Running the Numbers (11 page)

“You mean between Wes and Wes? Yeah, I’d say she does.”

* * * *

Blake checked his watch for the tenth time in the same five-minute period. Should he ask Amanda out at eleven to give her time to prepare? Or right at twelve so they could leave straight away?

He paced in front of his desk. Probably eleven. That way, if she said no, despite his best efforts to assure her no strings were attached to his offer, he’d have time to come up with other lunch plans. He shook out his hands. Why was he so nervous? Something about the way Amanda kept her thoughts and reactions so neatly buttoned down poked and prodded at Blake’s insecurity. He preferred Quinn’s generally direct approach but didn’t miss the sarcastic bite that often came with it.

Well, they weren’t alike in
everything.
Of course, Amanda wouldn’t be exactly like Quinn. That’d be too weird, anyway.

He checked his watch again. He’d better ask now, before Amanda made other plans. He opened his office door far more deliberately than the act warranted and approached Amanda with an auspicious smile.

“Hey, Amanda. May I have a minute?”

She glanced at him and blinked her pale eyes. “What can I do for you, Mr. Cobb?”

“Um, Blake is fine, actually.” Not a great start. Blake clasped his hands together and wished she had a less exposed work area. “It’s something of a private matter. It’s been brought to my attention you may have some incorrect assumptions regarding my intentions concerning Duncan’s resignation. I’m not interested in the job. Just so you know.”

She stared at him blankly.

He checked a sigh. He’d chock it up to failure and try again another day. Before taking his leave, he squeaked in one last comment. “Also, I’m not involved with Sadie. She helped me get firewood. It wasn’t a date or anything. I, uh, would actually like to take you to lunch today. You seem pretty busy, though. Sorry to interrupt.”

He turned to leave when her hand flew out and grasped his sleeve.

“You and Sadie aren’t dating?”

“No. She, uh, helped me out, that’s all. My new place has a wood-burning stove, and she kind of gave me a crash course in how to operate it so I don’t die of hypothermia this winter. I have plans to spend Christmas in L.A. I’d hate to miss them.” Great. This was going great.

Amanda cocked her head. “And you won’t be applying for the chief accountant position?”

“I have no intention of doing so, no.”

A bona fide smile blossomed and lit up Amanda’s whole face in a way he hadn’t seen yet. She didn’t quite meet Quinn’s caliber, but when she smiled like that, she came very close. “I think lunch would be okay.”

Blake beamed. “Great. I’ll meet you in the lobby at noon.”

Amanda surprised him by standing and reaching for her purse and jacket. She folded her long coat over her arm and leaned in close to Blake. “I’ve known for a while who Mother and Duncan are considering for the job. Since you’re not in the running, I wouldn’t mind discussing it. If you can keep a secret. You won’t tell anyone?”

Blake hesitated for a fraction of a second—long enough to ask himself if he could keep a secret. Considering his past, he had to admit with uneasy acceptance that if there were anything he excelled at, it was keeping secrets. “Actually, Amanda, I’d just as soon not know.”

Amanda gave him that smile again and took the arm he offered.

He smiled back. He imagined Sadie and experienced the slightest brush of something that might’ve been regret before his elation took over. Things were finally falling into place.

As they walked toward the lobby, Blake caught sight of Sadie and Wes standing side by side, with their arms crossed, watching as Amanda and Blake strode through the bookkeeping parlor. Sadie managed a very Amanda-like lack of expression and was the first to look away.

Wes smiled, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out he liked seeing Blake’s attentions focused elsewhere.

* * * *

If ever she needed a week to fly by like a cheetah on speed, all Sadie had to do was plan a date with Amanda. Friday had come on fast, each passing day bringing her closer to dinner with her oddest, most unapproachable coworker. It seemed even more incomprehensible since Amanda and Blake had begun dating.

The window of opportunity had officially closed. The whole week had been torture.

Sadie had wrestled with guilt for having a crush on Blake and was hurt at being passed over for someone with all the personality of a shrub. Blake was on her mind constantly. His past ran through her head like a film strip, desperately trying to reconcile the deeds with the man. She wished for the freedom to feel him out, get to know him better, and try to understand. She had a feeling that, at the end of the day, Blake was a worthy investment, despite his previous bad judgment.

