“Fine,” I snap. “You want to help? Knock yourself out.”
She picks it up and scans the page, her eyes sliding quickly across the columns of figures.
I watch her face for even the slightest sign of the same confusion I feel, but there’s none to be found.
She’s as calm as most women look browsing fashion magazines or celeb tabloids. You’d think this was an enjoyable pastime for her.
“Okay, I’ve got to be honest,” she admits finally. “Your expense tracking is all over the place. You’ve got operating costs mixed in with payroll, and someone’s been categorizing supply purchases under miscellaneous instead of breaking them out by type.”
“I have no idea what any of that shit means.”
“It means your books are a disaster.” She glances up at me, one brow raised higher than the other. “No offense.”
“None taken. They were a disaster before I got here.”
She hums softly, already flipping to another page. “If you set up a proper spreadsheet with separate categories for each expense type, it would be a lot easier to track where themoney’s going. You could even create formulas to auto calculate the totals so you don’t have to do the math manually.”
I stare at her, more confused than irritated. “You know how to do that?”
“It’s not exactly rocket science,” she answers, shrugging. “My mom was an accountant, by the way. She taught me how to balance books before I even learned how to ride a bike.”
“Your mother was an accountant,” I repeat slowly. “And you’re working as a server at an Irish pub?”
“Life takes unexpected turns.”
Say that again.
Never thought I’d be seeking help from a girl on the run from the Bratva on how to balance the clan’s books.
“You a numbers girl, are you?” I grunt.
“You could say that. Math was always my favorite subject,” she continues, her attention back on the ledger. “Numbers make sense. They follow rules. Two plus two always equals four, no matter what else is going on in the world. There’s always an answer if you know how to find it.”
“That’s… certainly an interesting way to look at it.”
“I take it you’renota fan?”
I lean back in the chair, watching her work. “I barely passed sixth grade math. After that, I pretty much checked out.”
“By choice?”
“School was never my thing. I was better at other stuff.”
“Like punching people?”
“What gave you that idea?” I ask, then my mouth cocks into a grin when her eyes meet mine.
Hers twitches as if she’s tempted to smile back. I’ve noticed a lot more of those out of her as of late. As if I’m gradually melting the shield she’s erected around herself, drilling deeper into who Jhene Prince is.
Not just the girl on the run from the Bratva. More than the girl who serves drinks at the Banshee.
…who she is at hercore.
“You’re going to have to move,” she says. “If you want me to actually fix this, I need access to the computer.”
“You’re kicking me out of my own chair?”
“It’s not your chair. It’s Ronan’s, right?”
