“Uh, okay. You usually match numbers to other numbers.” It wasn’t like she didn’t know almost as much about bookkeeping as I do. She just liked the game of prime-and-pump and I’d learned to keep nudging her or she’d grind to a halt.
“There are numbers in the stories, silly. They should match the numbers in the spreadsheets. If so, you can bill me your hourly.”
“And if they don’t?”
Silence wasn’t Rosie’s thing. She was usually starting her next sentence before you’d finished yours. After plenty of time for the ticking and clacking of gears, she answered.
“Then we’ll talk about a weekly rate.”
She should have sounded smug. She loved having the upper hand and made no secret about it when she had you in her palm.
She didn’t sound smug. She sounded scared.