CHAPTER 20
Finley
Ownership of One Bean has proved to be an exhausting endeavor. Still, it’s the one thing in my life keeping me grounded and feeling accomplished. I’m working seven days a week there now, bringing work home to do late at night, worrying myself sick over keeping this business running at the profit it was and all at the same time loving the hell out of it. I honestly think I was born for entrepreneurship, and however much fate or God or whatever has played a part in putting me here, I won’t go a single day without taking a moment to acknowledge my gratitude.
Even Carrick putting his fingers into my business isn’t as off-putting as I thought it would be. He sent over an email yesterday requesting a digital copy of my accounting books for the last three months. He wants his CFO to take a look and make sure that I’m categorizing my expenses properly, which I’m appreciative of. I’m merely following the same way Rich has done things, but I’m never too proud to think I know everything or there’s just one way. This was easily accomplished, and I emailed them right over.
I was a little embarrassed I couldn’t meet his next request. He asked to review the shop’s human resources manual as well as the procedural manual on operations. I tore apart Rich’s office—no, wait… my office—searching for such things. After scratching my head for a bit, I scoured every folder on the computer he left behind, but I couldn’t find anything remotely similar to what Carrick had asked for. Training and policy had just sort of been handed down from Rich to manager to manager to employee over the years, and it seemed to work.
I guess.
Almost like a dog with my tail tucked between my legs, I had to notify my silent partner no such manuals apparently existed.
He didn’t reply. Instead, someone claiming to be his secretary emailed me and set up an actual business appointment for the following week so we could discuss it. She also sent me sample manuals to look at and passed on that Carrick would like me—essentially ordering me, but it was nicer coming from her—to start drafting my own manuals for him to review before our meeting.
Which means even later nights than I’m already spending on my business, but it’s a short-term hardship. Once everything is set up properly, it will make me better, more efficient, and hopefully more prosperous, so I don’t mind Carrick’s demands regarding the business.
I can keep him separate in the business realm from how we’re working together in the fantastical one.
And once again, I’m heading up the elevator to Carrick’s condo, a trip I make every Monday through Saturday, as, true to his word, Titus instituted Sunday as my day of rest. Not that I rested. I’d put in a solid fifteen to eighteen hours at One Bean on my day off from training and education on all things supernatural.
Today is Thursday.
Five days since my date with Michael was ruined—he hasn’t called by the way.
Five days since Stan, the real fortune-teller, told me something dark was coming. Is it any wonder that during the few hours of sleep I do manage to get, it’s completely disturbed by scary dreams that wake me up and of which I can’t remember anything? Which makes scary dreams all the scarier in my opinion.
My life has become a busy routine, rotating in and out between my normal life and my new fantastical life. It also means I’m still lying to my roommates, telling them I’m merely working late at One Bean. None question me, but they’re all worried in their own ways. Rainey has been fretting quite a lot about me burning the candle at both ends. Myles is a typical man, bemoaning I’m not cooking for them anymore, but he means it with the greatest love. And Adira sees how hard I work at One Bean during her shifts and the stress I’m under keeping the staff balanced since we’ve changed over ownership.
I wonder if it will always be like this… working long hours and maintaining a secret life, lying to my friends, and essentially having no time for them anymore. Is this the beginning of the end for us? Is our friendship doomed?
Shaking my head, I refuse to accept it. I reason that everything will level out once I understand what’s going on. My fondest wish is that there’s a simple explanation, and I can go back to my old life and ignore it. Actually, an even fonder wish is that Stan’s prediction about something dark coming is a complete false reading, but somehow… deep in my gut, I know Stan isn’t wrong.
The elevator doors whisper open, and I’m jarred out of my troubling thoughts. To my surprise, Titus, Zaid, and Carrick all stand there.