I’m the one who has to go on the potentially awkward date.”

  “Yes, but we will live every moment of it with you before and afterward, so you’re really only on your own for an hour or so. Come on, Zoe. You haven’t been out on a date in forever,” Mel said.

  She sighed. Her friends had been steadily trying to set her up with an array of different women for the last year. They claimed they were tired of her crush on Reyna, but Zoe didn’t think things were that bad. It was just a harmless crush, and she knew it would never come to anything. She was certainly never tempted to try and act on her feelings. Reyna was about as attainable as a casual holiday to the moon. But by the same token she was wary of her friends’ setups. They meant well, but things had turned out extremely awkwardly more than a few times. Zoe could laugh about it all afterward, but it was painful to live through in the moment. She had considered Internet dating but had never had the heart to finish setting up a profile. Better to just leave it and wait for things to happen naturally. Surely she would bump into someone in a bar or a bookstore one day and sparks would fly, just the way it worked for normal people.

  “I’ll think about it.” She jutted out her chin stubbornly. “I actually do have quite a bit on at the moment with work and the new seminar program. It just might not be the best time.”

  “No time like the present,” Mel sang, signalling the waiter over to order. “Book it in, Chiara.”

  “Done.” Chiara waved her phone. “I sent her a message while we were talking. She’ll come for drinks Sunday night.”

  “Wait, but I—”

  “Dessert?” the waiter asked, leaning on the back of Zoe’s chair.

  “Yes please. The usual everyone?” Mel looked around the group.

  Everyone nodded, including Zoe, who had the feeling she had just been completely railroaded.

  Chapter Four

  Reyna (Friday p.m.)

  Reyna watched Thomus jiggling his foot as he tilted back in the chair across from her. Clearly their conversation was making him agitated.

  She chose her words carefully. “I’ve given you a lot of leeway Thomus. But it’s important to me that you understand the difference between being supported and taking advantage.”

  “I should hope you know that I do,” he replied peevishly, flicking an imaginary piece of fluff from his pant leg. “I don’t know what I’ve done to receive this kind of attention.”

  “Perhaps it’s more about what you haven’t done. I see you leaning heavily on your team.”

  “It’s good for them to step up.”

  “Yes, but again, there’s a difference between stepping up, and being stepped on. As their manager you need to give them credit for their work, guide their hands, contribute your own knowledge.” She took a deep breath and went on, “I know that since Dave died you’ve had your share of struggles, and if there is anything I can do to help you I will, but I won’t let you take liberties with your team. That wouldn’t be fair on them or you. We’ve worked together for a long time and I know you’re better than this.”

  Thomus set his lips in a grim line, swallowing hard as he looked at his hands. “I’m trying,” he said finally. “I just can’t seem to make myself care about anything.”

  “Fair enough.” Reyna decided to be straight with Thomus. “But what should I do in the meantime? Here I am with a manager who doesn’t care and it’s affecting his decision-making. You’re making yourself, and me, look bad, incompetent in fact.”

  He shook his head and met her gaze, flinching a little. The bags under his eyes betrayed the sleepless nights and daily struggle he still had, dealing with his partner’s death.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, uncharacteristically quietly. “I don’t mean to let you down.”

  “I know that. The problem is you’re letting yourself down. You won’t want to stay at Azoulay House forever Thomus, and god knows the financial world is a den of gossip. If you develop a bad reputation amongst the staff here, it will follow you around wherever you go. And then it won’t matter how brilliant I know you to be, people won’t want to work with you. I’m already hearing murmurs.”

  He sat up. “What kind of murmurs.”

  “Speculation. People wondering why I keep you on.”

  His cheeks flushed hotly. “If you want me to leave—”

  She cut him off. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m trying to tell you that I know you, but I’m not the only person who counts. You need to pull it together. I get that nothing can erase the incredible pain you feel about losing Dave. I get that life just feels like a terrible slog that you have to
somehow make your way through, believe me, I do. But we need to make a change here or you’ll do your career a permanent damage. Are you still seeing the counsellor?” She asked, changing tack.

  He shook his head.

  “Time to go back?” Reyna suggested, gently.

  He blew out a sigh. “Maybe.”

  “I’m asking you to. As your boss,” she added for good measure. She just hoped she was getting through to him.

  “Okay, okay.”

  “Good. We’ll catch up again next week. I know it’s been a hard few years Thomus,” Reyna said, her voice soft with understanding. “But you will get through this.”

  He cleared his throat and rubbed his chin, ducking his head in a nod. His normal bravado had all but gone and he looked unbearably vulnerable. As frustrated as she was by his behaviour, her heart did go out to him. Understandably, his partner’s sudden and unexpected death of a heart attack had left Thomus shattered. But the lack of a will, the mountains of debt and the refusal of Dave’s family to recognise their relationship at the funeral had compounded his loss, leaving him angry, bereft, and financially burdened. A few years back he had been a charismatic and intelligent manager, just shy of arrogant as he strode about the office at the top of his game, but nothing Reyna couldn’t handle. His decline over the last few years had her wondering how much longer she would be able to keep him on.

  “Next week then,” Reyna said, closing her notebook. She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “Call your counsellor.”

  “Gather round people,” Reyna called, tapping a teaspoon against her glass to get the group’s attention.

  Their monthly Friday afternoon drinks had a tendency to get a little rowdy. As much as Reyna was not a fan of socialising at work, she had instigated this ritual as an opportunity to give back to the staff and build morale. Over the last few years it had become an institution in itself, with staff rating it as a high priority. IT had even set up a video link so that all four national sites were now connected for the monthly catch-up. Reyna made a point to use the opportunity to praise the firm’s hard workers and set the bar for those who could afford to push a little harder. She had even begun handing out a monthly “innovation” award. The accompanying dinner-for-two voucher at an upmarket restaurant had become its own motivational factor for the more competitive staff.