Puck Money

by Raine Miller

  I’ve been around a lot of crude men, men who think they can say and do whatever they want. This guy ranks up there, though I suppose he thinks he’s just being funny. And I’m not very good at hiding my true feelings.

  “Well, that’s not exactly true,” I say. “He did walk me home. We live in the same building. But I’m his financial advisor. Nothing more.”

  “Well, I know the guy only had eyes for you. He absolutely made it clear he wasn’t into one-night stands, no matter how hard I tried to find him a hookup. He’s a terrible wingman. You should be his sex advisor, too. He needs a good doink or his game’s gonna suffer. Just sayin’.”

  My sandwich comes up, and I’m almost feel too queasy from my conversation with Tyler to take it, but the bag is already greasy, just the way I like it. No man comes between me and my meat sandwiches. I grab it and bolt, getting a distracted goodbye as Tyler’s phone rings.

  I walk home, thinking about what Tyler said. Boris only had eyes for me? All night? And he’s definitely, totally not into one-night stands? I guess I probably knew that about him. He’s very upstanding that way. Maybe he pushed me away because he thought it wouldn’t be meaningful if we took it too far that night? Maybe he wanted more than just a hot, quick screw? Maybe his awkwardness today was because he genuinely wanted to take me on a date, to get to know me before we…

  I blow a frustrated breath out as I reach my building. I’m such an idiot. I clearly have no business trying to be with anyone, because I cannot read social cues. This has always been my problem. I’m not fixated on my looks or on whether or not someone finds me pretty or whatever. I’m smart and I am who I am. I can’t change it. But I do think I miss signs sometimes. Once, Cameron told me I was beautiful after a meeting, and I thought it was a broad compliment because I’d just told him his investments did well for the quarter. It was much later he finally came right out and said, “I’m hitting on you, are you not getting it?”

  I was not getting it. And now I wish I’d never gotten it. But whatever. Water under the bridge and all that. But Boris? Boris isn’t water under the bridge. Not for me. I need to fix this with him. He’s worth it to at least try.

  I think about all the crude things Tyler said and I’m still shaking my head as I step off the elevator on my floor, ready for my pajamas, and my cat, and a book, and this greasy sandwich that’s going to taste so amazing…Oh my God. Fuck.

  But none of those things happen because my door is open a quarter of an inch. I push it open tentatively, finding the inside completely ransacked. My many books are strewn all over the floor, askew in ways that make my little bibliophile’s heart hurt. My kitchen drawers have been emptied. My chaise is flipped upside down.

  My heart is beating so hard in my chest. All I can do is stare at the mess. “Who would do this? Who in the hell would do this?” I sob. And then, “Where’s LuLu?”

  Twenty-One

  Ice Dragon is Not Yours

  Boris

  I’m sitting on my couch watching baseball highlights on ESPN when there’s a loud, frantic banging on my door. I get up and head to the door, swinging it open to find a teary, hyperventilating Talia there. She’s got her work bag on her shoulder and a greasy sandwich bag in one hand.

  “Talia, what—“

  “My apartment’s been ransacked. Everything is everywhere.” Her words are a steady, breathless stream. “I’m afraid to go in by myself and I didn’t see LuLu and—“

  Her chin shakes as her face screws into a mixture of fear and anger and worry. I reach out and pull her into a hug as she sobs into my shirt. When she pulls away, I hold her face in my hands. “Let’s go down and check it out together.”

  I grab my keys and throw on some flip-flops, following her out into the hallway.

  A few minutes later, we’re peering into the mess of her apartment. Books and papers are strewn all over. Everything that was sweet with Talia the other night has been upended and destroyed. What the hell?

  “LuLu?” she says, her voice cracking. “LuLu? Baby kitty?”

  When the cat doesn’t appear, Talia sinks to the floor, breaking into sobs. I do the best thing I can think of, starting to pick up books, placing them back on the shelves. I know she’s probably got a system but for now, I think it’s just important to get things cleaned up and feeling more normal. Talia just cries silently from her place by the door—that is, until a small meow sounds from the rear of the apartment. Talia jumps up, scrambling toward the sound. A moment later, I can hear her telling the cat how worried she was.

