“I’ve got a compromise suggestion,” I offer. “What is the weirdest thing a client has ever claimed on their taxes as a write off?”
Niamh claps her hands together, delighted. “I have one. I had a guy write off his dog food expenses because he claimed his dog was private security for his home business, which was hand-rolling people’s joints for them.”
“People can’t roll their own joints?” Brant frowns his disapproval.
“No, it gets better. So we do this whole thing, right? Writing up why he needs a security system, and dogs are more effective et cetera, in case he needs to prove the validity of the expense. And then at the end, I ask him what kind of dog he has. It was a cocker spaniel.”
We laugh.
“If he ever gets audited, he’s screwed, but I had no idea!” Niamh insists.
“I had a client who was an actor,” Brant says, “and he said every movie, tv streaming service, or play he saw qualified as research for learning his craft. So his entire entertainment budget was a business expense.”
“I had one like that,” I reply. “Film producer. He wrote off an entire three-week trip to Europe as a location scout because he had a script that required filming in Switzerland, France, and Italy, so he said he needed to explore all three countries to properly do a budget for the film. So I say, okay. You can try this as a write-off, but it will help if you have an established screenwriter and financing for the movie in place, right? I say, ‘Just tell me that it’s not a script written by your wife orsomething as an excuse to take this trip.’ And he goes, ‘Oh, my wife knows nothing about this. I’m taking it with my girlfriend. She’s the screenwriter.’”
Destiny laughs. “I win this one, y’all,” Destiny says. “I had a client who was a dominatrix. Enough said.”
“Hey, Ollie,” Lana says. “Remember that question about sex toys?”
“Hard to forget,” he agrees.
“Someone thought a sex toy was a write-off?” That’s a new one even for me.
Ollie sighs. “Apparently the client had anxiety issues, and their therapist had recommended frequent physical pleasure as a tool for managing it, and they believed the vibrator was supporting equipment necessary for them to do their job. I explained to the client our usual policy about mental health equipment.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Destiny says, laughing. “We have officially bonded, and now we should be looking over the meeting agendas, okay?”
Lana and Niamh sigh but settle down, looking at either the meeting agenda or something more entertaining on their cell phones. The passenger van gets quiet, and Ollie leans closer to me.
“Your ex is still in New York?” he asks quietly.
“He never was,” I reply. “He was visiting a friend in Philly when he got the news of the tour. He decided to drive up and surprise us.”
“And he didn’t text you he was coming?”
“He expected me to be home. Which I usually would be.”
“How do you feel about him getting the tour?”
I shrug. I glance over at Brant, noticing that he’s watching our conversation. “It’s good for his career.”
“It’s a big deal, though, right?” Ollie asks quietly.
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Hopefully it works out. Nick doesn’t have the best luck with bands.”
I watch Ollie visibly relax. Did he think that Nick was staying in my apartment?
“What’s this about your ex? What band is he on tour with?” Brant asks me.
“Nick booked a gig with The Big Lie.”
Niamh and Lana spin to stare at me. “Is he like, a roadie?” Lana demands.
“He’s a guitar player,” I reply, and as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know I should have avoided the question.
“Wait a second,” Niamh says, “you are telling me that your ex is the new guitar player for The Big Lie?”
I sigh, nodding. “Temporarily.”
