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The soft sounds of a shakuhachi recording filled the silence of the room, almost covering the scratching of my pen, the drumbeat from his headphones, and the rustling of our papers.
I poured over the numbers, the trying to unravel the strings before Charmy could break my concentration. I stifled a yawn and fought the urge to look out the window. I knew how late it was. There was no need to dwell on it.
“That’s a funny face you’re makin’,” Vector remarked, highlighting the page in front of him.
“These numbers aren’t adding up,” I glanced at him over my reading glasses.
“They’re your numbers, Espio,” It was true. I did most of the bookkeeping these days.
“This check is larger than we were promised,” I slid it over to him.
Vector peered at it, eyes narrowing. Though his face would seem blank to most, after the incident with Metal Sonic, I knew his tells. I saw the faintest upturn of the outside of his lip. “Are you sure?”
“Hand me the Jamison file.”
He hesitated a second before sliding it over to me, and I paged through it. My lip turned up as I snatched the highlighter from his hand and circled the figure. “He gave us three times this. And you didn’t notice?”
Vector shrugged, looking at me. “I was too busy trying to figure out how I could help Sonic.” But his eyes broke away a split second before they should have. Another secret.
“I never knew a schoolteacher could have such means.” I started flipping through the folder again. “Maybe we should do a background check on him. Perhaps I could meet him under the guise of thanking him, or attempting to repay his oversight.”
Vector held up his hands. “Whoah, whoah! Any job that pays, Espio, even if it pays wrong.” I could see panic creeping up in his eyes. After all this time, he didn’t trust me.
I glared at him over my reading glasses.
“What if I told you he ain’t just a school teacher?”
I let my face relax a little around my eyes. “And?”
“And I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, but you don’t need the worry of knowin’ who he is.”
We stared at each other for a moment.
“I’ll wake Charmy,” I threatened.
“Like hell you will.”
“Don’t underestimate me.”
He leaned over the table, nose to nose with me. “I don’t make you tell me every ninja secret. Don’t try to make me gossip about clients.”
“They’re my clients, too.”
“It’s my job to worry ‘bout ‘em. It’s your job to spy on ‘em, and keep the books.”
I leaned in, my nose touching his, eyes narrowing. “I don’t need your protection,” I snapped.
“It ain’t about need. You worry about me and Charmy all the time. Let someone worry about you for once.”
I settled back in my chair, turning pink. I was the one who had underestimated him.