“You and that fucking smart mouth of yours…” my thick rumble trails off, yet I fulfill her request. I rise up from the office chair and step aside, more impressed than I’ll probably ever admit.
Jhene slides into the large executive-sized chair, her small frame dwarfed by the leather. She doesn’t let it intimidate her. She simply pulls the keyboard toward her and starts typing, her fingers moving across the keys with an air of confidence.
“You’re going to need to give me an hour or two,” she says. “Maybe more, depending on how bad the rest of these files are.”
“Take as long as you need.”
I head over to one of the armchairs across the room and plop down to watch her work, oddly fascinated by the situation.
She’s completely absorbed in the task, brow furrowed in concentration and brown eyes sharp behind her glasses.
This girl is full of surprises.
She’s unassuming at first glance, yet as you peel back layers, you discover things like her dry wit and the stubborn persistence she has for rescuing her sister.
Her apparent mathematical genius and even the ability to crack a smile every now and then.
“I used to do puzzles for fun,” she says suddenly, gaze still glued to the screen. “When I was younger. Logic puzzles, math puzzles, those grid things where you have to figure out wholives in which house based on a bunch of clues. My mom and I would race to see who could finish them first.”
“Who usually won?”
Her eyes flash with triumph. “Me by the time I was twelve. She pretended to be annoyed, but I think she was proud.”
“Sounds like you needed to tutor me on my homework.”
“I did that too. Summer job when I was fourteen. Before…” She shakes her head.
“Before what?”
“Everything in our lives went to shit. I mean, things were bad before then. But they gotreallybad after that summer.”
I don’t push by asking what she means. She drops the subject and so do I.
We fall back into a silence that’s filled only by the clattering of the keyboard and rapt clicks of the mouse on the laptop.
An hour later, she leans back from the computer with a satisfied sigh.
“Done… mostly. The spreadsheet’s set up, and I’ve reconciled the last three months of expenses. You’ll need to input new data as it comes in, but the formulas will handle the calculations automatically.”
I push myself out of the armchair and walk over to peer at the screen.
Neat columns of numbers stare back at me, organized into categories with color-coded labels I can actually understand. It’s still not my favorite thing to look at, but it’s a hell of a lot better than the mess I started with.
“Not bad,” I admit.
“Not bad?” She arches a brow, blinking up at me in offense. “That’s three months of financial records sorted and organized in under two hours. I’d say that’s a little better than ‘not bad.’ People charge a hundred an hour for that kind of work.”
“Fine. It’s impressive. Happy?”
“Thrilled.”
I snort, shaking my head. “You know, you just might earn your keep after all. Let’s get the fuck out of here. I’ve had enough fucking with numbers to last me a lifetime.”
In the evening, we head to the Banshee for Jhene’s shift and so I can unwind with a couple drinks. Sean turns up as the rest of the pub grows crowded, claiming the seat across from me at our table.
“Busy night,” the redheaded buttonman says.
“Always is on Saturdays.”
