By the Book

Chapter One: A Matter of Numbers

Numbers never lied. They didn't care if you were having a bad day, running late, or dealing with a mountain of stress. They were steady, reliable, and—thankfully—predictable. That's why I liked them so much. Numbers just... worked.

Unfortunately, the same couldn't always be said about people.

"You're the best we've got for this, Kara." Alan's voice echoed through his spacious office, somehow managing to be both flattering and expectant. I didn't need to turn from the wall of windows framing Portland's hazy skyline to know he was giving me that look—the same one I'd gotten the day he handed me my first corporate account: Prove me right.

I straightened my blazer, tightening my grip on the folder he'd just given me. "We've got people for this kind of thing," I said evenly. "Maryanne's great with smaller clients. Why not her?"

"Maryanne's swamped," Alan said, slicing through the air with one hand. "And anyway, this one isn't your average 'mom-and-pop.' It's... complicated." He smiled faintly, like he was enjoying my discomfort.

"'Complicated,' how?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"The Tattered Tome," he said, leaning back in his chair as if the name alone explained everything. "A book café."

I frowned, glancing down at the file in my hands. A café? That wasn't exactly my area of expertise. Sure, I'd handled plenty of complex accounts, but those were corporate giants with clear goals and well-defined budgets—not quirky, small-town businesses relying on charm to keep the lights on.

"'A book café,'" I repeated, my skepticism plain. "And what's Vanessa's interest in this?"

Alan's grin widened. "Ah, sharp as always. Vanessa's got a personal connection. The original owner, Eleanor, was a family friend. She passed away two years ago and left the shop to her nephew. Now it's floundering, and he reached out for help. Vanessa wants us to fix it."

Fix it, I echoed internally as I flipped through the pages in the folder. The financials weren't excellent—thin profit margins, inconsistent expenses, and a glaring lack of structure. "And you think I'm the right person for this, why, exactly?"

"Because you're the best," Alan spoke simply, shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You've got a knack for taking chaos and turning it into order. Plus, Vanessa wants someone sharp. Someone who can handle the numbers and deal with the owner."

I arched an eyebrow. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, though his tone suggested otherwise. "But let's just say he's not exactly... traditional."

That didn't sound promising. I closed the folder, trying to keep my expression neutral. "Let me guess. If I say no, it'll reflect poorly on me during my next review?"

Alan spread his hands in a mock gesture of helplessness. "You said it, not me."

I bit back a sigh, my grip tightening on the folder again. "Fine. I'll take the account."

"Good," he said, smirking like he'd just won something. "You'll need to visit the shop tomorrow. Get a feel for the place."

I nodded curtly, turning on my heel and leaving before he could say anything else. The folder felt heavier with each step I took, like it was already weighing me down.

By the time I reached my office, the familiar hum of efficiency greeted me. The soft clatter of keyboards and the faint murmur of conversations were like white noise, grounding me in a way Alan's smug grin never could. My assistant, Chloe Elligsen, glanced up from her desk just outside my office door, her dark curls bouncing as she tilted her head in concern.