My face blanched and Franco stalled for a beat before recovering. “Do you claim that income?”
“No,” Arden said. “The IRS isn’t exactly set up for sex work.”
“I have a client who grows marijuana in a state where it’s not legal. They claim their sales as produce and list themselves as organic farmers. Both are true. The IRS doesn’t care so much about the exact service you’re providing, only that they’re getting their cut. You probably have a lot of expenses that could be written off—travel, clothing, personal care, cell phone service and internet if you use them as your main way to communicate. I could go over it with you sometime.”
“I don’t think—”
Franco, now on a roll, interrupted him. “When I met Michael, he had thousands of dollars in a savings account that was paying pennies in interest. We invested that money in broad index funds, which have a much higher yield and are fairly low risk. Since then, his principle has tripled in size.”
“Michael,” Arden said, eying me steadily. “May I speak with you privately?”
Franco shrugged helplessly, and I followed Arden into the bedroom. His carriage was stiff as he squared off with me.
“You told me he was getting over a breakup,” he said.
“He bounces back pretty quickly.” I’d hoped Arden would find that funny, but no.
“I thought he wanted to get to know me better, as a person.”
Christ, I’d hurt his feelings. That was the last thing I’d wanted to do. I stepped closer to touch him, but Arden moved away.
“Arden, he does want to get to know you better. My friends are all very interested in you. They’re begging me for another dinner party, even Liam.”
“You set me up,” Arden said with a note of betrayal.
I sighed and dropped my head, ashamed of my duplicity. There was no use in denying it. “You’re right. I did.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
“No, I don’t think that at all, but you’ve told me yourself you’re bad with money, and I thought Franco could help.”
“The last time someone made me that offer, I ended up with a sex tape I didn’t ask for and a school probation.” Arden must be referring to his indiscretion at Brown. My lack of surprise triggered something else. “Wait, you knew about that?”
This plan of mine was imploding with astounding velocity.
“Liam has a friend who was a teacher’s assistant at Brown.”
“Liam knows too?” Arden said, even more alarmed. “Does everyone?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. It’s in your past.” Arden looked at me as if to say it was very much his present, but that was not the topic of discussion, so I barreled on. “You can trust Franco. He’s a friend.”
Arden’s expression conveyed his skepticism. “The nature of my business is very private. I know the secrets of some very powerful men. Men who could ruin people like you or me with a word. I can’t have it getting out—who my clients are or what they’ve done.”
“You don’t have to go into any detail. Franco’s a numbers guy. Even if you don’t claim your income, he can figure out a way to invest it, or consolidate your debt and bring down your interest rate. Whatever it is that you need.”
“You trust him?” Arden asked.
“Not with my heart, but with my money, yes.”
Arden chewed on the end of his thumb, caught himself doing it, then stopped.
“Let me talk to Franco alone,” he said. I nodded and gestured to the door, signaling that I wouldn’t follow. Arden closed it behind him, and I sat on the edge of my bed, hoping I hadn’t made a huge mistake in orchestrating this. I’d done it with (mostly) good intentions, but I hadn’t known about Arden’s previous experience—that he’d been taken advantage of in more ways than one. I also didn’t realize that to disclose his work might put him at risk.
I’d done my part, and it was in Arden’s hands now. I wouldn’t bring it up again. Iprobablywouldn’t bring it up again. Who was I kidding? Of course, I’d bring it up again. The thought of anyone—clients or creditors—preying on Arden made my blood boil.
They certainly seemed to be taking their time. I heard them laughing, which I took to be a good sign. I paced the room for a while, then stared absently out the window at the project across the street. One man to hammer and ten more to supervise.
A few minutes later, I heard the clinking of glasses, and I hoped some arrangement had been made. Arden called for me. The two of them looked smug as well-fed house cats. Franco was twirling his near-empty champagne glass, his smile too gleeful to be a simple favor for a friend.
