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“Did you see the folders?”

“Yes.”

“I need those reconciled against the current holiday forecast before the ten o’clock.”

I take a sip of coffee and wait for the rest of the sentence, but nothing follows.

“All seven?”

“The first four are historical. You’ll need them for comparison.”

“Right.”

She turns her laptop toward me.

There is a spreadsheet open on the screen, several columns highlighted in yellow and a graph on the right that appears to have been created by someone who has absolutely no idea how the x- and y-axis work.

“Finance changed the assumptions again yesterday. I need to understand what it does to the holiday plan before the meeting.”

I move closer. This is not—technically—my job.

But a surprising amount of my job is not technically my job, so I keep my mouth shut.

“What happened to the forecast team?”

“They sent this.”

Her tone tells me exactly what she thinks of that, and, for how much I dislike her in general, I tend to agree with her general disdain for the forecasting team.

I lean over the desk and scroll through the spreadsheet. The problem becomes apparent almost immediately. Someone has changed the projected volume on three of the seasonal lines without adjusting the promotional assumptions underneath them, which makes the whole thing look significantly more catastrophic than it probably is.

“They’re using the old promotional calendar.”

Hell finally looks up. “What?”

“Here.” I point at the screen. “These weeks moved. Vanessa’s team pushed the fall transition back, remember? So this promotion isn’t happening until the following week, but the forecast is still pulling volume forward here.”

Hell leans closer.

I scroll down. “And I think they’re double counting the chocolate eggs.”

“Why?”

“Because this line is still including the carryover inventory from this year.”

She studies the numbers for a few seconds. Then she sits back.

“Fix it.”

I straighten. “Me?”

“Jesus, Merryweather. You just told me what’s wrong with it.”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“And I need a clean version by ten.”

She turns the laptop back toward herself, which is usually how I know a conversation has ended.