“Babe, do you have something to communicate to me?” he asks.
“Only that you’re amazing and that I love you so much.”
“The Breakaway Foundation gave me that massive scholarship my last three years at Concord. Why is this in your filing cabinet?”
“Well—” I try to think of an explanation.
He opens the file. “And why is your name on the incorporation documents?”
I snort. “You’re getting good at this communication.”
He smiles, then taps the file against my chest.
“We could just not talk about it,” I suggest.
“Uh-uh.”
“Well.” I sigh. “You were so busy. You were doing all these jobs. Not official jobs, because the school only let you work ten hours a week. But every time there was a chance to earn money, you would run off to do it.”
He shrugs. “Yeah?”
“You were cutting people’s hair in the dorms.” I grab hold of one of his curly, still too-long locks. “You’re not qualified to do that.”
“Someone had a business idea. He needed a helper.”
“And you needed to study and not fiddle around with a razor blade on people’s necks. What if you’d maimed someone?”
“That wouldn’t have happened. You sound like I was trimming hair by shooting bullets through the strands.”
“I understand why you avoid the barber.”
“We’re in the playoffs, Axel. Everyone avoids the barber.”
“But you were avoiding the barber beforehand.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
I grin. “Yeah.”
Our team is playing so well. We might win.
Enzo waves the file. “Tell me about this, Axel.”
I open my mouth to protest but decide against it. Maybe he’s right. I should tell him.
“I had a bit of money. I, uh, decided to form a foundation. I thought you would probably refuse it if I just wrote a check.”
“Seriously?” His mouth drops open.
“I, uh, thought you had figured it out when you saw I was the founder.”
“I thought you’d sweet-talked donors. I didn’t think you had 200K to give me!”
I shrug. “I’m good with money.”
“200K Axel. Back in college!”
“You know I like to invest. And I talk about business plans a lot.”
