“Of course,” Gretchen said smoothly. “Just let me know. I can’t wait to hear.”
***
Gretchen was on pins and needles about the Maylee situation. She fidgeted and checked Hunter’s phone a dozen times every few minutes, just in case. The poker party had wrapped a bit early, since there was no business to be discussed with Gretchen there and Hunter’s hacking cough distracted all of them.
An hour after Hunter and Gretchen returned home, Griffin texted Hunter with a message.
It seems I need your assistant after all. Think she can meet me at the airport at 18:00 with her passport, as much formal business wear as she can carry, and be ready to work? I’ll pay her double what you normally pay.
Gretchen snatched the phone out of Hunter’s hand as she tucked him into bed, read the screen, and cackled merrily. “Oh, my God, this is going to be so good. I wish I could be there to see his face when you send him Maylee.”
Hunter grimaced between coughs. “He’s going to kill me when he gets home, Gretchen. You know she’s terrible with etiquette, and you know Griff is a stickler for it.”
“Maylee is worse than terrible with etiquette,” Gretchen agreed. “But friendly and oh so sweet. It’ll be the perfect situation, because she’ll be so awful at everything, and too nice for him to say an unkind word about the poor dear. Then, he’ll be stuck with her.”
“You’re lucky I love you,” he said. “Because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to save you from his wrath.”
She grinned wickedly. “So can I call her? Can I, can I? Pleeease?”
He sneezed and waved a hand at her. “Just bring me some more medicine on the way back.”
Gretchen cackled with sheer delight again.
***
Maylee Meriweather was watching an episode of Duck Dynasty on her small television, eating popcorn, and feeling rather homesick when her phone rang. It wasn’t unusual for family members to call at odd hours, just because that was how her family was. “Hello?”
“Maylee? It’s Gretchen Petty.”
She put aside her bowl of popcorn and licked her fingers to clean them. “Oh! Hi there, Ms. Gretchen. How are you?” Fear gnawed in her belly. If the boss’s girlfriend was calling her after nine on a weeknight, that . . . wasn’t good. Maybe she was calling to say that Mr. Hunter couldn’t put up with her any longer and was letting her go. She wouldn’t be surprised; Mr. Hunter was never quite happy with her, though she tried so very hard. She just sort of forgot things.
“Great. How are you?”
“I’m good!” She didn’t say right as a pig in mud because she’d said that to Ms. Gretchen once and her eyes had nearly bugged out of her pretty head. They didn’t say that sort of thing here in the big city, as she was learning. So the longer she worked in New York City, the harder she worked on improving her speech. She was now down to “mostly country” instead of “fresh off the turnip truck.”
“Well, Maylee, the reason I’m calling . . .”
Maylee squeezed her eyes shut, dreading the worst.
“. . . is that Hunter and I need a favor. Do you have a passport?”
Maylee frowned. “Well, that’s a mighty odd question, Ms. Gretchen, but yes, I do. My mama says it’s best to be prepared for anything, so I got a passport before I came here to the big city.” She was rather proud of that passport. Not many people in her hometown had one. Not many people in her hometown traveled out of state, much less out of the country.
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Gretchen said, and Maylee could have sworn she was stifling a laugh. Ms. Gretchen was such a happy person, always smiling and laughing. It made Maylee happy to see her with Mr. Hunter, who could use a good belly laugh or two.
“Do y’all need more paperwork on me? I gave copies of everything to the employment agency . . .” She let her words trail off. Did people need more ID when they were letting you go? She bit down on a fingernail, feeling miserable. She’d tried so hard, she really did. She never complained about the long hours or the fact that people who called in were rude to her. She just endured it. And she still wasn’t good enough for working for Mr. Hunter, she suspected. He wanted someone polished who would never ask a single question, and that just wasn’t Maylee. She was rather lacking in the polish department, sadly.
“No, no. I’m sorry. I’m scaring the crap out of you, aren’t I?”