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“I’m a mom, I catch on. But I’ve also been in your shoes. I fell for a man who was twenty years older than me and I was terrified of what my father would say, what my friends and everyone else would think. Especially because Jonas was a billionaire. I thought for sure everyone would see me as the gold-digging succubus who was only interested in him for his money.”
“Who says I’m falling for him?”
“Your eyes.”
I play nervously with the now-empty water bottle in my hand.
“I barely even know him.” I bite back the tears that threaten to fall. “It’s so silly. I literally tried giving him my number at a bar the night of my graduation party, before I even knew who he was. Who knows, maybe we were meant to be, but life is cruel and has other plans.” I’m now laughing but the tears have begun to fall and I’m wiping them away furiously as I nervously chatter on. “Why can’t I just go after guys my own age, ya know? Or why can’t they actually be the kind of men I’m interested in?”
Chantelle steps forward and pulls me in for a hug. We stand there for a few moments as she rubs my back and I let out the pent-up tears I’ve been holding back.
“I just don’t want to be a head case that only goes after men old enough to be my father because of my daddy issues.”
“Hey.” She pulls back, her palms pressed against my cheeks. “You and your father are working through things. Don’t think that all your attraction toward older men is rooted in an issue. You’re addressing those issues; you’re healing from your past… You just need to be gracious with yourself.”
“I’m trying but then I end up doing something silly like flirt with my dad’s best friend.” I roll my eyes at myself.
“I need to get home but, Brontë, don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m not saying that there’s no chance something could actually develop between you and Beckham; I’m just telling you that before it does turn into something, he needs to be honest with your father about his intentions. Beckham’s a good man but I also don’t want you throwing away a chance at marriage and kids and all that because you’re blinded by the attraction of someone older and successful.” She squeezes my hands in hers. “Just listen to your heart. It won’t steer you wrong.”
We say our goodbyes and I’m left with no more clarity than when she arrived on how I should proceed with things.
I walk to my bathroom where I stand in an overly hot shower for far too long, my fingers and toes like prunes when I finally emerge, playing out every scenario in my head and the possible outcomes.
I try to convince myself that flirting and fooling around is necessary to get out of the infatuation, honeymoon stage and see if there are any real feelings and emotions beneath all that, but in order to get that far, I’m risking so much on the off chance that one of us develops feelings and the other doesn’t.
* * *
“This can’t be right.”
I flip back and forth between the reports given to me by Pierce Investments, trying to reconcile the random withdrawals I’m seeing coming out of the employee investment account.
I pick up the phone and call Gretchen, the woman I’ve been doing most of my conversing with regarding files and documents.
“Hey, Gretchen, it’s Brontë again,” I say apologetically. “I’m sorry but can you double-check for me that I have all of the reports for cash flow?”
“Hey, Brontë, no worries. Yes, give me just a moment; let me put you on a brief hold.”
I wait patiently for a few moments before she comes back on the line.
“Yup, that’s everything. Why, what’s up?”
“I just can’t make sense of some withdrawals I’m seeing.”
“For which account?”
“The employee investment account. I see the deposits going into the account and I’ve matched them with individual employee ID numbers so I know they’re contributing directly from their checks pre-tax, but I can’t make sense of the random withdrawals. They’re not on a schedule and they’re all varying amounts.”
“Oh, sorry,” she says, “I wish I could be of more help but I’m just the messenger on a lot of this stuff. Let me make a note for someone in accounting to get back to you. Does that work?”
I shuffle through a few more files. “Actually, let me try to go through things one more time. I very well could be missing something. I’m going to reorganize this paperwork, then go through it again. If I’m still confused, I’ll shoot you over an email to have someone call me.”
“Okay, sounds good. Good luck!” She offers me a chipper goodbye and hangs up.
After three more hours of trying to reconcile these numbers, I give up and gather what I’ve found so far and head to Beckham’s office after double-checking his calendar that he’s not busy.
I knock on the door that’s halfway open and walk inside to see Beckham looking more handsome than usual. It’s late in the day, probably close to half of the company has gone home, but Beckham’s tie is straight, his sleeves down and his vest fully buttoned.
“Hey, got a minute?”
