Chapter 62 I Love Lasagne
Noah's POV:
"That's not what I meant," she hurries to tell me.
I love watching her squirm. Her reactions are brilliant. I shouldn't really tease her. It's hardly professional.
"I'm pretty sure no one will see anyway," I tell her confidently, "but if they do, we'll just tell them the truth."
"That you're taking me home?"
"No. That we're working late."
"Oh... Yeah... That might make more sense."
I bite my tongue so as not to laugh. As funny as it is, her reaction is a good reminder of why I really can't act on how I feel. I don't want to think about that though so I choose to start a safe conversation, talking about work.
***
Sitting in Eden's living room shifting through the new information she's gained, I want to ask her again where she got them. The more I look through it, the more curious I become as to who her source is. Not just anyone would have access to this many years of the company's accounts.
These records go back twelve years. I don't know of many people who have been working at Clancy's Comforts that long, except for the higher ups. I run through them in my head; Mrs Clancy, her assistant Martin, James Artie... The head of the Marketing Department, I'm pretty sure he's been here since Mrs Clancy started the company or at least he likes to brag that he has.
I can't ask again though, not when I told her I wouldn't, so instead I keep focused on the work at hand. That would be a lot easier if Eden wasn't sitting opposite me, her highlighter in her mouth as she makes her way through various sheets of the company's expenses.
"I'm not sure I'm really the right person to be doing this," she says unexpectedly.
"Why? You were so insistent..."
Surely she's not going to give up now. Not when she was so adamant that we investigate this.
"I don't have a degree in accounting," she tells me. "I don't even know what I'm looking for. I'm probably only catching the most blatant inconsistencies."
I hesitate to tell her she's wrong. Truth is neither one of are really the right people for this task, but what choice do we have? We can't just ignore it and pretend we don't know. And what's more frustrating, we don't know who we can trust with this information and so don't know who we can ask for help.
"We just need to do our best," I tell her with false bravado.
"Maybe we should hire an accountant," she's murmuring to herself.
"Eden, I wouldn't even like to think about how expensive it would be to have an account go through twelve years of expenses, twelve years of tax returns, profit reports..."
There's no way either of us could afford to pay for that and as much as I love the company, I'm not about to put all my financial security on the line. Getting to my feet, I put down the pile of documents I've been working through and approach her.
Leaning down in front of her, I take her work out of her hands and put the lid on her highlighter.
"We've done enough for today," I tell her.
"But we didn't even get through a month's worth..."
"Exactly," I say firmly. "This is a marathon, not a sprint. Don't tire yourself out when we're only just getting started."
She doesn't say anything but her stomach grumbles causing me to grin up at her.
"Should we go out and get something to eat?" I ask.
"We could just order in."
"If I have to eat takeout again..."
"Sorry," she says, looking sheepish.
"If you want to stay in, I could cook," I offer.
"You can cook?" Her eyes light up like I've just told her the most exciting fact about myself.
"Yup. Me and probably eighty or more percent of the population," I tease her. "In fact, I'm pretty sure you're the only one that can't."
"No. My mother couldn't either..."
"Really? Is it genetic?"
"The only thing I've ever been any good at is lasagne."
"I love lasagne," I say eagerly.
"My grandma loves my lasagne... But she might just be being kind."
"Should we have lasagne?"
"You want me to cook for you?" Her eyes go wide with fear.
"Sure. Why not?"
"Oh. I don't know. Maybe because last time I tried I nearly burnt the entire building down."
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