Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(14)

So I lied, and I wasn’t quiet about it. “Oh no, I’m definitely going to be stripping at The G-Spot. They have been nothing but professional through the whole process, unlike some people.”

My barb landed and he grimaced. “It is unsafe and you have four kids to worry about.”

“Who? Me? I got four kids? Are you sure?” I made a big show of looking up at the sky and counting on my hands. “Kimmy, Joshua, Sonya . . .” I snapped my fingers. “Frankie. That’s right. I always forget about Frankie. But he’s the youngest, so he’s used to it.”

Hank’s fists moved to his hips and his glare intensified.

This was so pointless. I didn’t understand what we were doing out here. He didn’t want me working at his club, so why the heck was he here? Was he . . . worried?

“Listen, Mr. Weller, you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“I'm not worried about you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I'm here because—according to Beau and apparently everyone else—if something happens to you at The G-Spot, then folks in this town are gonna make me out to be the bad guy.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I tilted my head to the side as though to hear better. “What does my dancing at The G-Spot have to do with you?”

“Come on, Charlotte. You’re not stupid.”

“My goodness, you say the prettiest things.” I pressed my hand to my chest in mock awe. “You should save that one for your wedding vows. ‘Dearest Gertrude, I knew you were my soulmate ‘’cause you’re not stupid.’ With wordsmithing like that, it’s a wonder Patty Lee ever cut you loose.”

Hank’s lips twitched even as his eyes narrowed, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was fighting a laugh. “Okay,” he drawled, heaving a beleaguered sigh. “You win. What is it going to take for you to not work at The G-Spot? How much money do you need?”

“None of your damn business. I’m not looking for a handout and I don’t need help from you.” I turned away and marched toward the front porch, riding high on a wave of anger.

“Fine,” he hollered after me. “You can be a bartender at The Pony. Happy?” It sounded like he’d said the words through gritted teeth.

I spun, my index finger lifted between us and ready for battle. “Okay, first of all, who do you think you are, showing up here at my friend's house while I’m trying to have a nice morning, arguing with me about where I can and cannot work?”

“As opposed to showing up at my workplace and arguing with me?”

“I was trying to apply for a job!” I yelled my frustration. “Where else did you want me to go? To your house? Do people track you down in restaurants when they want an interview? Swim out to your fishing boat on Bandit Lake dressed like mermaids? How do other dancers audition? Out the window of their automobile when they catch you at a red light? Besides, I can’t be a bartender, I have no experience. I wanted to be a dancer, and I think I’d be damn good at it.”

“No. You wouldn’t. You don’t understand even the most basic fundamentals of how this works,” he yelled back. “Dancers are independent contractors, not employees. How much are you charging for lap dances? How about private ones? Do you have a time limit? What songs do you use? How about props and costumes? What’s your budget? Do you own your own business? You have an S Corp? An LLC to receive the money? How are you planning on filing your taxes to account for the income?”

“I can do that. I can do all that. I’ve already put the wheels in motion so I can dance at The G-Spot. I know how to set up an S Corp, and an LLC, and an LLC structured like an S Corp. I know how to file new business paperwork, tax paperwork, all of it. That’s not a problem, but thanks for giving me a heads-up.”

He straightened, and something I’d said had clearly caught him off guard. “You know how to file the paperwork?”

“Yes. I’m figuring it out for Tennessee. I’ve only done it in Nevada. It can’t be all that different.”

Hank shuffled a few steps closer, no longer yelling. “How do you know?”

“I used to run the office and do bookkeeping for Kevin’s father in Las Vegas, right after Kimmy was born. They were short-staffed, so I pitched in and then eventually took it over for a few years. So don’t you worry that pretty head about little old me. The IRS and I are good friends.”

“You’re a bookkeeper?” He blinked, his voice no longer hostile.

“Yes. Well, I was.”

“Why aren’t you a bookkeeper now?”

“Is this an interview?”

“Charlotte.”

“Fine.” I heaved a sigh. “I needed a job that started when my kids went to school and ended when they got out. Being a teacher’s aide made the most sense. It’s not as much of a workload as a full teacher, I don’t take work home usually, and I get the summers off.”

“Kevin’s alimony doesn’t pay enough?”

Renewed irritation ignited in my chest and I ground out, “That is really none of your damn business.”

“Okay. Fine.” Hank held his hands up. “How about this? You need money, I need a bookkeeper. My bookkeeping position pays well and is a W-2, full-time position with benefits. It won’t rely on tips, so you wouldn’t have to build up to the income you need.”