Dates And Other Nuts by Lori Copeland

obvious satisfaction. “At the moment, I’m deep into a complicated audit. A utility company. I suspect they’re not using their invested funds properly and I know they’re not reporting income from those investments. You wouldn’t believe what people think they can get away with...or at least fail to find out that they’ve got to report. And these people are supposed to be trained and informed.”
    â€œMust be complicated,” Temple murmured, her eyes starting to glaze over. An image of him naked surrounded by ledger books flashed in her mind, and she recoiled.
    â€œIt is. I’ve been working on this one area for a week now and I’ve just begun to scratch the surface. By the time I’m finished,” he said pompously, “they’re going to have quite an education in how to use a reporting system—”
    He droned on, detailing the steps he was taking to track down errors in the company’s accounting system, none of which she understood. Math had never been her strong point—witness her inability to balance her checkbook. Craig kept telling her it was simple. Mark off the checks returned with the bank statement with a red pen along with noted deposits, add up those not checked off—and she lost him there. Though she followed instructions carefully, somehow her checkbook never balanced out.
    But then, Craig made everything look easy.
    Bill never missed a beat in his continuing narrative about various complicated tax situations he’d had to unravel over the past two years. It seemed that most of them required several weeks of intense work equal to the development of the atomic bomb—work he was obviously willing to relate in intricate detail. But, he’d said not once but three times, it was soooo satisfying when the last column of figures was added up and balanced, stacks of forms completed perfectly and presented to the errant comptroller or head accountant.
    â€œMay I offer you one of our wonderful desserts,” the waiter suggested, displaying a tray of luscious-looking plaster facsimiles. “Spumoni, of course, French silk pie and a light pastry—”
    â€œNothing for me. Temple?” Bill was figuring on the napkin again.
    Temple eyed the French silk, but knew she didn’t dare order. Bill was already calculating the total of their meal and frowning.
    â€œNo, thanks. Maybe coffee, though.”
    â€œWe have a very nice latte, or perhaps a cappuccino?”
    â€œLatte, please,” Temple ordered. To heck with Bill. He’d chosen the place. He should have checked out the prices first if that was a concern.
    â€œAnd you, sir?”
    â€œJust decaf.”
    â€œCream, sir? There’s no extra charge.”
    â€œNo, black.”
    The waiter’s remark went right past Bill and Temple swallowed a laugh.
    The latte was exquisite. Temple leisurely sipped it as Bill continued his litany of tax errors most common to companies as compared to individual tax problems. Her mind began to numb.
    How was it possible, she wondered, to sit through an entire evening and not understand a single word the man said? How was it possible for an evening with such bright promise to dim so completely?
    â€œThey hadn’t even filed—”
    The waiter discreetly slipped the bill onto the table. “Thank you for dining with us this evening. I’ll take care of this for you whenever you’re ready.”
    As soon as he’d left, Bill picked up the bill. His hair stood on end. “Forty-one eighty? How is that possible?” He began frantically retotaling his columns. “Mine was $18.85, yours...$10.50. How much was the latte? More than the decaf? Decaf $.95. Latte?”
    â€œTwo seventy-five, I think. Look, if there’s a problem, I’ve got—”
    â€œThis bill can’t be right. Forty-one? Waiter? Will you come here, please?”
    Temple shifted slightly in the booth, hoping to lose