I hearGigi’s soft gasp and I turn to her, the dollop of yogurt dropping on the table.
She’s staring at her screen, her eyes wide.
She doesn’t look like a woman who’s attempting to sabotage me. She looks shocked, and honestly…afraid.
Then again, maybe that’s her specialty. Looking like a victim.
“What is it?”
Her eyes flick to mine, the look of dazed fear evaporating. She gives her head a little shake, then clicks a button. “I found something.”
“What?” I ask, as she pushes the computer toward me.
Emma scoops up the fallen yogurt with her fingers, popping it into her mouth. Then she grabs the spoon from my hand, pulling the yogurt container closer, and helps herself to another bite.
My brows lift. She can feed herself with a spoon? How did a three-year-old just get the better of me?
But my attention returns to Gigi. “What do you see?”
“See this here.” She points at a line halfway down the screen. “That seems like a lot for a tire and auto company.”
“What?” I ask again. In every deal, there are plans and proposed expenses. Even things like porta potties are accounted for.
But as I look at the line she is pointing at, my brows furrow. “Probably equipment repair.”
“I’ve never done a deal this big, so maybe it’s normal, but…” Then she points to seven more lines.
The amount of money is beyond ridiculous.
I pull her computer closer, scouring the report. Large construction equipment is expensive to maintain, but this amount of money is staggering. “Fu?—”
“Fudge,” Gigi says over me, her brows slashing into a deep line.
Right. My very accommodating assistant has a few lines I’m not to cross where her daughter is concerned. Noted.
“I want some,” Emma adds as she takes her final bite of yogurt. “I like fudge.”
For some reason, the comment makes me smile. A little. Maybe one corner of my mouth. It’s eight in the morning, and fudge is hardly appropriate, but I wouldn’t mind some either, maybe with some scotch, because this discovery feels significant and it would be nice to celebrate. There hasn’t been much of that lately.
Instead, I pop a bite of strawberry in my mouth, even as Emma leans over and grabs a grape.
Chewing, I click over to the other screen she opened and find the home page for Wilson’s Tire and Auto and then scan down the page.
The address makes me snarl, a feral sound that rolls through my teeth.
That’s when the spoon clatters first to the table and then to the floor. I automatically bend down to pick it up, and go to hand it back to Emma, but she doesn’t take it.
I look at her, the sight of her pulling me from my thoughts. Her eyes are full of tears, her bottom lip out, as she looks at me with wary eyes.
Gigi is up, circling behind me, before she scoops her daughter in her arms, cradling the child close.
I sit back, noting that Gigi looks beautiful like this. Leggings, little T-shirt, softly tousled hair, her gorgeous body curled around the child’s.
I’ve gotten a few different views of Gigi this morning and they did not disappoint.
But this one might be the most beautiful, her arms around Emma as she softly murmurs words of comfort into the child’s hair.
“What just happened?” I ask, wondering if it has something to do with me.