  Talia returns to the main room, fluffy white cat in her arms. She meets my gaze and I see the relief in her eyes. “I can deal with losing stuff, you know? But LuLu?” She doesn’t finish the thought. Her eyes brim with tears again and I stand helplessly, not sure how to respond. I’ve never had a pet. I don’t know what it’s like to have something that means so much to me. To be so worried about another person or an animal’s safety.

  “The two of you are perfect together,” I say quietly.

  “We are indeed.” Talia rubs noses with LuLu and gives a relieved sigh.

  After snuggling her cat for a few minutes, Talia takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and heads to the door, shutting it and rolling up the sleeves of her blouse. She starts working in the kitchen while I continue to replace books on the shelves. We work in silence for a very long time; the cat sniffing around and rubbing against my legs every so often. I get the books shelved and then move to flip the chaise upright. When I do, a piece of paper flutters to the floor.

  On it are those magazine cut-out letters like serial killers make. I look at it quizzically, the differently shaped and colored letters really messing with my dyslexic brain. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. Talia looks over, sees my face, and then makes her way to my side, grabbing the piece of paper from my hands.

  “Do not accept the transfer. Ice Dragon is not yours to manage. Your only warning,” she reads. Her eyes flit up to mine and her hands start to shake.

  “Ice Dragon,” I repeat. “This has to do with me?”

  “I’d wager the guys who’ve been ripping you off all these years don’t like the idea of losing their cash cow.”

  “But why would they threaten you? I am the one who came to you. I made this choice to move my money.”

  “But I’m the one who stands to gain from this, while they lose. Plus, I’m a woman and they think I’ll be scared and back down.”

  “Ublyudok!” I swear in Russian. Then, “Sorry.”

  Talia gives me a look that is both questioning and amused. “I assume that’s a swear word you’re apologizing for?”

  “It was, sorry.”

  “Well, there’s no reason to be. This situation is more than worth a few swears.”

  “I’m also sorry this happened because of me, Talia. I had no idea.”

  “I get that.” She clears her throat nervously.

  I bite the inside of my lip. “This makes no sense. It’s business. Why would they make any kind of threats?”

  “Really?” she asks. “Boris, I told you they’ve been ripping you off. Funneling money away from your accounts for years to the tune of maybe millions of dollars. They had a sweet gig going until I came along and figured them out.”

  “But you did not tell them you knew what they were doing?”

  She shrugs. “I may have mentioned my concerns to Vlad. I can’t remember.”

  My shoulders droop and I rub my forehead, where a headache is blooming again. “This is not good, Talia. What should we do?”

  “Call the police?” she asks.

  I look around. “Should we have cleaned up?”

  “Probably not. Crime scene one-oh-one, right?”

  I push my lips to one side. “Oops.”

  The police arrive quickly. The first thing Talia does is apologize for cleaning up the mess. They give her a lecture about it, and she snaps, her patience clearly at an end. “Yeah, I know, we realized we should have called you all
first and left things alone.”

  After telling her story, the police ask me about my role in the situation. I explain what I saw, and what I think is going on. We hand over the note and the police dust a few surfaces for fingerprints before leaving us alone again, telling Talia they’ll follow up with her soon.

  “Did you want to eat your sandwich?” I ask, pointing to the greasy bag that’s still where she left it on the floor by the door.

  She laughs. It’s a hysterical, short sound that makes my chest feel funny. I rub the spot absently with my fingertips as she walks over to pick up the bag. Holding it up between two fingertips, she looks absolutely drained. “All I wanted was to curl up with this big, meaty sandwich and a book.” She pouts.

  “Plans thwarted.”

  “Fucking annoying.”

  I don’t bother hiding the smirk at her potty mouth. “Well, I have not eaten yet, either. Why don’t we go back to my apartment and order some sandwiches for delivery?”

