“You’ve earned more money in the last two years than most people make in a decade,” my dad said. It was the start of a rant that I had heard a million times in the last six months.
“Yeah, yeah. And I’ve spent more than half of it already. And if this keeps up, I’m going to be bankrupt before I’m thirty. That’s if I’m lucky enough not to get injured and have to hang it all up,” I said. I found a bottle of unopened vodka in a paper back on the floor by the sliding glass door to the balcony. “Jackpot!”
“What?”
I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Nothing,” I mumbled.
“Well, it’s nice to know you have been listening even if you haven’t changed your behavior.”
“You worry too much,” I said. “I’ve got it under control.”
“You don’t worry enough. That’s why I’ve hired you a bookkeeper.”
“A what?” I stopped in mid-unscrewing of the vodka bottle cap.
“A person who will keep track of your expenses on a daily basis and ensure that you aren’t spending more than you’re making. Someone who can analyze your spending and help you make better decisions. Maybe even help you find the time to consider some of those investments we’ve talked about.”
I rolled my eyes. About once a month, a fat envelope arrived from the firm with a note from my dad asking me to look over some stock portfolio. He was so concerned about my future that it was almost laughable. I knew it was more because he didn’t want to end up having to support me when he figured my career would come crashing down on my head. Which, according to him, was bound to happen any day now.
“I don’t need a bookkeeper. I am perfectly capable of keeping track of my books,” I said. I poured a long draw of vodka into my cup.
“Last quarter, you were in the red by over two hundred thousand dollars, Shayne,” my father said.
I stopped mid-sip. Two hundred grand? That couldn’t be right. “Nah, I don’t think your bean counters are counting the numbers on my receipts right.” The truth of the matter was that I rarely, if ever, added up any of my bills. Money was deposited into my bank account as I got paid for fights or got my endorsement payments. I kept the receipts and sent them in a big envelope to the firm every quarter. What happened in between was admittedly a little bit fuzzy.
“They do math better than you do,” my father said. “You need to get serious about this, Shayne. I don’t want to see you as a broke, washed-up has been before you turn thirty.”
“I’ll do a better job of watching the numbers,” I said. I took another sip of the vodka. It burned going down my throat, but that was okay.
“I have her signed contract in hand already. There won’t be any more discussion about this. The plane tickets are already purchased. She’ll be there tomorrow morning.”
I groaned. I pictured a short, white-haired penny-pinching woman arriving in my future. One who had one hand on a calculator and the other ready to call my dad at any sign of me stepping out of line. “Seriously? You’re going to force this on me.”
“Look at it as I’m doing you a favor,” my dad countered. “The firm is picking up her salary, so that won’t come out of your bottom line. You won’t have to worry about the bean counters anymore. You can focus entirely on your training and your matches. It’ll help keep your head clear.”
I had to admit that not having to worry about those small pieces of paper sounded all right to me. “I’ll let this happen on one condition.”
“And what is that?” My dad geared up for a negotiation, just as I knew he would.
“If I show this bookkeeper of yours that I know what I’m doing with my money, you’ll take her back. Especially since she’s an employee of the firm and all. I’m sure you’d have much better assignments for someone like that.”
“Fine.” That was easier than I expected. “I’ll give you four months. That’ll line up for your break.”
“Fine. Anything else?”
“I’ve cleared your calendar for the last week of September,” he said. “You are expected at my wedding. My assistant will email you the details.” Then he hung up.
I wanted to laugh. My dad getting married. Well, maybe that was exactly what the old man needed to loosen up the reins on my ass. I stood up and took another long sip of vodka. I wasn’t happy that I was going to be stuck with some old broad of a bookkeeper for the next four months, but as long as she stayed out of my way, we’d be fine.
Whistling a random tune, I headed into the bathroom to grab a shower.
CHAPTER TWELVE - ALEXA
I was delighted to hear that I was going to be heading back to Chicago for the start of my new assignment. I met up with Stacey within an hour of landing, and we sat in her living room drinking tequila sunrises and comparing notes on our new jobs.