Page 5

5

Ella

I spent the rest of my weekend hanging out in my condo, thinking about the expensive car in my possession. I was scared to drive it, but I also very much wanted to. I hoped I would hear from Jack, but besides a text asking me how my back was feeling and a response to my question about whether the G-Wagon needed particular gas, we didn’t exchange any more words.

I could have researched on my own about the gas, but I wanted to talk to him. He didn’t answer that question exactly. He told me to text him if I needed gas, and that either he or one of his guys would come and fill it up for me. Which was the dumbest thing I ever heard. It also warmed me all over. My ex couldn’t even fill up my car when he was the one driving it all over town. Let alone go out of his way, like Jack’s offering .

After informing Jack that I wouldn’t be doing what he told me to, he answered, Text me when you need gas, Gisella.

Not Ella, even though I’ve corrected him multiple times. I doubt I will see him after I get my car fixed, but I don’t know what it’ll take to get that man to call me Ella. It isn’t that I mind my full name. I like that it’s original. But as a kid who grew up in the foster care system, it sounds too fancy. Like someone who has a perfect life would be named Gisella, not someone who had to struggle and fight to get where she is today.

I sigh as I walk out to his expensive vehicle, that’s mine for however long it takes to fix the damage to my Audi. But I pause before getting in. I’m hoping nothing happens while I’m driving it. Feeling nervous, I finally climb into the car, throw my bag, purse, and lunch onto the passenger seat, and head to work.

As I drive, I strategize the research I should do this week to try to get to the bottom of my suspicions. There’s a balance between digging into the details and not alerting whoever the guilty party is that someone may be onto them.

I started getting suspicious a little less than a year ago, but I was never able to find anything concrete. I had asked my boss, Craig, a few probing questions, but he always shut me down by telling me I didn’t know anything and that I “shouldn’t be asking dumb questions a first-year accountant would know the answers to.”

It became even more apparent there was something going on when I was preparing last quarter’s financial reports. Things just didn’t add up. Then, a couple of weeks ago, while my boss was out of the office, the bank contacted me to approve a wire they received that I had never seen and didn’t understand what the payment was for, which prompted me to delve deeper into investigating .

My stomach clenches when I think about what I need to do today. Beyond some simple questions, everything I have looked into was information that I had access to. However, due to some discrepancies in the scanned documentation for multiple expenses over the last year, I need to ask a few department heads for the originals. I’ll have to figure out a way to ask that won’t seem like I’m fishing for information, since some of these are months old and already paid.

Greeting my coworkers distractedly, I walk toward my office. I wave to Mark Jenkins, the CEO, who has the office to the right of mine, before unlocking my door and stepping inside.

I got this.

With a deep breath, I settle into my chair to start my day.

I’m hanging up from a phone call when a shadow falls across my desk. I already know who it is without raising my eyes.

“Craig, how are you today?” I ask with a strained smile, quickly minimizing the documents I have open on my computer so he won’t see what I’ve been working on.

When he doesn’t respond, I glance up to find his eyes fixed on the invoices scattered across my desk.

Shit.

My mind is spinning. Should I try to cover the invoices, even if that might make it obvious, or act like nothing out of the ordinary is happening? Before I get the chance to decide, the sound of Mark’s door clicking open next door makes Craig take a big step back toward my door.

Lungs burning, I slowly release the breath I’m holding. I school my features the best I can as I meet Craig’s glare .

Craig breaks eye contact when Mark comes to my doorway to ask Craig a question about the budget reports. They both step into the hallway outside of our offices, and I take that opening to leave. I need to calm my nerves after that encounter.

I shut and lock my office door before heading to the breakroom to grab my lunch, each step farther away calming my nerves more and more.

My phone vibrates in my hand as I turn into the breakroom. My heart stutters.

Jack Sanders.

Why is he calling me?

Butterflies dance in my stomach until it dawns on me that it’s probably about my car. “Hey, Jack.”

“Gisella.”

On impulse, I correct him, “It’s Ella. What’s up?”

“Why are so many things wrong with your car?” he demands.

I scrunch my nose, confused. “Like, from the accident? I don’t know.”

His deep sigh rumbles through the phone. “No, Gisella. With the rest of your car.”

“Oh.” I frown. I knew about a few things, but they didn’t seem that serious, so I never got them fixed. “Well, what did your mechanic find?”

He begins listing the things his mechanic found. Nodding along to myself, I pull open the fridge to grab my lunch and freeze. My lunch bag is not in the refrigerator. “Shit.” I don’t realize I say that out loud until Jack gets quiet. “Oh, sorry, you were saying. Brake pads and some fluid leak or something?”

“What’s wrong?” He sounds so serious that I can’t help but smile .

“It’s nothing. I just realized I left my lunch in my car. And since it’s one thousand degrees outside, I’m not about to risk eating it after it’s been sitting in my hot car for hours.” I pause. “Well, I guess, technically, your hot car.”

“Can you go get something?”

I glance at the wall clock, noting I have a meeting in thirty minutes. “No, but it’s fine. I can grab some peanut butter crackers or something.” Mark provides the staff with a snack basket that’s refilled nightly. It’s a nice perk on days like today. “Sorry, you didn’t call to listen to me whine about lunch. I knew about some of the issues before the accident, so just let your mechanic know not to worry about it. I will get everything fixed, eventually.”

“But it isn’t safe,” Jack argues.

“I mean, it’s safe-ish,” I counter with a shrug he can’t see. “It’s a lot to fix, and I was trying to do it one thing at a time because it’s expensive. If you want to have your mechanic provide me with a list, I’ll make sure I start getting those repairs once I have my car back.”

Jack sighs again as muffled voices filter through my phone. “Look, I have to go. We can talk about this later.”

He hangs up, and I pull the phone away from my ear. With a pinched brow, I stare down at it as if it can answer all my questions about what he meant when he said we would talk about it later.

A smile pulls at my lips at his bossiness.