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Chapter 22
Quintessa
I sit at my desk, somewhatfrazzled. This coffee ain’t helping me much. Essex was gone when I got up and I haven’t had any kind of communication with him since last night when he abruptly got out of bed and left me lying there wondering where he was.
Something happened – I just don’t know what it was.
Our team meets with him at ten – so in a half hour. I send him a message through the messaging system.
Quintessa to Essex: good morning
I wait for a response.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
There’s no reply.
“Hey, Quintessa, has Mr. DePaul given you any assignments today?” Greta asks, rolling her chair over to my desk.
“No. Not yet. Why? Do you need help with something?”
“Yes. Can you take a look at these returns just to give them a second look? These are new clients and I want to make sure we do our due diligence, especially since I show they both owe a considerable about of money to the IRS.”
“Okay, sure. No problem. Extensions have already been filed on these, I take it.”
“Yep.”
“Okay. I got it.”
“Thanks.”
I busy myself with looking through the file and midway through the first one, Zahara says, “Guys, it’s five ‘til. We have to head to the conference room.”
They all start getting up right away and I’m still staring at the screen. I say, “I’ll be right there.”
“Girl, you better come on,” Zahara whispers in my ear. “I heard yo’ husband was in a bad mood this morning.”
“Who’d you hear that from?”
“The receptionist downstairs. She said he was all tight-lipped, even after she said good morning. I guess the honeymoon is over—no pun intended.”
“It’s nothing. Trust me. He’s probably just stressed about work. He’s usually like this at the office.”
“If you say so. My mama always told me a tiger doesn’t change its stripes, and that’s facts. Anyway, let’s go before one of us gets canned and by one of us, I mean me.”
“Go ahead, girl. I’ll be right there.”
She leaves with the rest of them.
I save the file I’m working on and grab a notebook, heading to the conference room. When I step inside, Essex is standing near the projector screen while everyone else is just sitting there quietly. I look at Zahara. She makes a face that tells me this meeting will not be good.
Essex looks at me briefly, but from that short-lived eye contact, I saw something different in his eyes. I didn’t see my husband. I saw the man who had a smug look on his face when I had spilled coffee on my shirt. The man who told me to be quiet when I tried to be cordial to him. The man who snapped when he saw coffee spilled on the floor in the lobby. The man who fired people for being two minutes late.
I don’t likethatman.
