No Control | Holding Me Ransom (Book 2)

19 - The Stories That I Can't Explain

"So the ones in this pile are still waiting on decisions?" Nicki asked, indicating to a stack of papers in a tray on my desk.

He didn't use the 'Hey there Delilah' joke before he knew me.

"Yeah, I've got their accounts attached to each cover sheet for me to analyse," I replied.

I remember explaining myself the first time I said it to him while I was in LA.

"OK so will you have time to get through all these before Friday?" Nicki asked.

Why is he suddenly posting pictures of plain white tees?

"Yeah, definitely," I nodded. "I'll be done by Thursday probably, and I'd like to keep Friday clear to tie up any loose ends and hand everything over."

And why use my joke as the caption?

"That's fine. I'm pleased with the way you've organised this, Jess. Well done."

Is it aimed at me? Or is it disgracefully arrogant of me even to contemplate that?

"Thanks," I smiled. "I'll catch up with you again on Friday morning."

What other possible reason would there be to post something like that? Was the song playing at the time he took the picture?

Nicki stood up and walked back into her office and I picked up the pile of papers we had been discussing and flicked through to the company accounts. I needed to keep busy.

Had he been hanging out with the band The Plain White T's or something?

I picked up a balance sheet and a sparkly pink glitter gel pen.

Fixed Assets: nine hundred thousand pounds. Good start.

Or is he just posting shıt like this to get my attention and play with my emotions?

Long Term Liabilities: one point two million. Damn.

Why would he even do it? Why would he do any of it? What could he possibly gain? Other than hurting me even more?

Working Capital: five hundred and fifty thousand. Result.

Why was I even wasting my time thinking about someone who treated me like dirt?

Net Worth: two hundred and fifty grand.

Think about something else.

Decision: Approved Limit of two hundred thousand.

I need to text Adam on my lunch to make arrangements for this weekend.

Discretionary Limit to this buyer: fifty grand.

I never replied to Calvin. Or Callie. Or any of those texts from yesterday.

"Jess?"

I looked up.

"Are you OK?" Sarah asked.

"Fine," I lied. "Just ploughing through these limit applications."

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

I put my pen down and rested my elbows on my desk, rubbing my temples. "That stupid Instagram post is messing with my head."

"I thought it would," Sarah sighed, pulling her chair across the carpet to the other side of my desk and resting her elbows in the same position as me. "Can't you just comment on it or something? Or just ask him outright what he's playing at?"