Totally Bound site: Taxes and TARDIS
Brent is a jock, Logan a geek, these men are a world apart. But if opposites attract, maybe it’s the differences between them that make it worth the fight.
Brent Kelly is a laid-back tradesman whose only concerns are drinks with friends and which man to bed next. In need of a new accountant to sort out his nightmarish shoebox of tax receipts, he’s referred to Logan Willis.
He doesn’t expect to be intrigued by the science fiction-loving, geeky guy with dark-rimmed glasses and a TARDIS blue shirt. So his fascination with the soft-spoken Englishman surprises him, and their mutual attraction is completely unexpected. He most certainly never expects to fall in love.
One a jock and the other a geek, both men know the differences between them are vast and could cause problems. But in this opposites-attract erotic drama, maybe it’s the differences between them that make staying together worth the fight.
Traffic on a Friday afternoon in the central business district was hell. After two laps around the block, I finally found a parking space. I pulled my truck into the too-damned-small spot, grabbed the old shoebox off the front seat and walked quickly back to my intended destination.
It wasn’t very often I ventured into the business district. And as I walked into the building fronted by glass, I remembered why. My reflection was a stark reminder of just how underdressed I was. Compared to the expensive suits walking around filled with their own importance, my work boots and plaid overshirt were somewhat outclassed.
Following the signs, I walked down the expensive hall to the expensive office with the expensive desk. “Brent Kelly,” I said, introducing myself to the receptionist. “I have a three o’clock appointment.” I looked at my watch. “Which I’m a little late for.”
I smiled apologetically at her, hoping my scruffy blond hair, dark blue eyes and three-day growth would come off as rugged charm. I knew my looks could work in my favour with most women. Not my usual intended target, but hey, whatever worked.
She looked at me, my clothes, and the box in my hand, and she smiled. “Take a seat, Mr Kelly,” she offered kindly. “Logan will be with you shortly.”
Logan. My new accountant.
I hadn’t believed it when I’d phoned my old accountant to make my annual tax appointment and been told she’d been taken ill. I’d used the same accountant for years—she understood that I was hopeless, and now I had to explain that I was accounting-challenged to someone new. All her clients were being referred to new accountants downtown. Well, they weren’t new—they were just new to me. They were quite old and reputable, and I could just picture this Logan as a bean-counting dinosaur.
My accounts were a shambles. I knew that, and so did my old accountant. I’d gone to her for years. I’d hand over my shoebox of receipts and tax invoices with a warm smile, and she’d just do it all for me. Now I’d have to start from scratch, explaining everything to this new guy.
I was going to be there for hours.
“Mr Kelly?” I looked up to see the receptionist now standing in front of me. “Logan will see you now,” she said with a professional smile. She walked towards the open door at the other end of the room, and I presumed I was to follow.
She led me down the dark mahogany hall and about halfway down the corridor, she showed me into a dark office with a wall of books where a guy sat behind the desk, scribbling in a file. With another professional smile, and not another word, the receptionist turned and left, and there I was standing in front of a desk and a guy who still hadn’t even looked up.
I cleared my throat nervously. “Um…”
Only then did he look at me. “Yes, Mr Kelly, please take a seat.”
I noticed his English accent first. Then the fact that he wasn’t old like I’d presumed he would be. In fact, he didn’t look any older than me, maybe twenty-four, twenty-five. He had short, dark brown hair, pink lips and blue-grey eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses.
He looked at me for half a second, blinked, and looked back down at his paperwork. Typical pen-pusher. Typical bean-counter.
I rolled my eyes in frustration, took a seat across from him and put my shoebox on the seat next to me. “Sorry I was late. I got held up at work then traffic into the city was bad. Took forever to find a parking space.”
He looked up from his desk at me. “That’s okay.” Then he cleared his throat and shook his head. “I’ve been going through your files sent over from your previous accountant,” he said casually, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I thought the shoebox might have been an exaggeration.” He smiled, as though he found me amusing.
I sighed. “Uh…no. It’s been my filing system for years…”
“Yes, that’s what it says here,” he said, tapping the file in front of him.
“Oh.” I couldn’t help being a bit embarrassed. “Yeah, um… Accounts are not my forte.”
He pulled out a clean piece of paper, pushed his glasses back up on his nose, and looked at me. “So, Mr Kelly—” he started.
“Please, call me Brent.”