Finding Faith

by B. E. Baker

  “Bizarre. Although you are her rising star. Probably just another client that asked for you specifically. If she's giving you more work, I know it goes against every part of your character, but you need to demand a raise. You already work harder than everyone else in that stupid office.”

  I wish. “No way is she calling me over to give me a raise. In any case, I have forty-five minutes until I'm supposed to arrive, and it's fifteen minutes to get to my house for a change of clothes. Bentleys is a solid twenty minutes away from home. I'm sorry to ditch you, but I better run.”

  “I have a cocktail dress in my trunk. If you ask nicely, I might be persuaded to share.”

  I raise one eyebrow. “Do I even want to know why you have a dress in the back of your car?”

  She grins. “I'm single, and I like to be prepared. You never know where the night may lead.”

  I always know where mine will go. My nights beeline toward a TV dinner in front of an episode of Gilmore Girls. But that’s kind of pathetic. I should have a cocktail dress in my trunk. I should be spontaneous and fun.

  “I'm single too,” I say, “and the only thing in my trunk is dust bunnies, hiding amidst old tax files.”

  “You want the dress, or not?” she asks.

  “I might. Lemme see it.” I follow her out to her car.

  She lifts the trunk and slides a black bag out. She pulls the zipper down to reveal a blood red sheath dress with black piping. I gasp. “Yes, I'd love to wear that, but I doubt it'll fit me.”

  Paisley eats like a bird and it shows, but one quick try on won't hurt. If by some miracle it fits, I'll spare myself a lot of anxiety about traffic and changing in time to reach Bentleys.

  Paisley snorts. “It'll look better on you than on me I imagine, especially with your coloring. I mean come on, this vibrant red with your blonde hair and hazel eyes? Not to mention your golden tan. Remind me why we're friends again?”

  I don't bother correcting her, but my skin isn't actually tanned. My dad's half Italian, so my skin's darker than your average white person.

  I roll my eyes. “Obviously I've been using you this whole time for the day I would need a cocktail dress with no notice.”

  I leave the conference room and walk around the corner to try on the dress in my office. Paisley stands guard by my door just in case. It's late enough that everyone who normally works here is gone, but I'm not taking any chances on janitorial staff. The dress is red satin, with panels that alternate between shiny and matte in vertical stripes. It's a little snug, which means it shoves my chest up near my collarbones.

  “I don't think I can go out in public looking like this.”

  “You have to at least show me,” Paisley whines. “Come on, lemme see it. I have no exciting news, so I need to live vicariously.”

  I step out of my office.

  Paisley whistles and claps. “If you were going on a date instead of to meet our boss, I’d totally force you to wear that. Since it’s just a work thing, it's your call. You're welcome to borrow it as long as you dry-clean it afterward.”

  I bite my lip while I think about it. “It will be way easier than trying to drive home first, so I’ll borrow it if you’re sure it’s okay.”

  She nods. “Totally fine.”

  “Thanks.” I slide into my boring black pumps and grab my purse. “Actually, I should probably use the time I’m saving to help you finalize the nominee list.”

  Paisley shrugs. “I can finish the last few up here, no problem. Order the most expensive thing on the menu. Frank & Meacham owes you a nice meal for coming in on no notice, and late at night. Not during tax season.” She scowls. “Those guys abuse your work ethic.”

  “I’ll order the lobster and the steak.”

  “Oh man, then bring me leftovers. And to pay me back for the loan, text me and let me know what's going on. I love firm gossip.”

  “Will do.” I pull my light brown leather jacket on over the stunning red dress, and walk out the door.

  I run through a list of things Shauna might need to tell me. It can't be a promotion, because I'm a senior associate, which means she's got the only position above mine. I can't imagine she'd fire me. My hands shake. Could she be transferring me? There's a rumor going around that the London office is struggling. I can't leave my baby sister Trudy here in Atlanta alone, and she'd never follow me to London. If that's it, I'll have to tell her no. Can I tell her no?

  I'm deep in thought, and only a few steps away from the comfort of my Honda Accord when I bump into someone.

