Page 41 of Plunge

Fletch makes me laugh, the way he shovels food in his mouth and, when I can’t finish mine, eats the rest of my food, too.

“Maybe you need an entirely different job,” he says, chewing a crispy piece of bacon while he clutches a soda in his other hand. “What do you like about tax stuff?”

I shrug. “Numbers just make sense to me,” I say. “There are rules, and as long as you make sure your business stays inside those rules, everything is golden. It all works smoothly and everyone is happy.”

He looks contemplative. “It’s that simple, huh?”

“Well, I mean it’s not simple.” I take a sip of my water. “I have to learn and understand all the different codes and regulations for each country I’m working with. It’s a lot of research. I do like sniffing out answers.” As I talk, I do get flashes of what excites me about my job, and feel conflicted again.

Maybe I can just hang out in Oak Creek for four months and be a lump on a couch and just go back to work like nothing happened.

“The research on my job is an entirely different thing,” he says. “I just have to know what’s going to affect camera angles and lighting.” He chews and sips more soda. “I guess we have to study all the names of the important players so we can get them up on screen or get our commentators talking about them.” Fletcher leans his chair back on two legs, his restless knee shaking the entire room. “It’s been awhile since I sat to think about what all goes into my job.”

“What’s your role in all of it,” I ask him.

He flashes me a grin. “These days, I’m just standing where the action is, wearing a headset and hanging out with the suits.”

“You’ve got ‘people’ now,” I tease.

“You’re damn right I’ve got people. I worked hard to get people.” He sets his chair back on the floor and leans in. “Hey.” He gestures up toward the TV behind me. “You know what today is?”

“Well it’s not our wedding day.”

“Shit. I should probably write down our anniversary or something in case someone asks. But no.” Fletcher waves his arm around. “It’s the auto show. We have to go. Shit, babe. We can roll up to the auto show in your Gullwing.”

He grabs my hand and flashes me a puppy dog face. It would be nice to go to the auto show. I should be helping Archer and getting home to my mom, but screw it. He’s right. “Ok,” I say. “Let me just text my mom that I’ll be awhile.”

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