Page 3 of You Chive Me Crazy
“Thanks for the offer. I appreciate it,” I said. “But I’m getting ready to head out of town for a couple of weeks. In fact, I need to get going now.”
She shrugged, then pulled out her business card, that was conveniently located in her bra. “I understand. If you have time when you get back, call me.”
“Will do,” I said, sliding the business card in my pocket as she walked away.
Rolando grinned. “Rock star.”
I shook my head. “And you think that was funny?”
“Absolutely.” He chuckled, then glanced down at his phone, before standing and dropping some cash on the table for the tip. “We need to head back. Timothy says the Dickster is looking for you.”
Timothy was the senior administrative assistant at the magazine, the one who always texted Rolando when he was looking for me since I never looked at my phone during a meal.
As for the Dickster, he was technically Mr. Dexter, our new boss, a man who didn’t like anyone to call him by his first name. That was perfectly fine with the employees, since they had already come up with plenty of other things to call him behind his back.
Tyrant was at the top of the list, followed closely by the Dickster.
The Dickster had been at his new position as CEO of the magazine for a mere two weeks, and was clearly on a mission to shake things up at the company. He had already fired five employees, reassigned another five, and annoyed everyone else by scheduling unnecessary meetings, even though he could have easily covered the topics in a brief email.
“You were looking for me?” I asked as I entered his office.
“Yes.” I was about to take a seat, but the Dickster waved me off. “No need to sit—this will be quick. There has been a change of plans.”
I blinked, wondering if I was next on the chopping block. “Oh . . . Okay.”
He was scrolling on his phone. “You’re not going to Germany.”
My heart practically stopped. “Why not?”
“I’m sending you to cover the Big Bang Big Bear Food Truck Festival.”
I laughed, since I was certain he was pulling my leg.
He looked up and glared at me.
The man was serious.
My trip-of-a-lifetime to Munich to one of the biggest festivals in the world was being yanked out from under me. Even worse, it was being replaced by a bunch of food trucks in the middle of the San Bernardino National Forest that were most likely churning out fried brussels sprouts, questionable seafood tacos, and two-foot-long mystery meat wraps.
This can’t be happening.
I have reviewed some of the finest restaurants in the country. Reviewing a food truck was like being sent back down to the minor leagues. What was next? A trip to the local mall to review Auntie Anne’s Pretzels?
Don’t get me wrong—I was addicted to their cinnamon-sugar pretzels, fresh and warm right out of the oven, sweet, buttery goodness that sings to my soul, but I would never have admitted such a thing, let alone written about it!
And yes, I was well-aware that I sounded like a snooty brat, but I’d worked entirely too hard to get to where I was, plus I had a reputation to uphold. There was no way I was going to let him cancel my trip to Oktoberfest.
“My flight leaves in five hours,” I said as my heart rate picked up speed. “I’m sure someone else can do the food truck festival. I’m already packed and ready to go to Germany.”
The Dickster nodded. “Perfect. Grab your bags and drive straight to Big Bear Lake this afternoon. That will give you a few days to relax, check out the local restaurants, and then scope out the scene before the festival begins. Or just take it easy until the festival starts. Your call.”
He was making no sense to me.
I threw my palms up. “I don’t get it.”
The Dickster set his phone down. “You don’t getwhat?”
I clenched my teeth, internally chanting the mantra that typically helped me stay calm in situations like this.