Should she admit to Amanda she had small feelings for Blake now, before things got serious? Would Amanda still want her to come for dinner if she knew? Had Blake talked about Sadie to Amanda? Made comparisons, assured her he preferred her company?

Her face reddened from the thought. She’d get this obligation over with and then give Blake and Amanda a wide berth from now on. Supposedly, there was some kind of fraternization policy at the firm, but no one had ever really tested it. Even when she’d been involved with Wes, Sadie had gone to great pains to keep it from ever coming to Duncan’s attention. Amanda didn’t seem to share the concern, and maybe Blake hadn’t been informed of the policy. Or, heck, maybe being Iris Avery’s daughter meant Amanda could do whatever the hell she wanted.

Sadie gripped the bottle of white wine and knocked a second time.
Come on. Don’t tell me I’ve been pranked.

Finally, just when Sadie thought she might explode from nerves, the white door opened to reveal Amanda as undone as Sadie had ever dreamed to see her. Her hair fell flat and straight as usual, but she was sans the jangle and cacophony of her costume jewelry, and no loud clothing graced her tall, lithe body. Just an unadorned heather gray sweatshirt and fluffy white socks on her feet. Where were the confused clashes of colors, the jarring, clunky jewelry?

Sadie pointed to the holes in Amanda’s light-washed jeans. “We must have the same stylist.”

Amanda glanced down and almost grinned, morphing her face into a less robotic impression. She took the wine from Sadie. “I’m glad you didn’t dress up. I worried you might.”

“Yeah, but I said—”

“I know.” She softened the interruption with a flat smile. “But I can’t say it’s never happened.”

Sadie stepped over the threshold and took in the stark quality of Amanda’s dwelling. It was as pristine and colorless as Amanda’s wardrobe was eclectic and gaudy. “Wow, Amanda. Nice place.” She removed her shoes, but even standing on the pure white carpet made her cringe. So white. So perfect. While Amanda closed the door, Sadie approached the only hanging item on the wall. A swipe of gray paint across a white surface inside a double-matted white frame. What was she going for? Asylum chic?

Amanda beckoned her through a hallway, which led to the kitchen.

Sadie was hit with a measure of relief straight away. A far cry from the sterile living room of perfection, the kitchen seemed lived in and used. The colorless scheme flowed through, but lavender dishes, on display in open-faced cabinets, added a muted feminine touch. Fresh hydrangea sat in a fat circular vase with a few inches of water.

Simple. Elegant. A little stuffy, but only because Sadie imagined she could ruin the place with a single spaghetti dinner.

Amanda set to stirring two pans on the stove, then checked inside the oven. “I’m glad you made it. I almost cancelled. It’s been a stressful week.”

Indeed, it had. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had called it off. It’s sort of weird, anyway.” Sadie didn’t know what to do with herself. The large square granite island transitioned into a high bar on one side, so she took a seat on one of the saddle stools. “We hardly know each other.”

Amanda pulled a baking sheet from the oven. Some kind of white fish, liberally sprinkled with fresh parsley and spices.

The scent made its way to Sadie. Her stomach grumbled in response. She’d come hungry. In case she didn’t like Amanda’s cooking, she’d be compelled to eat no matter what. It was smelling like that wasn’t going to be a problem.

Using potholders, Amanda slid the pan onto the countertop to cool. “I don’t make friends easily. When you offered to help me that weekend, I was extremely grateful, because there wasn’t anyone I could really ask. Being an Avery, people have little use for me unless I’ve got my hands in Mother’s pie.” She shrugged and turned back to the stovetop. “But then, I thought you might’ve offered for the sake of spending time with Blake. He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

Sadie swallowed. “He’s okay.”

“Later, I thought maybe you’d keep being nice to me after Duncan announced his resignation. Naturally, everyone will assume I know who’s taking his place.”

Correctly, I bet.
No way did Amanda spend weekends with her mom in Alpine without garnering some idea, but Sadie would die before she’d ask.

For all her ambition, there were lines she wouldn’t cross, and bringing the boss’s daughter into it was a line, even if a slightly muddy one. “You’re head of bookkeeping. I wouldn’t ask you to divulge something that isn’t your job—or business, if I’m frank—to divulge.”