  “Okay,” she says. I can see there’s something else on her mind.

  “What?”

  “I just…I feel really nervous sleeping here alone tonight. They got into my house, Boris. They could have hurt LuLu. Hurt me.” I can see her lip wobbling.

  “Bring some things with you then and you can stay with me. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. I mean, I get it. I wouldn’t feel safe here now either. Tomorrow we can get a security system installed.”

  “And LuLu? Can she come? I can bring her litter box to your place. She’s a good girl and will use it, promise—“

  I hold a hand up. “Of course, Talia. I would love to have both of you ladies as my guests for as long as you need.”

  She mouths “thank you” and seems to breathe a sigh of relief before grabbing a few things from her closet and bathroom. She shoves her stuff into tote bag along with her laptop and then gathers up LuLu’s supplies in another big bag. I carry the bags as she scoops up LuLu into her arms and we head out. I follow behind her, making sure to shut and lock the door with the keys she left hanging in the lock from when she first came home.

  “I need every paper you have relating to your investments.” LuLu takes off as soon as she’s set down, eager to sniff her way around a new space, as Talia pulls her long blonde hair into a ponytail with a stretchy band from her wrist.

  The minute we are all inside my apartment, Talia transforms into a coiled spring of energy. I knew she was smart but this small act—pulling back her hair and jumping into action—shows me she’s tough, too. Not about to let this situation make her feel intimidated, I nod and head to the bedroom, pulling a box of investment paperwork from the top shelf of my closet. She folds herself onto my living room floor and opens it up, pulling out papers, scanning, organizing. She takes notes and jots numbers on a scrap piece of paper.

  Not sure what I can do to help her, I call to replace the deli sandwich she was so looking forward to, heading out to pick it up, only to return fifteen minutes later to find her in the same position, the same look of determination on her pretty face.

  I hand her the sandwich to which she says, “Thanks,” barely looking up from her work. When she pulls out the sandwich, loaded with double meat as per the shop owner’s recommendation when I mentioned who I was ordering for, she inhales deeply, sighs happily, and then takes a huge, sloppy bite that ends up dripping onto her lap.

  “Well, shit,” Talia says, looking down at the glob of dressing and meat and sauerkraut that now rests on her thigh. She’s nothing like the skinny puck bunnies who not only would never eat like that in front of a guy but would probably scream bloody murder if a big glob of greasy food fell in their lap. But when Talia does it? Adorable. I’m shaking my head when I grab a bunch of paper towels and hand them to her, unable to suppress my laughter. She says, “Shut it, Ice Dragon,” but then she laughs, too.

  I pace for a while, before she tells me to go get her some Ben & Jerry’s. Tells me, not asks me. And I’m happy to follow orders because it gives me something to do besides fret. And I don’t really even know what I’m fretting about, other than the fact that Talia’s apartment was ransacked because of me.

  Honestly, I feel powerless and it’s a shitty feeling to have. So I head out to get the ice cream she ordered, some fudgy kind with pretzels in it. I have to go to three stores before I find it and I’m gone for an hour. But when I return, she looks up at me, eagle-eyed and serious, and says, “I don’t have a final number but from what I can tell, these guys siphoned about three million dollars, possibly more from you since you were eighteen years old.”

  You could probably push me over with a feather. “Siphoned? You mean fees?”

  Talia levels me with a No, dummy kind of look and says, “No, the fees are exorbitant on their own. That’s another million, probably, but they also sent money to offshore accounts that are not in your name. They’re not tax shelters but they’re made to look like they are. They were stealing from you, because they knew you wouldn’t delve into the details.”

  I feel totally and completely shell-shocked as I go over to my couch and flop down, my legs suddenly feeling weak. No wonder my finances are never as good as they should be. No wonder I feel like I’m not getting anywhere. I’m not.

  “I feel so stupid right now,” I say, more to myself than to Talia.

