Chapter 12
DECLAN
What genius decided to have this meeting at the end of the day on a Friday?
Every department head is seated at the massive conference table for the Friday-afternoon finance meeting.
And we have a lot of departments and divisions.
The heads of regional offices in London, Frankfurt, Adelaide, and Tokyo have dialed in.
Our counterparts on the other side of the world are calling in at an ungodly hour.
Such is life as an international operation. Someone has a bum time zone.
The head of North American marketing drones on. “The race registration melt numbers may hold steady next year . . .” Trey has already explained the need for an increased travel budget, with flight and hotel costs skyrocketing.
Occasionally, Finn, our CFO, interrupts with a question.
After Ms. Nepo-hire Charlie Ross sent me the slide deck yesterday, I forwarded it over to Finn. My numbers are fine. I didn’t need her asking any more questions about matters she knows nothing about – should know nothing about.
I didn’t expect her to be in the meeting, though. Oh well. She’ll either see my numbers on screen, pipe up, and make a fool of herself for asking questions above her pay grade. Or she’ll learn to stop putting her nose into matters that don’t concern her. Either is a win.
When the slides turn over to my department, I straighten in my seat and clear my throat.
“Strategic operations is running on schedule even with recent personnel changes.” That is all I have to say. I’m in constant contact with Oliver. I let Finn know when we need additional resources to complete a mission.
Finn moves on to Ian for his budget.
Across from me, Charlie fidgets in her chair. She is looking back and forth between Oliver and the screen as if there is a tennis rally going on in her mind.
She finally levels her gaze on me. I look across at her. There is a hint of pink on her neck. Scowl lines form on her forehead, her eyebrows growing closer and closer. She is holding on to the pen in her hand like it is a lifeline. Her note-taking has ceased for this staring contest.
And I know how to not blink.
* * *
The meeting adjourns and I leave with everyone else.
Charlie stays back for a beat, perhaps licking her wounds.
I’m already in my office when I hear her get to her desk.
Her little heels do their best to announce her entrance, the carpet muffles her steps.
No wonder she’s unsteady in her heels, the Barefoot Running Princess probably didn’t get much practice in them before this job.
She doesn’t come to my office to confront me. I’m grateful since I have a slew of emails to handle before I can even think of signing out for the weekend.
I get lost in my inbox and look up to see it is already well past 6 p.m. Charlie is still tapping away at her keyboard, though.
“It’s after-hours – you should go,” I call out to her. I can see her from where I am sitting.
Most of the staff have cleared out. Half the team is on site at this weekend’s events, so the rest were able to cut out early, get a jump on their weekend.
Everyone except our little quadrant of the office.
Oliver is still meeting with Ian. He found an encrypted message and is asking me to work through it.
It’s running on my computer while I work on filing my expense report from last weekend’s botched rendezvous.
Charlie glances over at me, the cobalt daggers in her deep blue eyes from today’s meeting still present.
“If Oliver is still here, I’m here. Besides, I want to read through the race reports.
” I’m impressed by the dedication and effort she is putting in to learn everything.
The lingo, the stats, what distinguishes a great event from a mediocre one.
I’m about to tell her as much when she speaks up again.
“Probably need to rerun those budget reports too,” she adds.
She’s goading me. I know it. “The numbers are fine. Drop it, Ross,” I command, aware of how hard my tone is. Hoping it will work.
It doesn’t. Charlie is up out of her chair, stomping over to my office in her black heels. “I know something is up. There’s some kind of fraud or embezzlement going on for that much money to be allocated.”
Her indignation is admirable, and the way her eyebrows are stitched together over her glasses is cute. Her lips are pursed. Mad looks good on her. It makes me want to cross the room to taste those lips. To feel the fire behind that glare. To silence her.
I have never once been aroused in the office. That would be a totally inappropriate response to this matter and I remind myself to focus. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I tell her, willing her to drop the topic.
Charlie crosses her arms, focusing all her attitude at me. “You’re right. I don’t. But I know something is up. Something isn’t right. And I’m going to figure it out one way or another.” She storms off, logs out of her computer, and gathers her things.
“Highly doubt that,” I mumble, knowing she can’t hear me. There is no way she’ll figure out the covert side of the business unless someone tells her about it.
I check my computer and see it will take another hour for this message encryption to crack. A heavy exhaustion settles into my shoulders and my back. Charlie leaving reminds me that I too can go home and finish my work there, so I pack up my laptop and turn off the lights in my office.
I’m a few minutes behind Charlie, so I’m surprised she’s still waiting for the elevator when I exit. She rolls her eyes at me; her right foot begins to tap. Her frustration keeps a perfect beat as we wait.
I’m not interested in continuing this argument. I’m resolved to not say anything. Let her stew and feel righteous in calling out the accounting numbers. The elevator doors open and we both enter.
The silence in the elevator car only heightens the other sensory input.
For one, the heat and anger rolling off Charlie’s body.
She is pissed. Out of the corner of my eye, I look at her.
Arms crossed, one hip popped out. Next, her aroma.
The last vapors of her perfume settle into the car, a pleasant fruity smell.
Don’t look over at her, don’t make eye contact.
I’m impressed by how quickly she is starting to notice that FIRE is not what it seems. Her smarts, her indignation, that hip pop. All capture my attention.
She glances over at me.
Oh shit. She caught me watching her. I look back at the closed elevator doors, but I still see her roll her eyes at me peripherally. She huffs out a frustrated exhale and shakes her head. Man, I bet fighting and making up with her is fun.
We exit the elevator in silence. Charlie scoffs when I hold the front door open for her as we exit the building. OK, I can’t blame her for that one.
“Have a nice weekend,” she grumbles before picking up her speed, her low heels pounding into the cement of the parking garage.
The evening air is humid and carries a charge. Not of an impending lightning storm, the kind you can set your watch by around here.
No, something else.
I can sense it; something is about to go down and it is not going to be good.