More Than Lies (More Than #1)(32)

“Are you shitting me?” He’s seriously shocked. I didn’t think it was possible to shock Shawn.

“Yeah, I mean he only asked me today if I’d do it. He said he was going out to Vegas and didn’t want to reschedule the guy’s interview.” Maybe Shawn was the wrong person to bring this to. Heck, I haven’t even gotten to the point of what I wanted to talk to him about.

Shawn removes his right hand from my hip and places it onto the smooth surface next to my left side. He starts to shake his head.

“He’s having you do his fucking job so what, he can take a vacation? Unbelievable.” His expression turns hard. “He’d better be paying you more to do all of the shit he’s supposed to be doing.”

Paying me? As if.

“Umm . . .” Yeah, I don’t really know how to say this next part.

“He’s not, is he? Cheap motherfucker.” Again, he shakes his head as if he can’t believe the ways of his boss. It’s true. Adam is cheap. I mean, I have to bargain-shop for the basic things the studio needs, like toilet paper and hand soap.

“He’s never paid me. At all,” I add.

“Come the fuck again?” His jaw locks and his eyes turn dark. He’s mad.

“He doesn’t pay me, Shawn, and frankly I don’t think he can.” Not after seeing his bank statements. Adam is barely keeping the lights on in here.

“The hell he can’t. Business is great and has been for a while now. None of us are sitting on our ass without clients to service.”

“Look, this isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Then what is it? Spit it out already because I have a boss’ ass to kick. You can’t let him or anyone else take advantage of you like that, Tara. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Well, it started off as a favor, and it was working to my advantage, too. I was learning things I could use for my accounting classes. And it’s not as if I hate coming here. The opposite, actually; it’s a job without being a job, I guess.”

I’ve never seen myself doing anything other than writing. My dream is to get published, and it’s something I intend on making happen. My father wanted me to go into law like him since it was obvious my brother wasn’t going to follow in his footsteps. I’m not either, but for me that meant also majoring in something I could fall back on if the whole “writing hobby,” as my parents put it, doesn’t work out.

But it’ll work out. I’ll make sure of it, because I’ll be damned if I’m ever going to be financially dependent on a man like my mother is. I don’t understand it to save me. I’m not judging; it’s just the way I see things. I’ll never feel as though I can’t make my own way in this world. For me, that means getting out and earning my own living. Bringing my own food to the table, so to speak.

It’s the reason I have a part-time waitressing job at Mac’s Pub. It certainly isn’t because I like the job. I don’t. Most of the patrons are nice, but there are always the creepy, cheesy men that make little comments or place their hands on me. Not to mention I have to wear a top that shows off my boobs.

“Look, I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have brought anything up. It’s not like I know if anything is going on, but I didn’t want to go to Adam without talking about it with someone. And I don’t want him to think I screwed something up.”

That is my real issue. I’m afraid he’s going to blame me for something I know I didn’t do, or at least didn’t do intentionally.

“What are you talking about? Please explain it to me because I’m not following.”

Shawn looks back down at my waist. A few seconds later, I feel the paper being lifted from my skin. I’m dying to see it, but I don’t look down yet. I need to get everything out so that someone else can confirm that I’m not crazy.

“I’ve been noticing the online bank statements are way off from the written ledger Adam keeps in his desk. I only use it when I write down anything I pay out. That’s it, I swear.” I say this like I’m guilty of something when I’m not. “Two weeks ago, I decided to figure out where the discrepancies were coming from. It’s taken a while, but I think I figured it out with the help of one of my teachers.”

Shawn balls up the paper and tosses it into the trashcan. He’s still looking down at me. His eyes are big. Shawn has big round brown eyes to start with, but right now they are wider than normal as if he’s in awe. Surely he’s not.

“I’m listening.” He finally looks up.

“The amounts deposited each week don’t add up to what I’ve been paying to each artist based on their commission and what the studio profits off each artist’s clients.”

“What exactly are you getting at?”

“It looks like I’m overpaying the artists, but Shawn, I check myself multiple times. There’s just no . . . I don’t know how I could make mistakes like that.”

“Tara, stop!” Shawn glances back down to where he laid the design. It’s only a second or two, but it’s as though he can’t stop looking at it. I really want to see it now. “I check my shit every week. I can’t speak for most of the jacklegs in this place, but I know Adam and Kenny check their shit too. If you were overpaying one of us, we would have caught it. Kenny is a stand-up guy. He’s honest. I’m damn sure he wouldn’t let that go on without correcting it, and neither would I.”