Fudging the Numbers

Isaiah sat at his desk, rubbing chocolate on the ledger.

“What are you doing?” Polly asked.

“Hm?” Isaiah raised his head. His large glasses had slipped down his nose, and his mouth hung slack as he breathed loudly. He pulled himself together enough to say, “Oh. Boss asked me to fudge the numbers on an upcoming project.”

“O…kay…” Polly’s eyebrows knit together. “So you’re…”

“Fudging the numbers! I mean, I need to get some sugar, and I don’t have a candy thermometer. I’ll pick those up later. Right now, I’m just melting the chocolate into them.”

“You do know what’s meant by fudging the numbers, right?”

“Yup! Heat slowly, bring it to about 235 degrees Fahrenheit, or soft ball stage, then gently cool it. No problem.” He looked down again and continued rubbing the chocolate into the paper.

Polly stood in his doorway for a minute, looking at the squirrelly little accountant. She considered everything she needed to do to get Isaiah on track, as well as their boss’s behaviour and treatment of her in the past months.

“Well, happy working then,” she said, walking away.

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