Again.
This was all info I shared with her when I dropped him off, yet that doesn’t stop me from fretting about it all damn day.
And it’s not just me. I could tell Chase was struggling too. We hung around a few extra minutes this morning, Chase making sure Milo was changed and snuggled into Sophia’s old swing before he slowly made his way to the front door like a man on death row. And that was an improvement over the day before. The first day, drop off took forty-five minutes, and I cried.
A lot.
“There you go, ma’am. It looks like you missed a recent update with the new tax modifications. Your system is up-to-date now and should compute correctly,” he says, breaking me out of my baby blues funk and back to the present. It also doesn’t go unnoticed that he called me ma’am, like I’m fifty-three years old. Do I sound that old?
Unable to hide my irritation, I reply, “Thank you.”
“Unless there’s anything else, you’re all set today, ma’am.”
I sigh, closing my eyes.
Ma’am.
I’m probably ten years younger than this guy. Who is he calling ma’am?
“Nothing today,” I grumble, disconnecting before I can say anything else that’ll probably get me written up.
“Is payroll ready? I was supposed to leave five minutes ago,” my boss asks politely as he steps into my office.
I turn and give him a look. Not just any look, but the look. The one that says I’m going to kill you in your sleep and hide the body where no one will ever find it if you don’t step back for five fucking seconds.
“We’ve got time,” he replies quickly, his eyes wide with fear. Rubbing the back of his neck, Harrison adds, “You just tell me when you’re ready.” Then, another hasty retreat from my office.
I hit the keys a little too hard as I finish imputing everyone’s time. The program does exactly what it’s supposed to do, computing the correct deductions and withholdings, and before I know it, paychecks are printing.
Except when they’re not.
I glance over at the offending printer, knowing I put enough checks in the tray for today’s payroll run, and find the red light flashing on top.
Toner.
Mother of God in heaven, is there anything else that can go wrong today?
“Hey, Gabby, the toilet in the men’s locker room is overflowing. Can you call the plumber?” one of the trainers asks as he steps around the corner.
I glance up, my face probably as red as the maroon Nike tank top sculpted to his perfectly chiseled torso. He’s not a bad-looking guy and he knows it, but he doesn’t hold a candle to Chase Callahan.
Before I can even formulate a reply that involves the words death, fuck-off, and beatdown, Harrison practically comes sprinting into the office. “I’ll make that call, Dane. Gabby’s a little busy right now, so why don’t you step into my office and we’ll call the plumber.” Dane glances my way, clearly noticing the eye-daggers I’m throwing at him, and follows our boss into his office in a rapid departure.
I take a deep breath, and then another.
Why am I so irritable?
Closing my eyes and exhaling deeply, I turn my attention to the printer. Thank God, I keep extra toner on hand. I pop the new one in the machine and click the OK button on top, probably a lot harder than I need to. It instantly starts printing paychecks, and I can’t help but sigh in relief.
I take the stack into my brother-in-law’s office just as he sets down the phone. “The plumber is on his way,” he says to Dane, glancing my way for a brief second.
“I’ll let the front desk know to watch for him,” Dane says before exiting the office, keeping an eye on me the entire way, as if he’s afraid to give me his back.
When he’s gone, I set the stack of checks on his desk and he immediately starts to sign. The silence is deafening, and I know I need to apologize for my shitty mood. He didn’t do anything wrong, yet I’m taking my craptastic day out on him. “Hey, sorry I’ve been a little out of sorts today,” I say as I drop down into the chair across from his desk.
He glances up, glasses perched on his nose, and gives me a small smile. I can totally see why my sister fell head over heels in love with the man. “Gabby, do you remember when you first started?” he asks, setting his pen down and giving me his full attention. The fact that he still has half the paychecks to sign doesn’t go unnoticed by me, and I’m sure it shows on my face.
Harrison just grins again and leans back in his chair. “Those first few days were hell.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, even though I kinda already know where he’s going with this.