Hotter than Texas (Pecan Creek) - By Tina Leonard Page 0,22
“it beat Vivian’s pie all over the place.”
“Told you. No need to hurry with your thank-you note.”
Lucy grimaced. “Less preachy-preachy, and more planny-planny, please. My family’s waiting for me at The Grease Pit.”
“I make coverings to keep a man warm,” Charlotte said, “and I have more orders than I can handle. When I added designs that incorporated holiday motifs, not to mention the very popular collegiate colors and logos, my business exploded. Record cold temperatures last year helped greatly as well, but now I think the young date crowd has caught on.” She gazed at Lucy benignly. “The job involves packing and shipping, and transport to the post office. Discretion is key. You’re the only one who knows my business now, besides my three friends.”
Lucy blinked. “You don’t want a kitchen witch?”
“No. More of a basement gopher. Although if you and I can come to terms, I’m planning to branch into another area of my business. The job pays well, but you would have to sign documents that you would never steal any of my ideas.”
“You want me to sign proprietary documents attesting that I will never copy your business.” Lucy stared at Charlotte. “You make sweaters for men’s dingies, and you think I’d steal that idea?”
Charlotte’s mouth tightened to prim times nine. “Young lady, I will not have you making light of my livelihood.”
Lucy burst out laughing. “You gave me the Miss Manners lecture, but you’re an old woman knitting knob toppers in your basement. Excuse me, but I’m going to laugh my way out of your house. You don’t need to walk me to the door. And don’t worry,” Lucy said, “I won’t tell a soul. This falls under the heading of life being stranger than fiction. Way stranger.”
“The job pays twenty dollars an hour,” Charlotte said, “under the table.”
Lucy hesitated. She stared at Charlotte, sank back on the stool. “Under the table? If you’re so successful, why would you evade taxes?”
“You’re going to bring your own supplies,” Charlotte said. “Therefore, I don’t have to report your wages, for the incidental hours I’ll be using your services at first. We’ll try each other out slowly.”
Lucy gave her possible employer a narrow gaze. “What supplies?”
“I’m not helping you make anything like what you make,” Lucy said.
Charlotte drummed an impatient fingertip on the countertop. “Employees do not boss their employers.”
“Right, right.” Lucy shrugged. “Whatever. How many hours a week do you need me?”
“I need you,” Charlotte said, “from seven in the morning until nine, three days a week to start. Two hours, Monday, Wednesday, Friday. In that time, you’ll run my shipments to the post office on your way home. When you arrive at my house in the morning, you will pack my product securely and affix the shipping labels, which are a delicate silver I’m very proud of.”
“Wow,” Lucy said, “I get to use silver labels. Whoop-de-doo.”
“On second thought, you may have to use my car for transportation. You’ll have to walk here,” Charlotte warned. “I’ve noticed you don’t have your own wheels in spite of your smart mouth.”
“True,” Lucy said. “I’ve not been able to give up my Dorothy-in-Oz bicycle with Toto in the basket.”
“Young lady,” Charlotte said, her gaze direct, “I don’t really care what’s made you harder than the bark on a tree, but I do care that you treat my business with respect. This is my livelihood.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lucy said, rising. “I can be polite for twenty bucks an hour.”
“Excellent.”
“I don’t understand why you think your business would be some kind of common bond between us, but I respect it. I respect any woman who can make a living with her smarts.”
“Good,” Charlotte said, “we’ll bond in due time. Maybe.”
Lucy’s gaze slid to the Viking. “Sure thought you wanted to hire me to help you sell those pies you make.”
“Really,” Charlotte said flatly. “You’d be surprised at the profit potential of pies versus man warmers.”
“Nice percentage, huh?”
“Ridiculously.” Charlotte walked her to the door. “Do not be late. I cannot abide tardiness.”
Lucy walked onto the porch. “Duly noted. Good night, Charlotte.”
“Mrs. Dawson to you, Miss Cassavechia.”
She closed the door, leaving Lucy on the porch. “Well, la-di-da,” Lucy said, “but you need me more than I need you, Mrs. Dawson.” She headed back to The Grease Pit, thinking that if Sugar’s FOB didn’t work out, at least they’d have man warmers to pad the bottom line.
Chapter Six
Three days later after he’d kissed Sugar, Jake went to see Sugar.