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I really wanted to plant a kiss on her forehead and reassure her we’d be fine for a night apart, but I couldn’t in front of my family. Not yet but one day. Soon.
A pang of longing hit me in the gut, like a sucker punch. I missed her already and it was just for one night. So soon I’d gotten used to waking up beside her in my bed. We’d fallen into a routine in our flats; getting ready for work, preparing breakfast and dinner together. Sitting on the couch at night, holding her and talking about nothing and everything.
I liked it a lot. Loved it.
I’ll add something to our spreadsheet to make up for the night away.
In that moment, a thought seared my mind.
Our sex spreadsheet was more than just acts. Behind the graphs of how many times we’d slept together, or positions or desires: this was the story of how I’d fallen in love with Amanda.
It didn’t show how I felt every time she touched me; on the arm to gently get my attention, a quick squeeze of my hand when she leaned in to kiss me. Making out in the elevator at the end of the day.
Why hadn’t I added columns to keep track of how many times I’d thought about her? Held her?
We needed a better set of numbers.
Or, I could just tell her three simple words that summed up all those numbers in one fell swoop.
My heart hammered against my ribs. It’s too soon. Wasn’t it?
I flicked my gaze to Amanda. No, falling in love this fast felt right. So right. I was about to declare our clandestine relationship to everyone when Amanda shot up, sending her chair backwards.
“You need better numbers…” she muttered.
“What’s gotten into ye, lassie?” Gran asked, eyes wide.
“Two years before your retirement as CEO,” Amanda said to my father, “you were buying more raw ingredients and producing less whisky that what was projected.”
A collective gasp came from around the table. Even Angus and Jess stared wide-eyed.
“Excuse me, lassie?” Da said in a low voice.
“Amanda, what -”
“It’s true, Stuart.” Amanda continued. “Sales have been steady for the last four years. But your spending on barley and bottles increased every year.”
Da tilted his head. “What of it?”
“Spreadsheets and numbers tell stories. Just like we said. With buying more barley, bottles and even casks, you should have more product to sell in your warehouse from when you were CEO. Or, you should have written off spoilt barley, faulty or broken bottles. But you didn’t.”
Old Mac’s gaze flicked between me and Amanda, his eyes full of confusion, surprise and wrath. I wanted to reach for her hand and hold it. I clenched my hands into fists instead.
“Ye saying the problem was with me?” Da uttered with menace. “Are ye accusing -”
“Da, that’s no -”
“Oh, ye’ve got an opinion too?” Da took a deep breath. “Ye could have helped your old man and learnt the trade earlier after ye played rugby! But, ye take off to London to do ye fancy MBA, and then ye insisted on dabbling around with other companies -”
“Mort!” My mother grabbed at my father’s arm but he shrugged her off.
“Excuse me?” I bristled; my voice cold. “I invest in businesses, Da. I've been building a portfolio for years, in companies that now carry our whisky I might add. I - I can't even believe I'm having this discussion.”
Amanda was still standing, staring down at my father. “Before your accident, you refused to purchase electronic inventory software. Stocktake is done manually by the warehouse staff.”
“Who are ye to say -”
But Amanda wasn’t deterred. If anything, she wasn’t paying any attention to my father, whose face was red. “Robert made excellent decisions with operational costs which helped to keep your company profitable. And James made significant improvements with marketing, both business to business and retail. Stuart’s strength was forming key relationships with reps and buyers which secured contracts -”
