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“Did I tell you guys about what happened right before I left for that trade show in Richmond earlier in the week?” I ask after we order our food and wait for it by the window.
“No. I didn’t get to speak to you before you left,” Abby says, sipping her Coke.
“Well, Grandma volunteered to run my monthly financials to Dean. He called me a little later to see what the hell was going on. Apparently, Grandma thought it’d be a brilliant idea to add a few zeros to my income line.”
“Holy shit,” Lexi says.
“Why would she do that?” This from Abby.
“No clue, but Dean called me before I could be arrested for tax fraud.”
“Seriously?”
“I mean, I don’t know if it would be that bad, but if he wasn’t paying attention and he filed those numbers, I could have gotten into big trouble, I’m sure.”
When neither of them respond, I glance over. They look from each other back to me, each with their own conspirator smirk on their faces. “What?”
“You called him Dean.”
“Yeah, you always talk about your accountant, but never by name.”
Dumbfounded, I scramble for an explanation. “He is my accountant. That’s his name.”
“Yes, but you never use it.”
“Whatever,” I grumble, reaching for my food as Hank, the food vendor, shoves it through the window.
“Good response,” Lexi says before shoveling half of her hotdog into her mouth. “I’ll let it slide right now, because this? Seriously, so fucking goooooooood.”
And just like that, we’re stuffing our faces with Chicago-style hotdogs and soda. It’s the perfect way to end a pretty spectacular week. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll get a text message from a certain sexy accountant.
One can only hope.
