Page 49 of Trusting Her Bear
“I know. That’s why you have me.”
“One of the many reasons,” she says sweetly.
“We are still doing the books,” I say.
“Fuck, alright,” she snaps.
I laugh hard and wipe the tear that escapes down my best friend's face as she watches me in awe.
“I know,” I whisper, sobering. I don’t remember the last day I had something to laugh about.
My mate is my reason.
“This is a mess,” I growl after thirty minutes of trying to make sense of Breeane’s filing system.
“I tried,” she whines for the tenth time.
“How hard?” I say.
“Very,” she replies.
The office is just big enough to fit a desk, three chairs, and a table along the wall. There is only a small window, but I was instantly comfortable until I saw the piles of papers across the desk.
“I’m glad I got here when I did,” I mumble.
“Me too,” she grins.
“Hello,” Sally says from the front.
“Back here,” Breeane says.
Sally appears in the doorway. “Your man locked me out of the office on my first day of work,” she says. “He said he didn’t need me today,” she pouts. “He was closing the office for the day since we didn’t have any appointments.”
“He said he had things to do today. I assumed he meant at the office,” I say.
“Apparently not. He had some important meeting.”
“I’m sure he’ll let you in tomorrow,” Breeane says brightly, dropping her head back over the chair to see her.
“But I picked my outfit for the first day.” She waves down her body before putting her hand on her hip. “I can’t wear it tomorrow. I was going to impress him with my professionalism and my power suit.”
Her first-day outfit was a bright red suit. It fit like a second skin to her knees, but flared out in a cut ruffle. The blazer has two buttons clasped at her waist, low enough to show her shiny black tank underneath. It showed off her fit body perfectly.
“You look amazing,” I offer.
“Super hot,” Breeane adds.
“I know.” She pats Breeane’s hair hanging over the back of the chair before she plops down in the one beside her, crossing her legs to face her. “What are you two up to?”
“Steph is making me do paperwork.”
“You poor thing,” Sally says sadly, resting her elbow on the back of the chair, her head hitting her palm.
“Are we serious about the bakery?” I ask, raising a brow.
“Yes,” she sighs.
I shuffle through some receipts. “I need to get us organized and on a budget. Do you have your business account information? I need all your finances—what you intend to spend, and what you don’t want to touch. Also, do you have your menu figured out yet? What are your prices for each item?” I look up from the papers to see both of them looking afraid.