Chapter Fourteen

Brooke

I t felt as if my entire life was made up of Fridays, probably because Ilya was such a big part of my work life. And he would be for the foreseeable future. His accounts were my only accounts, so for forty hours each week, I lived and breathed his businesses, and then for an hour or two on Fridays, I had to see him, be close to him and smell that expensive, masculine scent that stayed with me for far too long.

I shook off those feelings before Ilya arrived at the restaurant and mentally replayed what I needed to tell him.

"Brooke," he said as he breezed in and took the seat across from me. "Looking lovely as usual."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his compliment. "Ilya," was the only reply I had for him because, of course, he looked like he'd just stepped off the cover of a magazine.

He sat and looked at the menu, but I could tell he wasn't really reading it, which confirmed my belief that he'd been here before. "What looks good, Brooke?"

I shrugged. "I'm not hungry." Apparently, he was going to play this game every single week.

"Nonsense, you have to eat." He summoned over a server and ordered a large Mexican platter with tacos, mini burritos, nachos with salsa and guacamole, and who knew what else. He flashed a satisfied smile at me. "You'll love it."

"What if I don't like Mexican food?"

His blond brows dipped. "Who doesn't like Mexican food? That's ridiculous."

I rolled my eyes again because Mexican food—which I loved—was not the battle I wanted to wage with this man. "Whatever, Ilya. You've ordered your food, so—"

"Our food," he corrected, interrupting me.

"Can we discuss business now?"

His lips flattened into a disappointed pout. "Is it really so difficult to be around me?"

"Yes, it is." I sighed heavily. "I don't want to get into it, let's just talk about why we're here. Your account with Montrose."

"It seems like you want to get into it. So, tell me, Brooke, how can I fix things?"

"You can't." There was nothing he could say or do that would make me forgive him. I understood that his father died, but he didn't check on me at all, never bothered to see if our night together had consequences. When we reconnected, I might have thawed to him, but the way he brushed off our encounter in his office made me realize that to him women were just playthings. Sure, he was charming and handsome—and wonderful company. But I wasn't falling for it again, only to have him take off and leave when he got bored with me.

"For now, I will drop it," his lips parted into a brilliant smile. "What do the numbers say about my business this week?"

That was my opening. I gave myself a few moments to gather my thoughts and then I launched into the details. "There are some serious discrepancies in your books."

His brows dipped. "Impossible." His arrogance was off putting, but I reminded myself that he was a client and keeping him happy was my job.

"That is your opinion, but I have gone over the accounts, multiple times this week and there are definitely discrepancies. Do you want to know about them, or do you want to continue to dismiss me?" He wouldn't be the first man to treat me like I didn't know what I was doing, but it stung a little more coming from him.

"I'm listening." His holier than thou attitude really grated, but instead of calling him out on it, I turned my attention to the books.

"At least three of your businesses for certain, but there are two more where the numbers are just enough within the margins that it can be easily explained away." Against my better judgment, I slid around to his side of the booth to show him the spreadsheets. He'd steadfastly refused to meet me in my office, insisting instead to play his little restaurant game and try and turn our meetings into dates. I wasn't happy about taking work documents out of the office, but all the reports were anonymized, and I was with the client himself, so I had to break my own personal rule and do business elsewhere. "This is higher than it should be when you don't have more bottles in your inventory. See how it looks like you've ordered more bottles than you have but the inventory amount doesn't show it? That's a problem." I felt as if I was explaining it badly, but the frown on Ilya's face said he understood.

Still, he shook his head in disbelief. "There must be a mistake. It has to be."

My spine went ramrod straight at the unspoken accusation. I told myself this wasn't a jab at my skills, but the common disbelief clients experienced when it became clear they were being betrayed by one of their employees. Still, I put distance—physical and emotional—between us by sliding back to my original seat. "I've told you what I've found and what I think it means. What you do with this information is up to you." My annoyance was at an all-time high and I began packing up my things because this conversation was going nowhere. I was tiring of his games, but to have him doubt my abilities was the final straw. Once I got back to the office I would see if Ruben would consider dealing with Ilya himself. I would be foregoing my last year of college tuition, but I'd prefer to work hard and make up the money myself, than continue in this cat and mouse game with Ilya.

"Brooke, wait."

"There's no need. You want to believe what you want and that's fine, but it is a waste of my time to be here when I could be back at the office working." Far, far away from him.

"What other work do you have to do if I am your only client?"

"Believe it or not, I don't spend each day of the week simply waiting for Friday. You have multiple businesses with different needs, which means there is always something to do. See you next Friday." I stormed out of the restaurant, angry that I had to skip the Mexican food and annoyed that he'd requested my service and then refused to listen.

I fumed the whole trip back to Montrose Accounting, angry and frustrated that Ilya was being na?ve. It wasn't like him—not the Ilya I knew back in the day, but the man I'd grown to know over the past few weeks. He was astute and those pale blue eyes rarely missed a detail, yet in this instance he was being purposely blind.

His problem, not mine .

That's what I told myself as I walked back to the office. My anger had calmed somewhat, and I'd decided not to ask my boss to take over. The sooner I finished my degree, the sooner I could afford to pick and choose my clients. The minute I was through the door, I went directly to Ruben and gave him a quick rundown of the meeting, "I'm sure it's fishy, but he doesn't want to listen, and we don't push, right?"

Ruben smiled, but even he couldn't hide the concern in his eyes. "That's right, Brooke. We don't push because, ultimately, the choice is the client's."

I'd heard this exact sentence no less than one hundred times since I started working for Ruben. Still, though, I couldn't decide if Ilya was trying to get me off the scent of something improper, or if he was just blind to men he believed loyal to him. Either way, I did what I was obligated to do and now it was time to move on.

Even though I was already physically and emotionally exhausted, I sat at my desk and went through the numbers two more times just to make sure it was something worth mentioning. It was just as I thought, but my confirmation wouldn't make Ilya listen, so I focused instead on the upcoming quarterly reports, plugging them into the accounting software to give me a big picture view of everything.

It was worse than I thought from this angle.

The numbers were off. It was too consistent to be a simple error, it looked more like fraud or some type of embezzlement. Someone was ripping Ilya off and he didn't care. Which makes it none of your business , I told myself no less than a dozen times before I moved on, saving my progress, and logging out for the day.

I had a test tonight that I needed to pass in order to keep things on the right track with graduating, which was why I refused to let Ilya derail my plans.

Again.

Tonight, after my test, I would enjoy a glass of wine and celebrate one more milestone that would get me closer to being a college graduate.

Finally.