  My heart accelerates and I stumble backward, blinking my eyes in the cold air to help focus them. Strong hands wrap around my upper arms, steadying me. “Mary?”

  I look up into the face of my ex-fiancé, Foster Bradshaw. He looks every bit as aristocratic and perfect as ever. I shouldn't be surprised to see him here, since he runs United Way's Atlanta office, but he's not usually here after hours. His dark hair falls softly over his forehead and ears. His deep blue sweater exactly matches his eyes. He knows it, too. With Foster, nothing is ever a coincidence.

  “I'm so sorry, Foster. I didn't see you.”

  “Obviously.” The humor in his tone rubs me the wrong way, or maybe it's my body's reaction to his cologne that makes me cranky. “Do you have a few minutes to spare? I need to talk to you about something.”

  Get in line, buddy. “Sorry, I don't actually. I just got a call from my other boss, the one who pays my bills. I've gotta run.”

  “Always working, even after tax season has ended. Typical Mary. Well, don't let me stop you, but I'd love to touch base sometime in the next few days before things get crazy.” He releases me and steps back. “Be careful. It's icy out there.”

  I practically sprint to my car. Whatever my boss has to say, it can't be worse than spending another second with Foster.

  Chapter 2

  Traffic is light this late in the evening and I arrive more than twenty minutes early. I slide a little on a patch of ice behind a Range Rover, but this isn't my first winter here. I regain my balance and head toward the doors. The enormous pine bough wreaths create a festive atmosphere, especially in conjunction with the white twinkle lights. When the greeters open the door, holly bushes in enormous, rough-hewn pots sitting on either side of the double door entrance come into view.

  “I'm meeting my boss. Reservation for Shauna? Eight p.m.”

  “It's only seven-forty, and you're the first to arrive. You could wait at the bar until your party is here,” the perky hostess suggests.

  I hate that they always say my “party,” like people with balloons and cake and presents are on their way. How about, wait until your people have arrived?

  I climb up on a barstool and whip out my phone to text Paisley.

  MADE IT. SHAUNA NOT HERE YET. THANKS AGAIN.

  I check my email too, since I'm waiting anyway. The IRS finally responded on our request for a private letter ruling. I'm downloading it when the bartender asks for my drink order.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he says.

  I don't bother looking up. The bartender's got a very light Australian accent, but the letter ruling popped up on my screen and it looks like good news for my client. “No thanks. I don't drink.”

  “Wow, you didn't even look at my face before shutting me down. That's a new low.”

  I glance up from my screen, and realize the offer came from the barstool next to me, not from behind the bar. The man smiling at me has light bluish grey eyes, and short, caramel hair with a hint of grey at the temples. His grey polo shirt stretches tight across his chest, the sleeves barely containing his biceps. Which I should not be staring at. Dressed that casually, he's either out of his element here, or he's so stinking rich he doesn't care what anyone thinks. Based on the heft of his biceps, I'd say out of his element. In my experience, very few wealthy men bother working out consistently enough to bulk up. Certainly Foster and his buddies didn’t.

  My eyes dart back up to his face, and I blush. “I'm
so sorry. I thought you were doing your job.”

  He lifts his eyebrows. “Doing my job? Rejected and insulted in two sentences, even after you took a moment to check me out. I guess that means I have an unattractive voice and a smarmy look.”

  I roll my eyes. “You're Aussie, right? I'm guessing you get a lot of mileage out of that voice.”

  “I've been here for fifteen years, now. Most Americans don't recognize it anymore.”

  “Maybe I can pick it up because I've been to Sydney,” I say. “I loved it.”

  “It's been a decade since my last visit, but it is a beautiful city.”

  “In any case, I apologize. I thought you were the bartender asking for my drink order.”

  “Now that you know I'm not, does that change your mind?” He chuckles. “Any interest in a free drink from me?”

  “Sorry, I don't drink alcohol. Never have,” I say.

  “Never have? So you're not in AA, then. Are you Mormon or something?”

