“Ooh,” he says, leaning back as if I’ve told him I’m working for the President. “Well, excuse me for breathin’ yourmajesty.”
My mom laughs at his joke, and they both head out together. My dad grabs a Pop-Tart from the cabinet, giving me an angry glare as he leaves.
“You look after your sister,” he snaps, and then they’re out the door, bickering as they head to his truck.
I push down the urge to run after them and offer to give them a ride. I hate the idea of my dad getting behind the wheel in this state, but it’s hardly new. I don’t worry about his safety anymore, just the people he might injure. I glance at my sister as I plate up her pancakes and hand them over.
Neither of us says anything. I pull out my phone during breakfast to check my bank account again.
My fingers tighten around the case as I make some calculations in my head. We might be able to get out of this place sooner than I thought.
Chapter 14
Amelia
It’s mid-morning on Monday when the buzzer goes off on my desk.
I’d arrived early as usual, but as I placed my bag beside my chair, I could hear Crawford talking on the phone.
He didn’t ask me to come into his office, so I didn’t think anything of it. I simply opened my computer and got to work.
Now, the buzzer breaks my focus as I’m writing an email, and I feel a jolt of excitement. I’m privately excited for him to see the underwear I have on. They’re white with gold vertical pin stripes down the fabric. I think it’ll suit his tastes perfectly.
I smooth my hands over my skirt, head to the door, and knock.
“Come in.”
I enter, expecting him to be leaning against his desk, waiting to ravage me. Instead, he’s behind his desk, looking confused and staring at the packs I printed for him.
Oh shit.
He glances up, barely looks at me, and then leans back in his chair.
“I don’t understand these. This isn’t how Beatrice usually organizes the packs. Ask her to redo them, please.”
My heart picks up speed. “Actually, I prepared those for you. I’m sorry. I’ll change them back,” I say quickly, advancing on his desk and reaching for them.
He holds up a hand, and I stop, leaning over his desk in an awkward half fold as I look up at him.
“Alright, if you’re the one who did them, explain it to me. What are all these tabs supposed to be?”
I look down at the white folder I’d prepared on Friday. It’s a series of documents regarding the merger and several related emails. I swallow, clearing my throat.
“I was trying to make navigating the documents a little easier,” I say, fidgeting in place.
“I don’t need tabs sticking out everywhere,” he says, his voice a rumbling growl that I wish didn’t have such an effect on me.
“Okay, I’ll cha?—”
“Explainthem, Amelia.”
A little tingling sensation skitters over my skin as he says my name.
“Alright,” I begin carefully, “so the gold tabs are for the financial documentation. The CFO sent over several reports, but they relate back to her email. When I read through the content of the email chain, it includes a lot of secondary information that isn’t in the reports.”
Crawford flips back to the top, where the email is stapled neatly above the accompanying documents. Using the tabs, he flips back and forth. His eyes skim over everything so fast I can’t believe he’s read any of it, but then he grunts.
“What a stupid thing to do,” he says, and my heart plummets. “Thanks for catching that. She should have included this information in the report. What else?”
