Page 39 of Passion at the Lake

“Tell me why…” I couldn’t get the rest of it out.

This wasn’t the time to ask why she’d purposely tanked my career years ago with her baseless accusation. As much as the question burned in me, it could wait.

She was Grace’s sister, and in need of a job. I needed Grace to be happy and therefore, keeping my lips zipped was the order of the day.

“Tell you why what?” Angela asked.

I scrambled for a comeback. “Why do you need the money so badly? Septic pumping is a hard and dirty business, not really fit for a girl.”

“Because, Mr. Rich Business Owner,” she spat, “it may not occur to you, but peasants like me need money for food and gas and stuff. I got stiffed by my ex— uh, my last job, and not that you’d understand it, but I’m dead broke, like zero, zip, nada.”

She was agitated enough that I didn’t follow up with another question.

Her nostrils flared. “And what makes you think a woman can’t do the job?”

I raised my free hand in defense. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Right.” Sarcasm dripped off the word.

My attempt to scare her off with the septic-tank comments had failed, and after another moment of silent driving, I relented. “It isn’t a septic service.” I could still hope cleaning toilets at the hotel would get rid of her. It only made sense that it was beneath her. I remembered that the fraternity group was checking out either today or tomorrow. Maybe that would do the trick and get her to move back to Boston or wherever.

The frat boys had called it a strategic retreat to plan for the coming year, but that was only window dressing for what had likely been a big drunken party.

“Aw shucks,” she said. “I was looking forward to bringing the smell back to your house.”

Silence seemed the better tactic, so I drove on without returning that comment.

As we pulled in at the hotel, she looked over. “Sorry about that. I’ve had a shitty day, but I don’t have the right to take it out on you.” She fidgeted with her hands. “What I mean to say is…well…thank you for helping me.”

The minx even looked sincere. It didn’t change a thing, but you could still color me surprised by her apology.

I nodded. “Call me when you finish, and I’ll come pick you up.”

“Why didn’t you let me drive myself then?” she asked.

I had a reasonable answer to her reasonable question. “I’m doing this for Grace. I promised her I’d get you situated, and that’s what I’m doing. Everything after that is up to you. You can drive yourself tomorrow.”

“I don’t have your number,” she pointed out.

I rattled it off to her, and she typed into her phone.

My cell buzzed in my pocket.

“That’s a test text to see if I got it right,” she explained.

I parked and shut down the engine.

“We’re meeting the boss here?” she asked.

I opened my door to climb down. “Yup.”

“What’s he like? Or she?”

“He’s nice enough.” I looked away to hide my smirk. “At least that’s what everybody says.”

She nodded and followed me toward the door. I pulled out my phone and read the text.

UNKNOWN: Thank you for helping me

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