Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 19330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 97(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 64(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 97(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 64(@300wpm)
I don't know why that annoys me, but it doesn't give me hope for our meet-up. When I'm back in my room, I have the time to actually take a look at the project, and Professor Tamson wasn't lying.
It's daunting at best, impossible at worst. There are twelve months of financial documents for a corporation where we have to perform a forensic audit. This entails tackling the original accountant's documents, the original auditor's findings, and delving deeper into the financial history of the company to ensure accuracy.
My face burns, and my eyes water at the amount of work staring at me. In the real world, this level of auditing takes months to sift through and verify. I'm fucked. Even if I despise group work, there's no way I can do this assignment without Marcus' help.
After a long shower, I eat dinner and listen to some music to calm my nerves. My mind needs a reset before I look back at the assignment. When I'm ready, I pull it back up along with my assignments due for the rest of this week and make a game plan. I spend the next few hours breaking the project up into sizable tasks while squeezing in the current coursework due.
By the time Wednesday rolls around, I'm confident that I can split the work equally with Marcus, and hopefully, he's up to the challenge.
When I enter the library, there's an elevator that takes me straight up to the fourth floor, where every financial textbook and reference guide can be found. There's a study group taking place in one of the conference rooms. This school has a thing for glass walls and doors.
I can look inside and see a few familiar faces, and I think it's Aidan leading the group. My heart flutters with hope that it's him. I'm all for fingering and cock sucks, but I'm hoping he can take a look at my attack plan for this group project. It's the reason I went to see him in the first place.
"Addison," a voice calls from a nearby table.
Marcus Henry isn't a name I remember, but he definitely has a face I'll never forget. He's handsome enough, but rarely shows up to class. It seems pointless to hope he'll take over to let me skate by on his work. The only reason I remember his face is because the girls sitting beside me swoon every time he does show up to class.
There are at least three thick finance books spread out on the table. His MacBook is open, phone playing some animated movie, and notes on index cards that look like they were given to him by some girl in love with an orange highlighter.
"Is all of this for the auditing assignment?" I ask him.
Marcus shifts his gaze up at me. He nudges the chair across from him with his foot for me to sit down. "No, these notes are for my Econ courses. I was hoping you could take the lead on the Tamson stuff."
I nod and immediately know he's not going to be able to help. "I've gone over everything we have to do and broken it down into tasks. I already have a general review of areas for concern. I also noted specific items that need verification and marked areas where documents and journal entries are missing."
"Wow, that's amazing. My brain shut off as soon as I saw the folder had over 165 pages." He chuckles and goes back to reading the books in front of him.
"Okay, so how do you want to split this workload up? We can go by financials in each department, identify the line items that need examining, and take it from there."
"Yes, let's start there." He nods without acknowledging me. "Once you identify that, I should be done with this bit of research I'm doing for my dissertation, and I can help."
"No offense, but you barely come to class. Why should I trust that you're going to jump in after I essentially do the first half of this work? I have other assignments as well."
"Oh, so this is a negotiation, then?" he asks, a grin etching across his face.
I turn around to see if he's actually speaking to me. Confusion riddles every word. "What are you talking about?"
He chuckles and tips his chair back with an air of arrogance that's undeniable. "You tell me how much work it's going to be and how much I have to contribute. When I tell you I don't have the time, you throw out a number, and I toss one back, and then the amount we agree on magically appears in whatever account you wish."
"I know you're not suggesting what I think you are."
"Venmo? Paypal? Zelle? CashApp? Apple Pay? Fuck, do you want it on your meal card? How do you want to get paid so we can both go back to what we need to do?"