Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
He’s most likely already deemed me his white whale.
Unfortunately for him, that’s a deadly mistake.
And the only reason why I haven’t taken the time to properly correct it is due to dealing with a much more pressing shit show involving the man I married who’s flexed his so-called power so fucking far behind his actual reach.
I haven’t even been home for a full twenty-four hours yet!
How is it the one person I’m supposed to trust to help alleviate the never-ending headaches is developing a frustrating habit of adding to them instead?
After placing my phone down on the right side of my desk, I shift my attention back to the fidgeting employee that’s sitting across from me in the cushiony, heather gray chair of my downtown South Haven Island office. “My apologies for the interruption, Mr. Messer. You were saying?”
“I-I-I,” he struggles to begin again, nervousness radiating off of him like his cheap cologne, “I always keep paper copies of everything.” Ken does his best to steady his pale ivory skinned hand enough to place a manilla folder on the piece of furniture separating us. “See, I don’t trust computers.” Allowing his stare to focus on the paperwork he’s revealing seems to calm his demeanor. “Which you may think is an odd thing for someone who loves math and finance and the occasional recreational video game to say-”
“Slightly.”
“But that’s why I don’t trust them! I know how easily they can be manipulated when someone knows what they’re doing on one! Decimal points can effortlessly be moved. Or mistyped.” He opens the object revealing what appears to be extensively organized documents. “Calculations can become wrong if an improper formula was imputed or it copied the wrong one by mistake.” The first page that’s sporting a yellow tab is cautiously slid towards me. “It’s one reason I handle every calculation by hand first in pencil – starting with the biggest donations on the list.” Ken doesn’t make eye contact as he lightly taps the item. “I then put this away,” a second tabbed page – this one red – is placed on top of the first, “and do it again in a different color pencil.”
My eyes sweep the new form that looks as though everything is in place.
“And then I compare the two. And if they match,” a third sheet with a blue tab is placed on top of the others, “I then fill out the same sheet in blue pen.”
“To match the tabbing system, I suspect,” is quietly muttered under my breath.
“I do all of these things before I ever input the information into the computer, ma’am.” Ken glides another tabbed page onto the pile. “And then once it’s done, I print a copy as well for my records.” Finally, his brown gaze lifts to meet mine. “I do this for every account I assist in managing.”
“You’re meticulous.”
“I am very, very detail oriented, Mrs. Kessler.”
The resume friendly version of calling yourself anal retentive.
“I did not make those mistakes you have discovered.”
“I’m aware.” Casually leaning back in my seat is followed by allowing one red pantsuit leg to cross the other. “You don’t make mistakes.”
“I-I-I don’t.” He slowly starts to file the items back into their folder. “At least…at least not at work.”
As planned, a small knock on my office door occurs, an action that prompts me to politely call out, “Come in.”
Yavok casually enters the space sporting a fitted, crisp black suit and professional grin. “You want me?”
Ken’s face instantly flushes over the butchered question further demonstrating why he wasn’t the one who stole from me.
A man who blushes from what he thinks is a sexual advance lacks the confidence to cross someone like me.
Or really anyone.
And if you’re going to embezzle thousands of dollars from where you’re employed, you’re gonna have to have a pair of brass balls or tits to pull it off.
At the very least you’re not going to be this easily embarrassed by other’s actions.
“I did request your presence.” Once my husband has shut the door behind him, I motion a hand his direction. “Mr. Messer, this is Mr. Kessler. Mr. Kessler, this is Mr. Messer, a highly valued member of the finance team.”
Yavok crosses over and extends an open palm his direction. “Is pleasure.”
Ken wipes his sweaty fingers repeatedly on his crinkled, brown pants prior to shaking hands. “N-n-nice to meet you, Mr. Messer.”
“Kessler,” I correct at the same time I fold my hands in my lap. “You are Messer.”
“Right,” he uncomfortably chuckles as the man I have brought in to teach a lesson sits down in the seat beside him. “I-I-I-I like your um…your hand stamps.”
Yavok quirks an eyebrow.
“On your uh…um…fingers.”
“Tattoos,” my husband politely announces the word, Ken couldn’t think of. “And thank you.” He gives his knuckles a dreamy glance. “Date of wedding on left. Date of children born on right.”