Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
“Yes, I can see the return flights here,” I say, pointing down at my lap where the statement covers my knees. “Fifteen thousand to British Airways. Oh, and of course the seven and a half thousand for four nights at a beach front villa in Miami.”
Thomas’s eyes look they’re about to pop out of his head, the glutaral sound that rises sounding scarily like he’s choking. “How much?”
“That’s for two people first class,” I say, wondering if I need to get him a drink of water.
“Two people?” He looks back to Anthony, as do I, waiting.
Poor guy looks like he could sink into the creases on the leather couch. “Me and Leah.”
“You paid for Leah’s ticket on your company card?”
“And for their accommodation and cruise,” I remind him. “All in all, give or take a few quid, twenty-five thousand.”
“Jesus Christ.”
I dump the papers on the desk, acutely aware that Thomas’s wife is remaining very still and exceedingly quiet where she is. I won’t hit Thomas with the transaction mid-November for a doctor on Harley Street. “Thomas, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I cannot make your company accounts pretty if money is being spent with zero regard. No investor will gloss over the fact that the business cards are being abused and used for personal gain, not to mention the fact that Inland Revenue will deem this tax evasion.”
“So fucking dramatic,” Anthony mumbles.
“Thomas, there’s over eighty-five thousand that shouldn’t be claimed as business expenses on these statements.” Anthony has the gall to roll his eyes. Arsehole. “I can’t work with this,” I say straight, not biting to Anthony, or he’ll likely have no head. I really don’t feel like I can be taken seriously when I’m sitting here in a fucking Christmas jumper, but here I am. In a Christmas jumper. It’s bad enough dealing with my boss’s desire to reward subpar performances with bonuses, but at least his intentions are admirable—even if he shouldn’t be so frivolous at such a crucial time.
Thomas shakes his head, as my phone vibrates on my lap. I look down and see a preview of a message from Dec, and my skin becomes all tingly. “I’ll leave it with you,” I say, handing over the statements with all the highlighted transactions, making my escape before any more bombs go off.
“Nice jumper,” Anthony calls with spite as I close the door behind me.
“Oh fuck off,” I mutter.
Crystal looks up, eyes wide.
“Not you.” I force a smile, breathe out, and open Dec’s message.
My world shows some semblance of rightness once again.
Bar. Half hour.
My teeth sink into my lip, restricting my smile, as I send a thumbs up.
“Nice jumper,” Crystal says as I pass her desk.
“Thanks.” I stop dead in my tracks when I hear Thomas’s voice rise, followed by Anthony’s. Crystal immediately loses all interest in my jumper, her eyes darting to Thomas’s door. “Family politics,” I say. “I’d go get yourself a coffee.”
She’s up like a shot, joining me on my walk back to my end of the floor. Crystal dips into the kitchen as Meredith comes out, cupping her mug with both hands. “Camryn,” she says, stopping. “I just wanted to—”
“Please don’t mention the jumper.”
She smiles. “I wanted to thank you for stepping in.”
“You shouldn’t have to thank me, it should never have come to that.” I carry on, Meredith flanking me, our pace leisurely. “Have you heard from him?”
“I’ve filed for a divorce.”
I wince. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
“Nice jumper, Camryn,” Joshua says, holding up his Christmas mug in cheers.
I roll my eyes as we reach Debbie’s desk, and Meredith sets her coffee down. “I just have a few things to run over with Debbie,” she says.
“Then I’ll leave you to it.” I take the handle of my door.
“Where did you get it?” Meredith calls.
I turn my frown back to the two women. “What?”
“The jumper.”
I look down my front. “Some tat store around the corner. Why?” Both women claim their mugs and take sips, and it’s so fucking obvious that they’re doing it to restrain their smiles. “Okay,” I breathe, facing them. “What’s going on?” I feel like I’m the butt of everyone’s jokes today.
“It’s a cool jumper.”
“It’s a black fucking jumper with a Christmas hat on the front. It hardly justifies the airtime it’s getting.”
Debbie and Meredith cast looks to each other.
“What?” I snap, throwing my arms up.
“I wasn’t referring to the front of the jumper.” Debbie cocks a questioning look. “It’s the back that’s getting the airtime.”
“The back?”
“You didn’t see the back?”
“No, I didn’t see the back,” I say, looking over my shoulder, trying to see the back. “Is there something on the back?” I find myself turning a full circle as I crane my neck, eventually giving up and taking it off. And I die a million deaths when I see the words, big, fat red letters knitted into the design across the entire back.