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“But then I was like, no, I think Willwouldhire escorts and buy drugs. But he wouldn’t stoop to tax evasion. He’d just pay for them in cash. So I figured something got miscategorized.”
“I don’t hire escorts,” I say absently.
“I’m not judging you.”
“I don’t.”
If I want company, there are other places to find it. If I want entertainment, same thing.
No. The purchase wasn’t miscategorized.
Not unless there’s a category for embezzlement.
There. I spot it at the end of the form. The bank account numbers aren’t for the coffee company in Costa Rica. I know. For one thing, I hunted for the producer of these beans myself after I first tasted the coffee at a small Peruvian restaurant.
For another thing, a code in the right-hand corner of the page identifies which workstation the order was placed from.
The secretary’s desk.
Bristol.
It was her.
It makes perfect sense. She was having trouble with her father. Things wererough at home.
Fifty-thousand dollars worth of rough? Maybe.
The right thing to do is to protect the company. Announce to Christa that it was Bristol, and we’re going to fire her today and notify the temp agency that she stole fifty thousand dollars from Summit.
I can’t do it.
I can’t turn my head. Can’t even summon the words to my lips.
All I can think about is Bristol. Green eyes. Pale face. The nervous beat of her pulse at her throat.
I’m furious with her. Furious with myself. I don’t know which rule I should have broken. The one that says I don’t ever give a fuck? The one that says I should never trust a woman like Bristol with anything, much less a desk and access to my accounts?
“Fuck me.” At least it sounds genuine. I’m released from my thoughts for long enough to look Christa in the eye. “I placed the order. Didn’t want to run out of them. You know I can’t think straight unless I’ve had caffeine. These coffee beans are going to return dividends.”
Christa nods, her eyebrows going up. No doubt she remembers the Starbucks incident. That was a particularly bad day. “Well, that explains it. Why is the account number different?”
“It’s their wholesale department.” My lie is a little too smooth. “Different from retail.”
“But… do you have a place to store all of it?”
“Temperature-controlled storage unit down the block.”
“Glad I checked with you first.” She stands up. “Listen, Leblanc. About that merger. It’s going to be good for you. And I’m not just saying that because my small percentage alone will make me rich.”
“You’re already rich.”
“There’s always more,” she says on her way out.
I’m alone again, listening to the hush of the office. It’s a loud silence. My blood heats, then boils. It’s stripping the civility from my veins. My clothes feel like a cheap costume. Insufficient to hide the truth underneath. Flimsy, like all the meetings and company policies we use to pretend we’ve left our base instincts behind.
ThatIuse to pretend. All of it chafes.
How dare she?
