Stephanie Feagan - Show Her The Money

Her emphasis on the word “honest” made me mad, but I had a feeling she intended it to, so I calmly nodded and agreed with her. “No doubt, that’s why she hired me.”

“All of her reasons to the contrary, I believe she hired you because you can’t get a job anywhere besides Burger King.”

“Why is my employment here any of your business? Did my mother make you a partner in this firm?”

That hit a nerve, and it dawned on me, she was afraid Mom would eventually make me a partner and leave her in the dust. A part of me felt sorry for her because she saw me as such a threat, but another part of me thought Gert needed a few lessons in diplomacy, politics and the subtle application of cosmetics. No doubt she was freaking brilliant, or Mom wouldn’t hold her in such high regard, but if she wanted to run with the Big Dogs, she was going to have to make some changes.

I’d known lots of accountants just like Gert. Miserable, bitter people, always clawing for a leg up, never getting that old saying that one wins flies with honey, not vinegar.

With her lips pursed together as if she’d just swallowed a cup of vinegar, she stared at me with blatant dislike. “We have a very strict policy about time. Jane doesn’t like to eat time. If we can’t bill it, she eats it.”

“Yes, I’m aware of billable time.”

“And we expect you to be punctual. Office hours are eight in the morning until five in the evening, except during tax season, when everyone stays until eight and works Saturdays.”

Remembering some audits when me and my staff stayed at a client’s office for four days straight, around the clock, I almost laughed at Gert, sounding so, “Hey, this is a tough job and you’re obviously a wuss and a Mama’s girl, so you better get ready for some long hours.” Almost laughed. Maybe I would have, if I hadn’t been ready to chuck an eraser at Gert’s head.

“And lastly, you’re to have no contact with clients unless you okay it with me first. You may say something that the firm could be held liable for.”

Okay, that was it. I’d had enough. Standing, I looked down at Gert and said, “Should I raise my hand when I want to go pee? Do I need a permission slip to leave for lunch?”

Gert narrowed her already squinty eyes and looked up at me through slits. “There is no one on earth I respect more than Jane Pearl, and I’m not going to sit by and let you take advantage of her. I’ll be watching, and if you screw up, even once, I have permission to fire you. Now, do you want to have a seat and let me go over the procedure, or would you care to give up now and go look for another job?”

Sinking down to the chair, I thought about my ex-boss, Lowell, and the Marvel execs, and wished I could line them up in front of a firing squad. They were all still lunching at The Mansion, taking off for a weekend in Santa Fe, enjoying life in Dallas, where there was live music and art films and bars that served nothing but martinis, while I was taking orders from a battle-ax named Gert. It was so unfair and everything in me railed against it. How was it that I did the right thing but was the one to suffer?

I slumped back in the chair and wished I’d majored in something like basket-weaving. Of course, knowing my luck, I would have gone to work for a guy who smuggled drugs in his baskets, and still been faced with the whole whistle-blower thing.

“Okay, Gert. Lemme have it.”

For the next thirty minutes, Gert droned on about workpaper referencing and professional etiquette and office procedure and some other accounting stuff that I pretty much tuned out. I will admit, even though I hated Gert, the CPA, I felt really sorry for Gert, the woman. I wondered why she dressed that way, and wore her hair in that awful bun, and had on no makeup. Makeup was invented for women like Gert. She looked to be maybe midthirties, and she wore no wedding ring, so I assumed she was a lonely old maid whose work was her life.

I refused to think of myself that way. It scared the hell out of me.

Finally, she wound it up, then took me around to meet the other staff, who all seemed friendly enough, whether because they were sincere, or because the Big Cheese was my mom, I couldn’t be certain. I supposed it didn’t make much difference.

Although I wasn’t able to meet my new boss, Sam, because he was in court all afternoon, that was fine by me. Dressed in a wrinkled skirt and a navy cotton top, I was not at my best.

While I got the nickel tour with Gert, a client came to see Mom, so I was told to wait in one of the empty cubicles in the bull pen until she was available. Gert looked happy to be rid of me and left me there without another word.

Very tired and thirsty after a six-hour drive and a run through the rack line with Gert, I went to the break room for a Coke. On the way back to the cube, I noticed the light was on in what I’d thought to be an empty office. I walked past and glanced inside and saw a tall, meaty guy who was a dead ringer for Sammy Hagar.

He had to be a senior, or a manager, since he was in a real office with real walls, but he was dressed in jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. Not standard Midland CPA issue slacks, dress shirt and tie. He was tan and his blond hair was long and wavy, in a ponytail. I’m serious when I say he looked like Sammy Hagar.

I went to the break room a couple more times during the next hour and always shot a look at Sammy, but I couldn’t ever get a good enough look to decide if he was hot, or just interesting because of the Sammy Hagar thing.

Finally, Mom’s client left and she waved me into her office. I shoved some files aside and took a seat on her small sofa. “Who’s the guy in the Hawaiian shirt?”

“That’s Sam. Didn’t Gert introduce you?”

“She said he was in court this afternoon.”

