Rhea
"Five hundred and eighty-six thousand..."
"No..." I deleted the figure and typed it again.
"Five hundred and sixty-eight thousand."
Much better. The club's inventory reports had somehow become my responsibility after Luke claimed numbers "gave him a headache."
Which I know was a lie. He only wanted to have me do more work that I already have.
I clicked through another column, comparing receipts with purchase orders.
Helmet orders. Replacement bike parts.
My eyes were beginning to cross. Maybe numbers really were evil.
I was halfway through calculating next month's projected expenses when I heard a tap against my desk.
Tap. Tap.
Without looking up, I said
"Luke if you're looking for an excuse to dump more work on me, the answer is no."
No response. I looked up.
Ryan sto
