Page 41 of Living with Fire
It’s enough to send his hand dropping to his side, his eyes blinking rapidly as if to clear the thoughts from his head.
“Right,” he says, clearing his throat and taking a step back, putting some much-needed distance between us. “You wanted to talk to me about something.”
Stifling a sigh of resignation, I nod and grab the door, swinging it shut. “I do.”
“Whoa, this is a closed-door meeting? I’m not sure if I should be scared or excited.” When I turn wide eyes onto him, he grimaces. “Maybe I should have kept that thought to myself.”
At this I laugh, taking his arm to spin him around, pointing at his office chair. “It’s not going to be anything that you could guess, so refrain from being either.”
Once we’re both seated, I take a deep breath and let it out, but I don’t say anything. I take another moment to look around at all the paper he’s got stacked everywhere, along with boxes that contain more of the stuff. It makes me wonder just how bad he’s floundering with whatever problem he’s facing.
“Sorry,” he says, misinterpreting my silence and inspection of the room. “I know it’s a disaster. I also know you like things orderly. This is mass chaos. I can clear some space on the desk so we can eat.”
Nate starts trying to pick up piles of papers to stack on top of each other, but I reach out and put a hand over his for a brief moment, shaking my head. “Don’t. It’s fine. I’m more curious about what all of it is. You’re drowning in paperwork.”
Running a hand through his hair, he leans back in his chair and lets out a sigh. I can tell by that one action that he’s exhausted and overwhelmed. “Nothing to worry about. Just trying to get some stuff together for my accountant. This is all shit from my uncle that I’m trying to sift through.”
Now it makes sense. Though I gave Nate shit over his kitchen, he doesn’t strike me as the chaotic type of guy, and I realize it’s because he isn’t. This isn’t his mess; it’s his uncle’s, and he’s been left to pick up the pieces. I’ve seen it before.
“What kind of stuff?” I ask, even though I have a good idea.
Nate’s eyebrows raise in surprise over my question, and I can tell he’s not sure if he wants to answer it. A battle wages in his eyes over how much he wants to tell me because I think he knows the more he spills, the more danger he’s in of looking like he’s struggling.
The thing is, I already know he’s struggling.
“Just… bills, vendor invoices, expenses… business crap,” he finally says, trying for nonchalant. To the untrained eye, he might get away with it, but I know better.
“I’m going to help you.” I say it matter-of-factly, confidence ringing in my tone even though he’s fighting me before the words are fully out of my mouth.
“Sav, I appreciate it, but you can’t help me,” he says, and I watch him sag in his chair, giving up the charade of pretending to have it all together. “I can’t even help myself here, and if I can’t do that, there’s not much point in you trying to help.”
“How far have you gotten in the two days you’ve been at this?” I ask.
Nate eyes me warily, then looks at the stacks of paperwork in front of him on the desk. “Not very,” he admits. “I’m trying to make sense of it, but I never handled this side of things when Uncle Pete was around, and I’m not sure he really did either.”
I nod in understanding but push forward. “What is your stress level right now?”
“Through the roof,” he says, this time without hesitation. The words seemed to spill out, and now that they’re in the open, he cringes and runs a hand through his hair, embarrassment taking over. He doesn’t like to look weak, I get that, but asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness. I’m just not sure anyone has told him that. “I’ll figure it out, though. I always do.”
I don’t acknowledge either statement, instead forging ahead in my line of questioning. “How much easier do you think it would be if you had an accountant in here helping you?”
Nate laughs humorlessly, and shakes his head, his eyes locking on mine. “Finding an accountant who doesn’t cost an arm and a leg is impossible. But in a perfect world? I think I’d see it as a miracle.”
“Awww, that’s sweet,” I say, pressing a hand over my chest with an affectionate pout of my lips, though there’s a hint of teasing in my eyes. “You’d think of me as a miracle? That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
I can see the change in him instantly. Sitting up a little straighter, his eyes narrow as the gears turn and he starts to put everything together. “Wait.” He holds up his hands for me to wait, then points a finger at me. “You’re an accountant? I thought you were a financial advisor.”
All I can do is beam at him. “Financial advising was a blip. I graduated third in my class six years ago, and I’ve been licensed in Colorado as a chartered accountant for the last four.” My lips lift with pride at the dumbfounded look he’s wearing, so I press on. “I’m not licensed in California, but I can do all the work and you can take it to your accountant for him to finish.” I gesture to the paper, the boxes. “I know this looks like a disaster to you, but it looks like a fun puzzle to me.”
Nate doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink. I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t believe me, or doesn’t believe his luck.
Leaning forward, I persevere, determined to have him accept my help. “I’ve done this before, Nate. It’s what I spent the last six years doing.”
The dumbfounded look is still there, but I can see he’s starting to process this, and what it could potentially mean for him. “Christ. You’re a fucking accountant.”
“I am. I, uhm—” I pause, my smile faltering, my stomach twisting uneasily as I consider something I hadn’t thought of.
I was about to offer him references, but if he were to call and inquire about me, people back home would know I was in California. Not something I want.