Page 39 of Reasons We Break

Nick answers on the first ring. “What.”

“It’s Simran.”

“Oh, right. Okay. Wow.” Nick yawns. “We were taking bets on whether you’d call. So? What’s the verdict?”

He sounds impatient, bored. But she’s not fooled. This is her chance.

“I’ll do it.” Simran takes a deep breath. “I’ll be your bookkeeper.”

THE ADDRESS NICKgives is a nondescript café close to the industrial side of town. The online reviews are scathing:All the pastries are stale, one customer complained.The “bakers” can’t operate a microwave. How they stay in business is anyone’s guess.

Simran has a pretty good guess: money laundering.

The bell jangles as she enters. There are no patrons; just Nick, leaning over the front counter, with a few other men she’s never seen. One of them—white, shaved head, leather jacket—scowls at her so hard she wonders if she’s met and personally insulted him before.

Nick glances at the clock. “You’re twenty minutes late.”

“I had an exam.” Which didn’t go great. Her usual all-nighter to study didn’t do the trick, possibly because she couldn’t concentrate. Kiran had left the night before. She and Simran shared a very stiff departing hug. Their father shook his head, and remembering his earlier lecture, Simran had known she was disappointing him yet again.

The man in the leather jacket raises an eyebrow.

“You hiring schoolgirls to do our books, Nick?”

“Relax, Rory. We’re just trialing her.” Nick waves Simran to the back. She wonders if he’s regretting this, or replaying their conversation from the ice-cream truck in his mind, as she is.

It had been before Rajan arrived. She’d glanced at the brown-papered bricks in the freezer. “You said your accountant got arrested? Your books must be a mess.”

“You need to keep your trap shut, Nick,” Zohra commented. Nick waved this away.

“Let her try and bargain. It’s funny.”

They weren’t even taking her seriously. But, he didn’t say they had a new accountant. This was good news.

Simran had recalled the time she went on a month-long trip to India a few years before—the Northridge student council books were a disaster when she returned. No one kept track of transactions, and several hundred dollars simply went missing. The Lions must be hemorrhaging money the same way. Which meant they had to be desperate. “I can keep your books for you.”

Nick’s answer was instant. “You’re not an accountant.”

“I’m good with numbers. If you know who I am, you atleastknow that. I’ve been bookkeeping for years—”

He barked a laugh. “This is a little different from your high schoolclubs.”

“How? You have profits. You have losses. You have expenses, and things that slip through the cracks if you’re not keeping good records. I’m not asking for payment—I’ll do it for as long as it takes to pay Rajan’s debts. It’ll buy you time to find a real accountant.”

Nick’s nasty smile had faded throughout her spiel. Zohra looked at him sharply. “Don’t tell me you’re considering this.”

But here they are now. Although, no one looks happy about it.

The kitchen is an industrial setup of metallic counters, large fans, and grills. No baked goods are being prepared here, though. There are just a lot of...packages. Wrapped up in paper. Plastic wrap. Crystals. Thick black pucks—

“Don’t mind the product.” Nick sounds bored. “Your workstation’s over there.”

He points to an old-fashioned maple desk in the corner, starkly out of theme with the rest of the room. On it is a scale, a calculator, and a blue spiral-bound notebook.

Zohra pulls from her purse a few more items: a notepad, a calendar, and a piece of cardboard, all of which she sets on the table, too. “You want to prove you can do this work? Here’s a few transactions we need recorded.”

Simran stares at the items. “Those are...transactions?”

“You think we always have a nice ledger around when we’re doing business?” Nick rolls his eyes. “Our people record on whatever they have on them.”