Page 107 of Bourbon Bliss
Now I had too much time. Too much quiet. One day back in Philly and I was pacing the floors, wishing my meeting with Marc was earlier.
My house here felt so impersonal. It was nice, I supposed. Stylish. But I hadn’t chosen much of the furniture. It looked like some designer’s take on what a man’s house should be. Lots of gray and blue. Pieces of my career—jerseys, awards, photos—hung on the walls. But even those things didn’t feel like me. Not anymore.
Maybe I should have stayed in Bootleg.
I brushed that thought aside. Staying wasn’t an option. Not when my life was in shambles. But I couldn’t get the memory of June’s face out of my head. When I’d told her what was happening—and that I had to leave—she’d looked devastated. And coming from a woman who didn’t wear her heart on her sleeve, that look of raw hurt on her face had been like a punch to the gut.
It wasn’t that I wanted to leave her. Not even temporarily. But what I wanted and the reality of my messed-up life were two different things.
Shelby texted around noon, demanding to know what was going on. Turned out, she was in Philly for the week. When I told her where I was, she answered withI’m coming over.
Although I had a feeling my sister was going to lay into me for being such an idiot, I didn’t tell her no. Even a lecture about Andrea was better than being lost in my own head, driving myself crazy.
She arrived about half an hour later. With cookies. I really did love my sister.
“Here,” she said, shoving the box of snickerdoodles at me. “They’re from the store, so not as good as Mom’s. But I figured you could use some cookie love right about now.”
“Thanks.”
She took off her jacket and hung it up by the door. “You really need to tell me what’s going on, though. You’re in the news, Mom’s in a panic, and Dad decided to remodel the guest bath again.”
“That’s not good.”
Our father was many things, but handy was not one of them. Unfortunately for our mom, when he was stressed, he tended to try to remodel their house.
“No, it’s not. I think I talked him out of trying to take out a wall, though.”
“I’ll call him,” I said. When I’d spoken to my parents a few days ago, I’d tried to minimize the situation so they wouldn’t worry. But the story had hit the press. I couldn’t keep this quiet now even if I tried.
I walked into the kitchen and set down the cookies. Shelby followed. Grateful as I was for her to bring something to cheer me up, I wasn’t in the mood.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked.
She pulled out a chair at the dining room table I’d hardly used. “Nope. Just tell me what’s going on.”
“All right.” I took the seat across from her. “So I guess you know I’m in trouble with the IRS.”
“That’s true?” she asked, her voice tinged with shock. “I thought it had to be a rumor.”
“Nope, not a rumor. I’m being investigated for tax evasion.”
“This has to be a mistake.”
“Thank you for not assuming I actually did lie on my taxes,” I said. “Because I didn’t. Not on purpose, at least. Andrea did, though.”
“Wait, Andrea lied on your taxes? The press is saying your assistant might be involved, but I thought it had to be someone else.”
“It was Andrea. She underreported my income so it looked like I owed less. Then she pocketed the difference from the tax payments.”
“Holy shit, GT.”
“I know. And I don’t need to hear that I’m a dumbass for letting it happen. I realize that.”
“I wasn’t going to say you’re a dumbass,” she said. “Andrea worked for you for years. You obviously thought you could trust her.”
“And I was dead wrong. I’m fucked, Shelby.”
“Okay, what’s the plan?” She sat up straighter. “What’s your first step?”
