Chapter 5 #2
"Try it," he says softly, and I watch those lips make every shape of every letter until he nudges my head forward and I'm staring at the screen.
He clearly understands the sexual pull he holds over me because the smirk on that face, which I see in the reflection of his laptop screen, turns almost predatory as I take a deep breath and blow it out.
At first I don't even know what I'm looking at.
I've never seen this software before, and the names of things aren't typical.
It feels like the man who did this was old school, so much so that even the newer terminology I've been taught doesn't jive with simple functions.
I try in vain to sift through the columns to make sense of it all, and it feels like my eyes will bug out.
"Problem?" Rafe asks, still leaning over me.
"I just… I need coffee, okay?" I rub my forehead and Rafe vanishes, and while he does, I spend the ninety seconds it takes hunting up a YouTube video on how to work the software, which is pure gold.
By the time he sets the fresh, steaming mug next to me, I'm already whipping out the first statement.
I start sorting columns and numbers, forcing myself to breathe evenly while my mind tries to unravel whatever the hell Lombardi was doing.
Half these entries look duplicated. Some are labeled with abbreviations I’ve never seen in my life.
And the formulas—God. They look handwritten into the system by a blind man.
My palms grow damp as I try to follow one account that branches into a second and then a third, all with mismatched totals. It shouldn’t be this confusing. Even a sloppy analyst would leave a trail that made sense. This feels intentional, like a maze only the original creator could escape.
Rafe returns to the sofa, but he doesn’t sit. He stands behind me, arms folded, watching my cursor skim a row that refuses to add up. The chair creaks when I shift and lean back because the numbers won’t align no matter what I click.
“I can’t do this,” I say, trying to swallow the tightness rising in my throat. “This isn’t balancing. These entries don’t match any system I’ve been trained on.”
“Try harder.”
“I am trying.” My pulse quickens under his stare and I push away from the desk.
“This is forensic accounting. These ledgers aren’t just neglected—they’re scrambled.
If Lombardi did this on purpose, then even a real analyst would need weeks to reconstruct it.
I don’t want to give you bad data and get myself killed. ”
Rafe doesn’t respond. He reaches into his pocket, unlocks his phone with his thumb, and turns the screen toward me, and I see Lila standing outside her office building in a pale lavender coat. It appears she has no clue someone's even taking a picture of her.
My blood freezes. Every instinct screams at me to run.
Rafe lowers the phone to my eye level.
“Riley,” he says, voice steady, “you can do it. Or you can test me.”
I think I may throw up. He's not even kidding. This man is really going to hurt my family if I don't do this work for him, and I have no clue what I'm doing.
“I’ll—I’ll keep trying,” I whisper, my throat tight and dry.
He walks closer again, hand closing over my shoulder, and I shudder to think I found it attractive only fifteen minutes ago.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
And I turn back to the screen, because there is no other choice at all. I do this or he keeps his promise to harm my family.
"I need breakfast," I grumble, because if he's going to be some evil overlord, I'm not going to lie down and play dead. He's going to have to work for it.
"Anything you want," he says, lifting his phone up. "I can have it delivered right now." I meet the reflection of his gaze in the computer screen and know he's seeing mine too.
"I'll take some bacon and eggs, and I want some donuts too.
And if your little app thing can get me a chai mocha latte for afterward…
" I speak in mumbled tones, pretending to focus on the screen and not him, demanding things I wouldn't dream of buying myself on my low income, and Rafe's fingers fly across the screen without hesitation.
He isn't even picking up on the idea that I'm trying to annoy him. He's just ready to pour out anything I want, like he's at my disposal. His thumbs keep typing and I keep staring at his reflection. His brow is furrowed in concentration and he looks like he's enjoying it too.
"And there's this place on Division Street in Wicker Park with chocolates. If you want me to be really productive, I like the strawberry creams." My eyes study him, locking on to his expression the moment it shifts. He pauses and then meets my gaze in the reflection and nods.
"Anything you want…" And when Rafe backs away, I get the distinct impression that he really means that. I could ask this man for a million dollars or a trip to Tahiti.
I just don't understand why he's being kind like this. He could just put a gun to my head. Believe me, I'd get that work done fast. But this?
Rafe's not entirely a monster. If he were, he wouldn't try to make me comfortable while I do his dirty work. That might be a weakness I can exploit if I'm lucky.
Or it might make it harder to keep my edge. I can't tell yet.