  “The ultra-risky investments were a smokescreen, Boris,” she answers. “They were meant to make it look like the losses were part of the risk. Only someone really poring over this stuff would find it. I saw it right away but if you didn’t have anyone advocating for you, how would you know?”

  “They approached me when I was young, just starting to make money.” My voice sounds distant to my own ears. “They treated me like I was a special customer. I felt like I was hot stuff back then, you know? I trusted them.”

  “You shouldn’t beat yourself up about it, though. You were just a boy, and no one was there to help you read the fine print or think over the plan. Anyone could have fallen into this trap. Anyone probably did. You can’t be the only player these guys stole from. There are certainly more guys just like you being ripped off right now by people just like them. Corrupt financial management is very common in professional sports where clients are kept in the dark about their money and taken advantage of.”

  “I really am not sure what to do about this,” I admit.

  “It’s out of our league, for sure,” Talia answers, standing and stretching, her limbs unfurling like a cat. She steps toward me and plucks the pint of ice cream and plastic spoon from my hands. “I’m going to go take a bath, eat my feelings, and think of a plan though.”

  I stand helplessly as she wanders off to make herself comfortable. It’s not until I hear the bath running that I finally sink into the nearest chair, weary and worried.

  Twenty-Two

  Why do You do That?

  Talia

  Look at me, acting like I own the place. I found some minty-smelling body wash that made for a good makeshift bubble bath. As I soak, I’m shoving Ben & Jerry’s into my face like there’s not going to be a tomorrow. The eating is the only thing keeping me from throwing up with worry and anxiety. I know that sounds weird, but whatever, it works.

  But this investment situation is not good. Not good at all. These guys are criminals, thieves, threatening possible violence, and just plain taking advantage because nobody has ever stepped in to prevent them.

  Poor Boris. He’s lost millions to them. He’s worked hard to build his career and he trusted these people. Hell, I think he trusts everyone and anyone, if I’m being honest. He’s so good, and he does not deserve this. I have to help him make this right. At the very least, I can protect his future earnings. That’s something. But still, we can’t just let these guys intimidate and bully us. We can’t just let them get away with it.

  I’ll call Harold in the morning. I’ll tell him what happened and ask him to help me figure out what to d
o, who to call. There has be police or other authorities who can help in this kind of situation with a foreign government, right?

  When I finish thinking and soaking and overindulging, I let out the water and slip out of the tub, wrapping a giant, soft towel around me. It smells like Boris. Masculine and woodsy and yum. It takes me straight back to that night at my apartment. The kissing and the touching we did.

  Oh boy. I don’t need to go there. I don’t need to be thinking about the feel of his lips, or his hard body. Nope. Especially when I’m going to be sleeping in his apartment.

  I peek my head out the door and, seeing no sign of him, I run across the hall into Boris’s room, quickly pulling a T-shirt and pajama bottoms from my hastily packed bag. I use my finger to brush through my wet hair, then pull the Iain Cooper book from my bag, ready to forget break-ins and Russian investors, and all that stolen puck money for a moment. I just want to recede into a fantasy world for a while.

  I walk back out to the living room with the book, thinking maybe Boris will want me to read to him again, or maybe he will want the mental break, too. I don’t expect to find him lying on the couch with LuLu spread out on his chest. I sit at his feet and reach out, petting my cat, who totally ignores me. I can’t lie—my heart melts a little. LuLu does not just automatically like people, but she’s trusted Boris from day one.

  “Traitor,” I say.

  Boris grins. “I think she likes me.”

  “I can see that.”

  “How was your bath?” Boris asks as he strokes his big hand down LuLu’s back and then her tail in a long sweep.

  “Not as relaxing as I’d hoped,” I answer. “But I brought that book from last time, Leaving Area 51? Want me to read from it again?”

  Boris nods, so I start reading from where I left off before, on the night we kissed. I read probably three chapters before I look up, and Boris is again looking at me in the most intimate way. His eyes are dark, his expression one of hunger. I meet his gaze, biting my bottom lip, not sure what to do or say.