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It doesn't matter. I'm not like any woman he's met. I won't fall for his playboy moves, his sexy smirks, or his off-the-cuff jokes that make me forget the anger. He's not breaking through.
He won't.
***
"Check it again," I yell into the phone. I misdirect the anger I'm feeling at Laredo at the poor woman from my accountant's office. You'd think they would know my routine by now, but apparently not.
After every tour stop, I have my accountant's office audit the records from the performance. They verify the ticket sales, the merchandise sales, the bar, and every other revenue source. I then have them review all the expenses and then the payouts to the band. This band is my life, and I won't let them be taken advantage of. I'm surrounded by boys. Easily distracted boys with short attention spans and the impulse control of twelve-year-olds entering the candy aisle on allowance day.
Our manager, Cy, began giving us monthly breakdowns a few years back when we started to make a little money. We trust him implicitly, yet I contracted with an accounting firm to shadow every penny. I'm never going to be in a position where someone will have control over my future ever again.
"We've run the numbers three times, but we can do it a fourth time. You do realize we'll be required to bill the additional hours." The woman speaks to me as if I'm a dumb musician who only knows how to do one thing.
My frustration bubbles over. "Put Harper on," I ask for the senior partner of the firm.
"Hold please." She doesn't give me any resistance. Harper at least has trained them well enough to not give me lip when I ask for her.
"Ariel." Her voice carries a light laughter filled with amusement. "I hear you're giving our interns a hard time again. How can I help you?"
Harper Levon is one of the senior partners at Conrad, Levon, and Associates out of Columbus, Ohio. She came highly recommended by several of the local music club owners in Ohio. She specializes in entertainment, restaurant, and artist accounting. "Just checking on my future. Why do you keep putting interns on my account?"
"Because you're the cheapest woman on the planet." Her laugh reminds me of my reaction when she read me the hourly rate for each level of the accountants in her firm. Who knew accountants cost so much? Harper explained what I was looking to do. An intern could handle the assignment she assured me. Every year, my income increases in leaps and bounds, and every year, she asks if I want to move the assignment to another staff level. And every year, I quiz her on the rates and keep it with the interns.
"My offer to swap services for concert tickets still stands," I joke back.
"Which reminds me, thank you. Marion took a bunch of clients and their spouses. They said you guys really…"
"Kicked ass, Harper. Say it with me."
"Did well." Buttoned down, straight shooter, never let them see you sweat Harper refuses to follow my lead into the free-spirited world of cusses and letting loose. "I'll try to make the next one."
I shake my head, knowing she can't see me. There might not be a next one. A chill races through me with just the thought. I can't let that happen. "I'll believe it when I see it." Harper came out to one of our performances years ago when I initially signed with the firm. I told her to dress down, which for her meant she left the blazer from her designer suit in the car. She stayed a polite thirty minutes and disappeared after I spewed my tenth four-letter word from the stage. But she's still with me years later. "Thanks for picking up."
"Always. Did you actually have an issue with the auditor? Or were you just rebel rousing?"
She calls me out. "That transparent?" Whenever they assign a new intern to my account, I make it a point to put the fear of God in them. A terrified worker is a diligent one. They're watching my money, and I need them to take it as seriously as I do.
"Yeah. The interns keep getting younger, but your tirades never get old. It's part of our onboarding initiation. Don't ever change."
"Wouldn't know how if I wanted to." I spit back the line and realize it's true. "How are we looking on the other matter?" There's one task that's above the pay grade of the interns. One which Harper handles for me, discreetly.
"She took out another home equity loan. This time ten thousand." Sympathy fills Harper's voice when she provides the update on my mother's activities.
"That's the third one in five years. What's she doing with the money?" I don't expect an answer. The frequency of the loans is increasing, as are the amounts.
"Do you want us to assign a forensic accountant to track her financial activities?"
"No." I push away the dark thoughts. When you see a person as a devil, everything they do is steeped in darkness. "You've talked to the bank?"
"Once a month, like clockwork. It's handled."
I breathe a sigh of relief. I've established an account in the same branch of the bank where my mom's mortgage resides. Through Harper, I've linked the account for collateral against my childhood home. Any missed payments by my mom are drawn from the account. I may not speak to my mom, but I won't ever let her lose my childhood home.
"And she has no clue what's going on with the accounts?"
"As far as she knows, the branch president is a family friend, and he's bent some rules to allow her to refinance whenever she runs into issues."
My throat goes dry, and I gather the strength to ask the next question. "And eBay?"
