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A foreign weight lifts from my shoulders. Knowing I have uninterrupted time to research the problem until the office closes. If necessary, I will spend all day locked in here, so long as I locate the issue.
Knee-deep in numbers, I startle when the desk phone buzzes. I tap the intercom button. “Howell.”
“Mr. Howell, a Ms. York is at the front with a food delivery.”
“Send her back, Meaghan. Thank you.”
The office quiets when I disconnect and go back to my investigation. Over the last hour, I have found jack shit. My hands more than empty. Desolate. To say it irks me would be a fucking understatement.
Money doesn’t just disappear overnight.
A light tap on the door draws my attention before it swings open. Meaghan gives me a quick smile before narrowing her eyes on Skylar. If I’d blinked, I would have missed it. She gestures for Skylar to enter, gives me one last tight smile, then closes the door.
Weird.
My stomach groans the second I smell the burger and fries. I close my laptop and push it aside as Skylar takes a seat across from me at the desk. I lean forward and she mirrors the action, our lips meeting in the middle.
“Thank you for lunch. I’d have skipped it otherwise.”
“Everything okay?”
Since that night at the pub a month ago, Skylar and I have gotten close. Closer than any previous relationship. Daily texts or calls kept us connected the first two weeks. Seeing each other at her house or mine every day since the night in my kitchen. In that time, I have learned so much about my addictive siren with fiery locks.
Yes, the sex is mind blowing and intoxicating and endless. But I also enjoy her company. Enjoy the conversations and cuddles on the couch while watching her beloved documentaries. Her wrapped in my arms as often as humanly possible.
Most women Skylar’s age are go, go, go. Out at bars or with friends or hooking up. Living the party life—wild and carefree. I am guilty of such things at her age. Not to say she hasn’t done those things, but not many twenty-three-year-olds want to sit at home in pajamas with their boyfriend.
Boyfriend. Yep, we defined us.
After the Kelli incident at my place—such a shame I missed the look on her face while I pounded Skylar on the kitchen counter—I haven’t heard a peep from her. Thank fuck.
The next morning, in my bed, I told Skylar I wasn’t joking when I said I owned her. Yes, she is her own woman. Free to live her life. But she is mine, and I needed to be sure she understood what that entails. Seconds after I’d held her chin in my grip and she said, “I understand,” she’d slipped beneath the sheet and shown me exactly how well she understood.
Fuck, I love her mouth.
“Yeah. No.” I take a deep breath and shake my head. “I don’t know.”
She unwraps a burger and sets it in front of me, unwraps her own, then dumps the fries between us. We eat in silence a moment—me contemplative and her watching me with concern.
“Anything I can help with?”
I swallow down the bite. “I wish. Something isn’t right with one of my clients and I’m not sure what to do.”
“Are they sick?”
“No. Nothing like that.” In my line of work, there isn’t much I can divulge—confidentiality and whatnot—but I can skirt around numbers, not specific dollar amounts, but generic figures. “Earlier, I reviewed an account and noticed a discrepancy. Had I not looked at the account yesterday, I might not have noticed today.”
Skylar retrieves a Dr Pepper from her purse and pops the can open, taking a sip and offering me a drink. I sip the sweet carbonated beverage and mull over the blank page of answers in my head.
Her eyes lock on mine and widen. “Do you think someone’s stealing from accounts?” she whisper-asks.
I wave off the idea. “Probably just a computer glitch somewhere. One I need to fix ASAP.”
But as her words sink in further, the unease from earlier returns. The notion that one of my trusted coworkers stole money from a client seems preposterous. Not that I dismiss the prospect, but I need to cross off every other possibility first.
We finish our burgers and fries in relative silence. I make a mental checklist of what I need to check and who I need to call. Answers may not show up today, but I won’t give up until I unearth them.
Skylar circles around my desk and I swivel to face her. “Thank you for lunch.”