  I raise one eyebrow. “If I was ever in AA, I certainly wouldn't tell you, and if I was Mormon I wouldn't talk about anything else. For me, it's neither of those things. Actually, my dad should've been in AA and never joined up. Thanks to his shining example, alcohol never held any charm for me.” I glance behind him at the door.

  “You're waiting for someone. I get it.”

  “What makes you think I'm waiting for someone?” I ask.

  He glances down. “Other than the toe tapping, the purposeful glances at the door, and the phenomenal dress?”

  I suppress a smile. “Yes, other than those things.”

  “Most people who are looking to meet new people in a restaurant bar make eye contact, and you were clearly engrossed in your Facebook post until I propositioned you.”

  I huff. “I don't even have a Facebook account. I was replying to a client.”

  “Ah, a working woman, maybe even a boss lady. Now I'm even more devastated you shut me down. Twice.”

  I can't quite contain my smile this time. “Fine. It's not very festive, but I'll take a virgin piña colada.”

  “A milkshake with a twist for a woman of refined tastes. I like it.” He holds up two fingers to the bartender and tells him our order. “Virgin piña colada and Scotch on the rocks with peppermint.”

  “Peppermint?” I ask.

  He taps the bar. “It's festive, right? So tell me, what's your name?”

  “Mary. Which is a festive name, now that I think about it.”

  He chuckles. “And who are you waiting for? A shepherd? An angel? Someone named Joseph? Please tell me you're not also looking for a hotel, because that would be too obvious.” His eyes sparkle as he shifts sideways, one arm up on the wooden bar.

  “How about you?” I ask. “You're at a nice steakhouse, clearly killing time for a bit. You must be waiting for someone, too.”

  He grins. “My cousin-in-law's running late, but even if he wasn't, he wouldn't mind being left alone for a minute, not once he saw who I was talking to.”

  Oh please. Let him chew on this one. “I'm meeting a woman.”

  His eyebrows rise. “In that dress? So I'm seriously barking up the wrong tree, huh?”

  I purse my lips and watch him squirm for a moment before saying, “She's my boss.”

  “Mary?” Shauna's high, clear voice carries from the hostess stand. “Are you ready?”

  “She looks tough. Cracks the whip, huh?” he says. “Before you go, I'd love your phone number, Virgin Piña Colada Mary.”

  I roll my eyes.

  The bartender brings us our drinks. I take a sip of mine and look him over. He's probably too good looking for me, and way too tall. I barely top five foot. He's over six for sure. “If we're meant to date, I'm sure fate will push us together again.”

  He shakes his head. “Fate's a heartless jerk. I prefer making my own luck.”

  I stand up and push my stool forward. “I don't even know your name.”

  “It's Luke, which fits Mary well, I might add. Both of them are in the New Testament, and both are short.”

  “Luke,” a booming voice calls. “Sorry I'm late, but I'm so hungry I could eat a whole cow. You ready to go?”

  Luke turns his head toward the man calling him, a large barrel chested man with a full beard. I take advantage of the break to slip away and join Shauna. When I reach her side, the hostess grabs three menus and walks toward the back of the restaurant. A grey haired man in a gorgeous charcoal suit walks alongside Shauna.

  My eyes widen. “Oh, I didn’t know anyone else would be here.”

  The man switches his grip on his briefcase to his other hand and extends his right one to me. “Peter Meacham.”

  My mouth drops. One of the two founders of our accounting firm is eating dinner with us? “Wonderful to meet you, sir. What brings you all the way to Atlanta?”

  He doesn't speak until we've been seated, but then he wastes no time. “I don't believe in small talk or meaningless chatter. I'm here because Shauna will be taking over the London office at the first of the year. It's drowning, and thanks to her organizational prowess and work ethic, the Atlanta office runs like a well-oiled machine.”

  I frown. “That's bad news for me, sir. I've absolutely loved working with Shauna.”

  Shauna smiles. “I'll miss you Mary, but I hope tonight's dinner isn't a sad one for you once you hear what we have to say.”

  “I'll try to keep my chin up,” I say.

  The waitress brings us menus and we all look over it and place our drink orders.