“Agreed. It would be unethical on my part.” She pulled a glass serving bowl from a shelf and poured a mound of white, creamy pasta into it from the larger pot. “And Mother wouldn’t like it.” Amanda set the bowl of steaming pasta next to the fish and added a handful of fresh parsley from a small glazed bowl nearby.

Sadie tried not to moan as the scent of parmesan and garlic wafted her way.

“I had concerns about Blake, too,” she continued. “I thought you two were dating.”

“Can I help with anything? Would you like me to make plates? Or set the table?” Sadie didn’t like where the conversation was headed.

Green beans were drained in a colander in the sink and tossed into a second glass bowl with a dollop of butter and salt and pepper. “Of course not. You’re my guest.” Amanda pulled two pristine white dinner plates from another shelf and proceeded to compile food on them like they were going to be photographed for the cover of
Food & Wine.

Which they could’ve been. They were that pretty.

Amanda straightened after turning a filet just so. “Blake asked me out on Monday.” Her straight face expressed an impish happiness. “After assuring me you two weren’t involved, of course. Also, you’ve had ample time to quiz me about Duncan but haven’t. Anyone who’s kind to me with nothing to gain from it…” She lowered her gaze and grew suddenly shy and more reserved. “Well, suffice it to say, I can use more people like that in my life. We should be friends.” She lifted the plates and nodded once, a resolute cap on a declaration that left no room for argument. Or even friendly debate. A distinct layer of pity coated Sadie’s recent opinions of Amanda. Usually, she was too busy silently mocking her robotic nature to stop and think about how bad it would suck to be Iris Avery’s daughter in a firm where everyone was trying to get ahead.

She followed Amanda into the next room, the formal dining room, where the table was already set with cloth napkins, forks, butter knives, small dessert spoons, wineglasses, and shorter glasses already filled with ice water.

Sweet Jesus.
She definitely hadn’t dressed for a black tie event.

“Please, have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

Sadie sat and tried not to touch anything lest she leave a fingerprint smudge on the white—white, white, white,
so much white
—tablecloth.

Amanda returned balancing the bottle of wine Sadie had brought, a bowl of garden salad obviously prepared ahead of time, a decanter of some red oil-based vinaigrette, and two shallow salad plates. She showed no signs of struggle handling her haul. “There’s dessert. A chocolate mousse I prepared this morning before work, with raspberries. I don’t really enjoy chocolate, but I’ve seen you eat it. I used some of the raspberries to make the vinaigrette. I hope you like it.”

“I can’t believe you’d do all this for me.”
Especially since I might have a tiny crush on the man you’re dating.
Plus, she hadn’t done anything to deserve it, besides a self-serving favor.

Amanda set everything on the table and piled salad onto the plates, then opened the wine. “Cooking is how I handle stress. I’ve had this menu planned for a while. I’m happy to have someone to share it with.”

Sadie liberally dressed her salad, fork in the other hand waiting to dig in. She paused and waved it toward the compiled dishes. “You cook like this regularly? Just another plain old weekday dinner for you?” Geez, how was she not thirty pounds overweight and hauling around a second chin?

Amanda took her seat and tasted the wine. “Very good. How lucky you brought a dry white. It pairs well with the fish.” She set her wineglass down and reached for her fork. “Not usually pasta. You can see how much the recipe yields.”

After that, Sadie didn’t ask any more questions. She was starved. She wanted to plow through the meal but ate relative to Amanda’s pace. Although, she did have seconds of the cheesy, garlicky pasta. She’d hardly cleared her plate when Amanda spooned dessert into the small bowls. She topped the mousse with fresh raspberries and a dollop of whipped cream she’d made.

A short time later, Sadie licked the back of her spoon, certain she’d bust the button right off her jeans if she tried to stand. She sipped the dregs of her wine and eyeballed the bottle. One more glass ought to do it. Her gaze shifted to Amanda. Sadie had managed to drop a green bean in her lap and smear chocolate all over her pristine napkin, but Amanda was a slow, meticulous eater. Her napkin had only been used to dab unnecessarily at the corners of her mouth. Well, Sadie might’ve been careful, too, if she’d been wearing white, white, and more white.

She looked around the room. White, white, white. Such an acute difference between this Amanda and the one who showed at work in the festive garb of whatever nation grabbed her attention that morning. “I’ve had enough wine to finally ask.”