Constance shoots me a look like she’s talking to a mentally challenged person. “Who is Margaret Rogers?”
“She’s a client. She and her husband, Bob, come to me regularly to have boudoir pictures taken of them. Remember? I mentioned her and Bob, and you said you thought Margaret’s husband was named Randal?”
“Margaret Clinton’s husbandisnamed Randal,” Constance assures her.
“Oh, dear.” Now I really do feel terrible for Finley. “I’m sorry, I probably should have clarified that,” she says.
“Yes, you should have. I’m going to need you to go ahead and refund my payment so I can find aprofessionalto take Dr. Culpepper’s picture.” Constance is a cold fish if there ever was one. Even I feel like I’m sitting in the principal’s office waiting for punishment. I can’t imagine how Finley feels.
Feeling the need to jump to the photographer’s aid, I speak up. “I can always go back for a reshoot.” After all, I’d hate for her to lose out on the money she needs for her expansion.
“You’d go back there?” My boss sounds appalled. “After all she put you through?”
It was awful, but it was also kind of funny if you think about it. “I would,” I tell her. “If that’s okay with Finley.”
Dead air again.
“Is that all right with you, Miss Harper?” Constance demands impatiently.
“I … uh … suppose. I mean, sure … yes. I can do that.”
“Would tomorrow work for you?” my boss asks me. When I nod my head, she asks Finley, “Does three o’clock tomorrow afternoon fit into your schedule, Miss Harper?”
“Sure,” Finley squeaks. I can’t imagine how embarrassed she is. She’s got to be wondering how to face me after such a debacle. I’m kind of wondering the same thing. The woman did rub freezing cold baby oil on my chest.
“And Miss Harper,” Constance feels the need to add, “we will not require your services for a calendar.” Then she hangs up.
Poor Finley.
I make a motion to stand up, but Constance waves her hands for me to sit back down. “We have our hospital Spring Fling gala coming up in a few weeks. I hope you’re planning to attend.”
As this is the first time I’ve heard of it, I don’t have any plans yet. “Message me the details and I’ll put it on my calendar,” I tell her.
Before I can leave, she says, “I wonder if you’d like to be my date.”
“Your date?” As in, she wants to date me, or she just wants to help me navigate new terrain by introducing me around?
Instead of giving an indication what her intensions are, she simply says, “Unless you already have an attachment here in Elk Lake.”
I really don’t want to go on a date with Constance Brucker. Not only is she not my type—as in, she’s way too rigid—but she’s also my boss. It would be wrong on multiple levels, which is why I tell her, “I’ve actually started seeing someone.”
She shrugs her bony shoulders. “It can’t be serious yet.”
Who says something like that?“Perhaps not, but I’m not the kind of man who dates multiple women at the same time.”
“How provincial,” she drawls snootily. “Well, let me know if things don’t work out with her. Then we can go together.” It’s almost like she assumes our attending the Spring Fling as a duo is a done deal.
“Will do,” I tell her before leaping to my feet and fleeing.
Now more than ever, I’m questioning whether this job is going to be the one for me. I want to keep an open mind, but I also don’t want to feel pursued by my own boss. Especially Candace. If you’d asked me previously, I would have guessed she was either married to an equally stuck-up older man or she was single and collected Dalmatians to enhance her wardrobe.
Maybe I’ll talk to Kevin about it tonight and see what he thinks. My new neighbor and I are going to the diner for those cheese curds he’s promised will change my life. He’s bringing Shelly, who has made it her job to bring me different baked goods every other day since my arrival. I’ve probably put on five pounds, but it’s been quite enjoyable.
The Picknells are a definite plus for staying in Elk Lake. I barely even knew my neighbors in New York. The only problemis that everything is so slow paced from what I’m used to, and I’m starting to worry I’ll die of boredom here. That, and you know, now my boss is making a play for me.
I briefly imagine what it would be like to tell my mother I’m coming back to the city. That thought makes me decide to double down on trying to make this work. It’s not that I don’t want to hear that she told me so, it’s that she won’t only say it once. It will become her mantra, and she’ll use it every chance she gets. Forever. Until I die. Because even though she’ll probably die first, she’s the kind of woman who would haunt me to make sure I never forgot she was right.
CHAPTER NINE
