Page 8 of Billionaire's Accidental Marriage
“The back two pages are sketches of remodels Dad wanted to do, so I put them down there but at the very back because, quite frankly? He doesn’t even have the money for the remodels in the first place.”
His head whipped up. “What do you mean?”
I leaned back in my chair. “It’s been a shit show, Mike. I’m serious. I crunched numbers across all of his accounts and compared them to the financials he kept in his office, and there’s anywhere from a five hundred thousand dollar discrepancy of missing funds all the way to just shy of a million.”
He balked. “You’re kidding me.”
I shook my head. “I’m really not. All of his businesses are practically held together with tape and staples, and he’s been in the red on defaulted payments and unpaid bills for the better part of six months. Mike, the man hired a contractor to do one of these remodels without settling his prior bill with the guy!”
His eyes fell back to the stack of papers in his hand. “There’s some serious stuff here. You have to change our four AC units?”
I sighed heavily. “Along with servicing the rest of them. I believe the last service any of those units got was three years ago? Maybe four?”
He tossed the papers onto my office desk. “I didn’t know about any of this stuff. Why didn’t he tell me?”
I shrugged. “Because my father was a proud, pompous, arrogant man when he wanted to be.”
“Has the IRS contacted you at all?”
I barked with sarcastic laughter. “Oh. Yeah. You know the government wants their money. Out of the possible ‘five hundred to just shy of a million’ missing, he owes three hundred grand in back taxes.”
“My. God.”
“And even if I did liquidate—which I’m honestly considering—it wouldn’t even cover half of the money I’d have to shell out to fix up the places for the buyers, pay off debts, and generally settle every loose end he left open just for me.”
“Mags, you know that’s not how he saw this panning out.”
I held out my arms. “Then, enlighten me! Because I’ve always seen my father as a loving, caring man. Yet when I walk into his stores, all I see is another corrupt businessman who doesn’t give a shit about the people who work for him. Is that the kind of man I come from?”
He leaned forward and took my hands in his once more. “Yes, it’s a mess. Yes, it’s going to take a lot of work. But it’s not impossible.”
I scoffed. “And how do you figure?”
He squeezed my fingers. “Why didn’t you call me sooner, Mags? It’s been a month since the funeral.”
I looked away from him. “I don’t know. Just didn’t want to burden you, I guess.”
“Maggie, look at me.”
I peeked over at him. “Yeah?”
He gripped my chin and pivoted my head until I faced him. “Friends are never a burden. Got it?”
Relief washed through my veins. “You know what I need?”
“A spa day at this fabulous place?”
I giggled. “No. An assistant. I bet having an assistant to rant to would help me with a lot of this stress that’s sitting on my shoulders.”
He chuckled as he released my chin. “Welcome to my world.”
“Wait, you don’t have an assistant?”
He shook his head. “Can’t ever find the time to hire one. And when I do try, none of the applicants seem to fit what I’m looking for. In all honesty, I need someone with your kind of passion and obvious thoroughness.”
The idea slapped me across the face. “Mike?”
“Yeah?”
