Jaw clenched, I snatched the folder away from her and drew out the receipts. I saw she’d circled some totaled amounts in red pen, and that she’d scribbled a name at the top: Billy.
It was difficult to discern what was going on with the figures, mostly because products were itemized under a single number, and without knowing what each digit represented, I didn’t know what was allegedly being stolen.
Determined to hurry Conor along with his computerization of Aoife’s sales, I questioned the one thing I could make sense of, “You think Billy’s stealing from Aoife?”
“Every second time he rings up a purchase, he isn’t including some items that he gives to the client.”
“You’ve seen him charge the client and serve them more than they’d ordered?”
“Yes.” Louise patted my hand. “Was I right to bring this to you?”
I stared at the receipts then shuffled them together and began tucking them away in one of the sleeves she’d used to keep a day’s worth of tickets separate from another day.
Beneath that was a printout of unsold items at closing and the day’s takings.
Finding myself impressed by Aoife’s turnover, I inquired, “What’s he giving away?”
“The cake pops. They’re a dollar a piece. But in the quantities he’s doing this, it’s costing Aoife thirty bucks a day.”
A vague memory of Aoife discussing cake pops over dinner drifted to the surface. I was pretty sure she’d been talking about them as potential loss leaders.
Staring up at her, I asked, “Why do you think he’s stealing?”
She frowned at me. “Because he is.”
“Cake pops are a dollar a piece, but if I remember rightly, Aoife said to give them to customers. To their kids.
“Billy isn’t charging them because Aoife told him he didn’t have to.” Her mouth gaped as she tried to argue with me, but I merely held up a hand to stall her. “I’ll go through these and will determine if you’re lying or if Billy is stealing, but to be frank, I have more faith in him than I do in you.”
“That’s not fair! I work hard for Aoife—”
“Yes, you do, so why are you here trying to cause her extra stress with a bullshit lie about theft?” As I stared up at her, with her diet version of Aoife’s hair and the green contacts that couldn’t match my woman’s beautiful eyes, I spat, “You saw her this morning. Do you think she looked like she was ready to be dealing with this kind of crap?”
“That’s why I brought it to you!”
“Even though I have nothing to do with the company?” I shook my head. “This was just to have some ridiculous excuse to see me, wasn’t it?”
“I think you’re full of yourself. If I can’t report this to Aoife, then who can I report it to other than you?” she argued, trying to grab the folder from my hands.
I snatched it back. “No, you’re the one who’s full of yourself. If you could leap into Aoife’s skin, you still wouldn’t be her, Louise.” I held the folder away from her. “This is my wife’s property. I’ll go through it to determine there is no theft occurring on the premises, and you can bet I’ll go through it with a fine-tooth comb.”
Her brow puckered. “Why are you being so mean to me? I was only trying to help.”
“You were trying to throw a colleague under the bus so you’d have a reason to come see me.” I thought about this morning when she’d tried to kiss my cheek in thanks for helping and had ‘accidentally’ brushed my mouth and bit off, “Even if you didn’t, this is a case of Peter and the wolf.”
I was ninety-nine percent certain she was spouting bullshit, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t do due diligence.
“I didn’t want to disturb Aoife,” she whined.
“Well, you didn’t. You disturbed me.” My mouth tightened. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
Her hand came to my shoulder. “Finn, I didn’t mean to anger you.”
“No? You did.” I pushed her arm away then jerked in surprise when she grabbed my face and dove onto me.
I shoved her away before she could kiss me, but she sobbed, “Let me make things better for you, Finn.”
Pushing my feet back had my desk chair rolling away as I snarled, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
But she was as demented as she was stupid.
She tried to plant another kiss on my mouth with lips that were like suckers, but I shoved her away again. That was when she let loose a sob, and eyes wild like the bunny boiler she was, Louise darted out of the office fast enough for me to hear Ethan’s chair scraping back as he ran over to the door to peer inside.
“Is everything okay, Finn?”
Jaw clenched, I shook my head as I reached for my phone. As weird as that had been, as ridiculous, there was no way this would end well if I didn’t inform Aoife before that psycho had the chance to.
“She left at the right moment. Jim Hanover’s here.”
“He’s in the building?” I ground out in shock.
Ethan nodded. “He wants to see you.”
The last thing I wanted was to see him. Beat his ass for wasting my fucking time? Damn straight.
“Tell him I’ll be with him in five minutes,” I snapped as I called Aoife and waited for it to connect.
“Finn?” she asked.
“I need to speak with you about Louise. I don’t have much time, though. I have a meeting.”
Confusion laced her tone as she queried, “Louise? You saw her again? Are you at the bakery?”
“No. She came to my office, Aoife. She tried to kiss me. Tried to spout some crap about Billy stealing from you by giving away cake pops.
“Anyway, I don’t doubt that she’ll call you and try to tell you all kinds of lies, but I wanted to let you know what happened from my side first.”
I heard her breathing, but she didn’t reply as I made my way out of the office and headed for the conference room.
Her silence felt damning.
“Aoife? You have to know I’m not interested in any woman but you. I thought we cleared this up earlier this morning,” I grated the words out, pissed beyond belief that she might think I’d cheated on her. Maybe it made me more snappy than I’d have liked, but I spat, “I’ll speak with you tonight. I’ll be home late.”
Infuriated, I headed into the impromptu meeting with Hanover.
If he thought I was going to be his whipping boy, he could fuck off. Today was not the day to want to fleece me out of a couple million more just because he felt like it.
Forty-Six
Aoife
I stared at the loaves of bread in front of me.
Golden brown, pillowy. The tops so beautifully curved that they were like cartoon drawings.
They were my olive branch.
Finn loved my bread.
I didn’t make it for him so much anymore, but I knew he’d see them and would know what I was thinking.
This was not forgiveness.
This was not me forgetting what had happened.
This was me saying that I wanted to take a step forward. That I wanted his hand in mine as I did so.