“Because,” Luc lowered his voice as someone passed them in the hallway, “the numbers don’t add up. Until I find out where the money has disappeared, I’m not letting Ben buy this place.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “And inventorying the supply room will help?”
Luc showed her the spreadsheet, pointing to the amount paid for supplies. “Doesn’t that number seem a little high to you?”
“Good grief,” Elise gasped. “Andersen had three times more employees than this place and I know they never spent that much on pens.”
Luc thumped the page. “That’s how much for just one month.”
Elise’s eyes widened. “One month? Goodness.” She swallowed and nodded. “You’ll have your inventory by tomorrow at noon.”
Luc left Elise in the store room and headed up to the second floor where Ben waited for him. He strolled into the vacant CEO’s office and tossed the spreadsheet on the desk before Ben.
“Is this what you were looking for?”
Ben pounced on the sheet. “Where did you find it?”
Luc smiled smugly. “I didn’t. My wife made a spare copy.” He removed his jacket and tossed it onto the couch.
“Your wife is an angel.”
“Yes. She is.” Luc pulled up a chair on the other side of the desk.
“How much to get her to work for me,” Ben asked, scanning the sheet like he was memorizing it.
“Forget it,” Luc answered quickly. “You can’t have her.” Not now. Not ever. He cleared his throat. “By the way, you and I are taking Elise to dinner tonight. And you’re buying.”
Ben looked up. “Why?”
“Because my wife is at this very moment inventorying the supply room. And we,” Luc added smiling, “are going to show our appreciation while she tells us what she’s found by seven tonight.”
“The whole room? She won’t have the whole thing done by seven tonight.”
Luc arched a brow. “Care to place a bet on that?” He knew his wife, the taskmaster. If Elise said she’d have something done by noon the next day that meant the previous evening. Because he—of all people—knew that come tomorrow morning she expected Luc to keep her busy with another project.
“How much?”
“If I win… you send her flowers with a note from me.”
“And if I win… same deal, but the note is from me.” Ben held out his hand to shake on it.
“Deal.” Luc shook his hand and smiled. Either way, Elise would get flowers which would make her smile and overlook the tedium of organizing the hellish room downstairs. And if by some bizarre coincidence Ben should win, Luc would still come out on top. Because he’d make damn sure the bouquet from Ben paled in comparison to the one Luc would send her.
A boot squeaked on the tiled floor and shiver of premonition snaked down Elise’s spine. She glanced over her shoulder. Oh no. A Bingley. Just what she needed at six-thirty.
“Luc. Where are you when I need you,” she muttered, yanking the copies of the finished inventory from the copier. She grabbed the original, then spun around and scampered towards the hallway leading to the office where Luc and Ben were holed up.
A coarse laugh from behind her told her it was Bingley Junior. She should have known. Bingley Senior didn’t squeak; his cowboy boots thudded.
Elise rounded a corner and into a hard wall of chest. Strong arms came around her to steady her and she looked up. “Lucien,” she cried in relief.
“I’m glad to see you, too, darlin’, but why were you running?”
Elise swallowed her dignity and decided it was time to let Luc release some pent up hostilities. “Because Junior was—”
“Where is he?”
Elise pointed back the way she came. “He was right behind me.”
Luc set her aside and marched like a soldier off to war. Elise fell in line behind him and had to skip to keep up with his long strides. They met up with Ben in the hallway.
“You two ready for dinner?”
Luc advanced on him. “Did you see Junior come this way?”
Ben nodded and pointed down the hall. “Just saw him bolt out the front door.”
“Damn, he’s probably to his car by now.” Luc raked a hand through his hair and turned around to her. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing. He just looked at me and,” she shuddered, “cackled. I didn’t stick around long enough to hear him if he did say anything.”
Ben checked his watch. “You can get Junior tomorrow. We’ve got reservations at seven and I’m starving.”