Chapter 6
I was grateful for a lunch invitation from my BFF Ruby Atwater, who’d had her hair tinted to match her name. She also owned Atwater & Co. Financial, the CPA firm that handled our books and ensured “you don’t become the IRS’s b***h,” as she liked to crow.
We were to meet near her downtown office, at Hooters, “About the only place you’re safe,” she decided, my first inkling this would be drinks and a lashing, maybe with the side pony she’d worn for years. Because she’s a big girl with bigger opinions, it’s usually best to just remove your shirt and walk with some semblance of dignity to her whipping post.
She confirmed, before hanging up, that “This isn’t a number-crunch-lunch. Counting last week’s ring didn’t even require me taking my shoes off. Nope, I’m bringing along an insi