Mom frowned. “She must be mixed up. He’s due in court tomorrow.” She reached for the phone, punched in some numbers and said into the receiver, “Sam, can you spare a minute? I’ve got your new hire in my office.” When she hung up, she glanced at me and narrowed her eyes suspiciously, like she always does when she thinks I’m up to something. Mom Radar is more finely honed than anything the defense department can put out. “I’m sure you think he’s cute, but don’t get any ideas. I have a very strict policy about inter-office dating.”

“The very last thing I’m interested in right now is a date. I only wanted to know who he is, and why he looks like he just got off the bus from Laguna Beach.”

“Sam’s a little…different. But the guy’s so smart, and detail oriented, I try and overlook his odd choices in clothing. He does wear a suit to court.”

I was still bemused with Mom’s laid-back attitude toward Sam’s professionalism when the man himself walked into her office. As I stood to shake his hand, I realized he was even bigger than I’d thought. I also noticed his eyes, unlike the dark brown of Sammy Hagar’s, were as blue as the Pacific. “How do you do?”

“You’re my new hire?” he asked in maybe the sexiest male voice I’d ever heard. He dropped my hand, gave me the once-over, then dismissed me as inconsequential. He looked to Mom. “I told you I wanted a man.”

Before Mom could respond, I said, “In spite of my lack of a penis, I can actually count to twenty-one.”

He frowned at me. “It’s got nothing to do with how smart you are. I need a man for this job.”

“Why? Are you threatened by females?”

“Only when they whine, which you’re bound to do, a lot. This job entails getting out in the field, maybe getting your hands dirty, and most of all, dealing with men in the oil business. Your mother told me you grew up here, so you know exactly why it’s a major handicap to be a woman, looking for information from guys in the oil business.”

“Hmm, yeah, I did forget this is the land before time.”

“Jane, I understand sticking by family, but this has disaster written all over it.”

Mom looked disappointed and it dawned on me, she was going to go with Sam. She was going to make me do taxes! No way could I let that happen. “Sam, you can look at this like I’m bound to be ineffectual, or you can look at it like I’m a CPA with eight years of audit experience. The fact that I grew up here is a point in my favor. I know a lot of people, and I can open a lot of the same doors a guy could. At least give me a chance. Isn’t that fair?”

“I’d consider it a big favor,” Mom said, looking hopeful.

What was up with Mom? She’s a barracuda when it comes to business and her pansy attitude was blowing my mind.

Sam stared at me for a long time, and I had the feeling he expected me to look away, or squirm, or otherwise cave under his direct eye contact. I therefore stared back. Finally, he said with a hint of a growl in his deep voice, “Aw hell, I know damn well I’m gonna regret it, but okay. One chance. Screw this up and you’re gone. Understand?”

I didn’t like his patronizing tone, but I admired his honesty. I decided to overlook the tone. “Understand.”

He glanced at my clothes and shook his head. “Do you always dress like that?”

“Only when I’m moving out of my house, then driving for six hours in one-hundred-degree temperatures.”

His blue eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled at me. “You’re a real smart-ass, aren’t you?”

“Usually.”

“Good. You’re gonna need a smart mouth.” He headed for the door. “Follow me, and pay attention.”

I glanced at Mom and noticed she looked a little smug, as if she knew all along it would turn out this way. Knowing Mom, she probably did.

In Sam’s office, I watched his arm stretch when he spread some document copies across his desk, and noticed a tattoo of an anchor on his forearm, above his skin diver watch. “Nice tattoo,” I said. “Did you get it in the Navy?”

“Uh-huh.”

“When were you in the Navy?”

“Pink, I like to keep business and personal separated. Understand?”

“Got it.”

He pointed to the documents lining the top edge of his desk. “These are bills of lading for Domino Pipe Company. They’re a primo pipe supplier and our client buys from them on a regular basis. His name is Ollie Shanks and his partner is his cousin, Bert. Ollie and Bert are each fifty percent partners in Shanks Resources, a small oil company they started back in the eighties. Ollie thinks Bert is switching the primo pipe for some crap pipe, selling the good stuff and pocketing the difference.”

“Why does he think that?”

“Because every well they’ve drilled and completed in the last six months has sprouted casing leaks and they’re losing a lot of barrels back to the hole.”

Looking over the division order, I asked, “Is Bert a moron? He has to pay half the cost of the new pipe, which he can’t sell for what they paid for it if he’s doing it on the sly. And he’d probably make twice the money off the oil he’s losing to the hole.”

“He’s dumb like a fox. He has to split the oil with Ollie, but by selling the pipe he only had to pay for half of, pocketing one hundred percent of the profit, and buying crap pipe on the cheap, he comes out ahead.”

“So what are we supposed to do?”

“Prove that Bert is switching the pipe. Ollie needs solid evidence that his cousin is cheating him because he wants Bert out of the company.”

“Because he’s a crook?”

“Among other reasons.” Sam gathered up the documents and the bank statements and handed them to me. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

I walked toward his door. “No problem, but if you ever call me tiger again, I’ll hurt you. Understand?”