Page 10 of Christmas Coffee

Celyn

THE PRESENT

Ifinish the story and feel the agitation of the encounter flitter under my skin as if it just happened.

Quin nods and raises a brow, his hands still clutching the steering wheel of his Hummer. “Wow.”

“No shit. So, what’d you hear at Bardenbey? What was so important that you’d track me down and make me vomit the entire exchange with my uncle?”

Quin shakes his head slowly, his lips parting slightly, and glances over at me. “I can’t explain it. You’ll have to see it with your own eyes. It sounds—” he shakes his head and takes a deep breath. His hands are strangling the wheel at 10 and 2 as he flies toward the city.

When we get to Bardenbey we go up to the top floor and down the hallway toward Uncle’s office. Quin is in front of me, walking quickly, his blonde head glancing up and down like he wants to get in and out without being seen.

I grab his shoulder and stop him. “This is my uncle’s office. You were fucking some girl in here?”

“No,” he throws my hand off and rounds the corner into the assistant’s office. “We were in here. I had her bent over the desk. The adjoining door made her freak out a little bit when we heard someone enter your uncle’s office, so I sent her off to the ladies’ room to freshen up while I zipped up here. That glass door isn’t soundproof.” He points toward the frosted glass that separates Uncle’s office from his assistant. “I heard him.”

I fold my arms over my chest and tip my head to the side. “You heard what?”

Quin’s smirk fades and he steps closer to me, and then puts his ear to the glass door. He holds up a finger to me, indicating that I should keep quiet. Quin opens the door and we both walk into the dark room. No one is here. The room is silent, save the soft hum of the computer.

Quin stops by Uncle’s oversized mahogany desk and turns toward me. “Your uncle is a dick.”

“I know that.” Impatience flares across my face. I try to rein it in, but my nerves are completely shot.

Quin holds up the palms of his hands and says softly. “They were talking numbers. One guy told your uncle that he’s been through the books over and over again, but there’s no sign of it.”

“Of what?”

“That’s what I wanted to know, so I hung back after Perky left. Your uncle kept telling him to go over it again, that the man must have made a mistake. But the guy said that he’d done it several times already and the reports don’t lie. Your uncle finally let the guy leave and then made a call.”

“To who?”

“I don’t know, but your uncle told the guy the books were botched, and then verbally castrated the man as if it were his fault and suggested an external audit.”

I frown. That’s not like him. “Why the hell would he want an external audit? That could turn into a clusterfuck faster than anything else.”

Quin shakes his head. “I don’t know, but it sounded wrong. He jotted something on a notepad and tore it off. I thought if we could get into his office and find the paper, maybe it could help you out. Something’s not right.”

I nod, following his train of thought and head toward the wastebasket. Empty. I swear. “The cleaning crew already came through.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and lower my head into my hand, thinking.

“Shit man. I wasn’t fast enough. I should have come in here when he left instead of getting you.”

“No, I needed to see it. The door, and the way sound carries.” I glance at my friend. “He didn’t hear you two, did he?”

Quin shrugs. “I don’t know. He stormed in and was so loud, I don’t think he heard a thing. It freaked Perky out. She said your uncle knows everything that goes on in this building. She was worried that she’d get fired.”

“If he heard, then there should be a pink slip from personnel in the morning. I’ll keep an eye out for it. Actually, I may not have to.” It’s a long shot, but I know where my uncle keeps that pad in his desk—the pink slips. Most companies don’t use them anymore, but Uncle always insisted on keeping a paper trail because computer files can be altered, manipulated. No one can contest a physical signature.

I walk around to his desk and pull open the drawer. The book of pink slips is next to a legal pad with a note scrawled across the page: 429.

Quin is by my side a moment later, glancing down into the drawer. “What the hell does that mean?”

I shake my head. “No clue.” I pull out my phone and snap a picture. Then I run the pads of my fingers over the pink slips. There’s no fresh indent on the pad. “He didn’t fire her. Not yet anyway.”

I glance at Quin, “What the hell does four hundred twenty-nine have to do with anything? Why would he flip out over such a small amount?”

Quin thinks for a moment and answers, “I don’t know, but I can visit my perky friend next door to his office more often. It’d be a real sacrifice because there are usually no seconds of this,” he rubs the palms of his hands down his abs, “But I could make an exception.”

“I thought you didn’t nail her?”

He scoffs. “I was nailing her. We were interrupted. I think this chick is an exhibitionist. Could be fun.”

I think about the woman I left in the hotel room, about the promise I’d made to get her car fixed. I need to call in a favor. I won’t let any of this change me. If I make a promise, I keep it. End of story. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”