Chapter 50: "Inappropriate Conduct" in the Conference Room
Bruce froze for a second, then the corner of his mouth curved in a knowing smile. "I guess... after today there will be!" With that he leaned in and kissed Grace on the lips.
The world went abruptly silent. Outside the door, phones, chatter, footsteps—every noisy heartbeat of Sullivan & Cromwell—were muted as if someone had pressed pause. Only the soft touch of lip against lip, the mingling of quickened breaths, and the drumbeat of hearts remained. Time lost its scale; in a professional setting the kiss felt utterly "inappropriate," yet it carried a sweet, thrilling rush of breaking every rule.
Until a shrill "That's impossible!" from someone outside pierced the hush like a needle popping a bubble.
Grace came back to earth, gently pushing Bruce away. A blush tinted her cheeks, part shyness, part lingering desire. She smoothed an imaginary strand of hair at her temple and laughed softly. "If the senior partner had walked in just then, my resignation letter would read: 'Inappropriate conduct toward a client on company premises.'"
Bruce chuckled. "Maybe we should test a few more 'no-inappropriate-conduct' zones—say, behind the rare books section at the New York Public Library?"
"Oh?" Grace raised an eyebrow, pretending to size him up. "Sounds like you and some girl were already back there at some point."
"No, no," Bruce said quickly. "I only know because a friend told me about a couple who got caught making out in the stacks!"
Grace shot him a playful glare. "A friend told you—sure they did. You're not fooling anyone." She forced her expression back to business. "All right, back to your problem. You seem to have forgotten it entirely."
Bruce collected himself. "Oh, right. You asked about my former accountant. Truth is, I've never dealt with an accountant or a tax attorney before."
Grace exclaimed, "How come? You filed your own returns? How did you manage something so tedious and complicated?"
"That's the issue," Bruce said. "When I wrote scripts for Wildcat Productions, my agent Ruby issued me net-of-tax checks. I never worried about filing, so I assumed it'd be the same at Estelle's. I didn't even read the contract carefully, and..."—he looked annoyed—"turns out it's totally different. For last year's two payments, the taxes owed are still sitting in the client trust account they set up."
Grace tapped the armrest while she thought. "Wildcat's approach... it's self-protection. The adult film industry draws IRS scrutiny; by remitting taxes for writers and actors they make sure no one's fines or legal troubles drag the company down. What's that expression—'when one person falls, they bring everyone down with them'?"
"Yeah, exactly," Bruce said.
Her eyes lit up. "Right. As for those two payments..." She did a quick mental calculation. "Estimated tax on Q4 income should've been prepaid by January fifteenth. Today's January thirtieth... but there's a grace period; we can still fix it. You need a CPA with entertainment industry experience—immediately—for routine filings and the prepayment."
"No tax attorney?" Bruce asked.
"Not yet. Tax attorneys don't do day-to-day returns; they step in for complex assets, litigation, or serious tax issues. Right now a CPA can handle compliance and filing."
Bruce thought for a moment, then asked, "If I want legal tax planning—say, legitimate tax avoidance strategies—would a tax attorney be better?"
Grace replied, "Hiring an attorney just to save on taxes can cost more than it saves; legal fees might outweigh the savings."
"What if the amount is a million dollars?" Bruce cut in.
Grace blinked. "Come again?"
"My first two scripts didn't sell for much, so the tax bite felt small. Today Estelle handed me the check for my latest three scripts—she withheld a third, nearly three hundred fifty thousand, sitting in the trust account waiting for Uncle Sam."
Grace studied him, expression turning serious. "All right, Bruce." She took a breath. "At that level... we'd be foolish not to plan. High-earning freelancers can trim self-employment tax by forming an LLC, but it means setup costs, maintenance, professional filings... We need to run the numbers to see if the savings justify it. Give me a day for a rough analysis and the optimal structure."
"Got it." Bruce nodded. "So for the day-to-day filings and estimates I still need a good CPA, right?"
"Exactly—top priority." She snapped her fingers. "I've got it! A colleague's client is an entertainment business consultant. Wait here." She stepped out of the conference room.
Ten minutes later she returned and handed Bruce a business card. "Linda Martinez, midtown Manhattan, boutique firm specializing in high-net-worth freelancers and entertainment clients. Stellar reputation, tons of experience. I called ahead; she's expecting you. You should head over now."
Bruce tucked the card into his wallet. "I'll head over there. I'll pick you up after work for dinner at my place. May I use a phone? Joey and I were meeting for lunch, but I need to cancel."
Grace led him to an empty office with a phone. Bruce quickly called Joey and explained, canceling their lunch plan.
After hanging up he straightened his jacket. "Where do I pay your consulting fee? The rate sheet says two hundred an hour. Deducting our... inappropriate-conduct interval, that's still two hundred, right?" His tone was firm, eyes glinting with mischief.
Grace laughed. "Bruce, stop it. Go handle your taxes; I'll sort this out."
"No," he insisted, stepping closer, voice low and serious. "Grace, the person I saw when I arrived—your boss? If I march in, monopolize your work hours and the firm's conference room, then stroll out without paying... how would you explain it? 'Oh, he's my boyfriend, so it's on the house?'" He shook his head. "It undercuts your professionalism. Please—let me settle the bill. It respects your time and protects... us... in a workplace setting."
He held her gaze; understanding flickered there, then reluctant acceptance.
"All right—follow me to accounting."
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