  “Actually, I'm ready to order now,” Shauna says.

  “Me too,” I say.

  The waitress takes our orders and disappears.

  “Two decisive women,” Peter says. “Which is exactly why we've asked you here tonight, Mary.”

  I glance from Peter to Shauna and back again. Peter pulls out a piece of paper from his briefcase, placing it carefully on the table.

  “What's that?” I ask.

  “Frank & Meacham employees love figures, balance, and order. Once a month, Shauna sends me updates, as I'm sure you can imagine. But beyond that, at the end of each tax season she provides a chart for me with a lot of relevant statistics. Do you know how many CPAs work for our firm at present in the Atlanta office?”

  I tally my co-workers in my head. “Eighteen, including me.”

  “How about the total accountants?” Peter taps the table absently.

  I shake my head. “Twenty, give or take? I don't know them as well, because since my second year, I've focused on taxation.”

  He points at the paper. “This line is you, Mary. You're our top tax preparer for volume, total returns, and refund amount. You're also the fastest worker, and your co-workers regularly report that if they have a question or concern, you answer it for them without complaint and in a snap. Your peer reviews and your end of year reviews are off the charts.”

  I open my mouth, but I don't know quite what to say. “Thank you sir. I love what I do, and maybe that shows.”

  “In spite of that, you never complain, you've never demanded a raise for helping your co-workers, and Shauna reports that you pick up any extra work and audits that no one else wants.”

  “She's far and away my best employee,” Shauna says. “And everyone in the Atlanta office knows it.”

  “We've asked you to dinner today because we have a proposal for you,” Peter says. “When Shauna leaves, we need someone to steer the boat here. We all agree you're the best one for the job.”

  My heart sinks, and my head begins shaking involuntarily. “I can't do that.”

  Peter's eyebrow rises. “You can't?”

  Shauna sighs. “I wondered about this. Something I hadn't mentioned was that Mary spends all her vacation and most of her free time each year running a program for the United Way. It's called Sub-for-Santa. They provide gifts and food for families who can't afford to provide for themselves.”

  Peter steeples his hands over the report. “I don't see the
connection between that, admittedly admirable effort, and our promotion.”

  “Running the program takes up fifty hours a week for the three weeks leading up to Christmas and at least fifteen hours a week for the three weeks before Thanksgiving. I can do it as a tax preparer, and even have time left to schedule a few audit defenses during December, but if I'm running the office. . .”

  “The accounting end picks up around the holidays,” Shauna says, “with all the year-end reporting requirements. She can't dedicate enough time around the holidays to run her charity if she's filling my position.”

  Peter grunts. “It's an impressive thing you've done, young woman, but I'm sure they'll thank you for your many years of service and wish you well. Besides, we haven't even gotten to the best part yet. Your current salary is just under eighty thousand a year. Your pay will go up to nearly a quarter million, and on top of that, you'll become a partner, eligible for the profit share. It really isn't something you should turn down.”

  I clench my napkin in my lap. “You have no idea how flattered I am at the offer sir, but I love my job. I enjoy preparing returns, and I don't want to give that up. And the average CPA here makes around eighty-thousand, but I've been making closer to a hundred thousand, based on my speed.”

  Shauna puts her hand over my forearm. “Peter hasn't even mentioned the bonus.”

  Peter clears his throat. “Typically new partners are required to buy in, but it’s a nominal fee of ten thousand dollars. However, we do allow them to participate in the profit share in the year they become partner. For you, that will be locked in on December 30. This year's bonus should be nearly a hundred thousand dollars.”

  My eyes widen. “Into a retirement account?”

  Shauna shakes her head. “No, the retirement plan for partners is generous as well, but it's a separate track. We can sit down and go over those numbers tomorrow. You're still coming in to meet with Bargain Booksy, right?”

  “I am, and that's exceptionally generous,” I say, “but for me it's not so much about the money.”

  Shauna grins. “That's one of the many reasons we appreciate you. Your priorities are nothing short of phenomenal, but think of all you could do with that extra income.”