Which is a relief.
I think.
"So, you won't need the whole tour because you've pretty much seen all there is. Again, don't go in there when the door is closed," he says while pointing at the welding room.
"You clearly made that point already."
He walks over to the desk and waves a hand at it. "This is your job. Organize me."
"That's it? Just organize you? I have no clue what this stuff is."
"Well, that makes two of us. Just go through it and try to make some sense of it. You can obviously throw away junk mail. Once you get it sorted out, I'll give you some more direction. I don't have time to hold your hand on this."
"Okay," I respond, but I'm not okay with this. I'm going to look like a complete idiot.
Nix turns away and starts back toward the welding room.
"Hey," I call out. "I have a few questions."
He looks irritated when he turns around. "What?"
"What does Nix mean?"
His eyebrows shoot up and it's like no one has ever asked him such a personal question before. "It's short for Nixon."
"Oh. That's cool."
He remains in place, staring at me, and I realize I had said I had questions...as in plural.
"Why were you at Lincoln Caldwell's party last weekend?"
I watch as he smiles at me and it's so surprising I have a momentary feeling of giddiness. I can tell he doesn't do it often...not a true smile anyway. And it is beautiful. "Linc is my younger brother. I'm actually staying with him at his condo until I can make some remodeling repairs on my house."
"Oh," I say. "Okay. Well, I'll get to work."
He gives me a curt nod and closes himself off in his welding room.
Hmmmmm. Nice to meet you Nixon Caldwell.
***
After four hours of solid work, I've managed to take the voluminous amount of documents and put them into neat piles. I've thrown away a large amount of junk mail but it really didn't put a dent in my work. So far, I've been able to glean that he has about four months of unpaid bills, about ten months of bank statements that haven't even been opened, and a sales tax booklet where the seal has not even been broken.
I'm sitting at the desk, and I have no clue what to do next. But I hate remaining idle so I start opening all of the bank statements and flattening them out. I'm so engrossed in this menial task that I don't hear the welding door open.
My first awareness that Nix is there is when I feel his breath on the back of my shoulder, which is covered only by the thin strap of my camisole.
I turn my head to the side and I see he is bent down, looking over my shoulder at the paperwork on the desk. I break out in goose bumps from his close proximity. The realization that this man can have an effect on my body just by standing near me is a little intimidating.
"I see you made some progress." The timber of his voice is rough.
I push forward in my seat to put some distance between us before I answer. "Well, I've got piles. Here are your bills. It doesn't look like they've been paid in months. Frankly, I'm surprised you still have your electricity on."
He surprises me when he laughs. "No worries. I have all of my bills on auto draft. Everything is paid in full. But I will need you to match them up to my bank statements to make sure they match."
I nod. "Which brings me to the next pile. These are your bank statements that date back ten months. You clearly have not reconciled your accounts, so I'm not sure how you know you have enough money in your accounts to pay your bills."
He straightens up and turns, setting one butt cheek on the corner of the desk. He crosses his arms in front of his chest while he looks down at me. I can't help but notice the way the muscles in his arms roll and flex with his movement. Or the way his jeans pull tight against his muscular thighs.
"Again...no worries," he says. "I have plenty of money in my account to cover everything."
"Okay. This," I say, holding up his sales tax book, "is apparently tax forms that you should be filing quarterly. It's dated a year ago and it's clearly never been opened."
Nix scratches his head, ruffling that silky hair. He sighs. "I guess that's probably a good place to start. Call the Department of Revenue and find out what I need to do to get the taxes caught up."
He leans toward me and I start to pull back, but I notice he's only opening the desk drawer. He reaches in and pulls out a checkbook. Throwing it on the desk, he points at it. "Just write a check for whatever the taxes, penalties and interest are and get it mailed."
My jaw hangs open. I've never met someone that is so cavalier about money. "How do you know you even have enough money in your account to pay the taxes?"
Nix just gives me a patient smile. "You know that motorcycle of mine that you flattened?"
I nod.
"Well, remember me telling you that it would cost $10,000 just to repair it?"
I nod again.
"I build those for a living. I build about five a year, and $25,000 is one of the cheaper bikes. The one you flattened is closer to a $40,000 bike. Do you get what I'm saying?"
I nod and swallow hard. "You make good money."
"Yes. I make good money. Now, all you have to worry your pretty head about is getting me organized and my books in order. The money is there."
Nix stands up from the desk and heads back to the welding room.