Call Me Irresistible (Wynette, Texas #5)(81)

       
         
       
        

"Thanks for the offer, but I don't really want to."

"Oh, you want to, all right."

That was true. Watching so many other people play had piqued her interest. "Why are you doing this?" she asked as she carried Torie's bag back to the clubhouse.

"Because you're the only woman other than me who's ever told Ted the truth about his dancing."

"I don't understand."

"Sure you do. I also might have noticed that Ted went strangely quiet when I brought up your name in our phone conversation this week. I don't know if you two have a future-providing he doesn't have to marry Sunny-but I'm not taking any chances."

Whatever that meant. Still, Meg found herself adding Torie O'Connor to the list of all she'd miss when she finally left Wynette. She slipped the bag of clubs off her shoulder. "Regardless of Sunny, how could Ted and I have a future? He's the Lamb of God, and I'm the town bad girl."

"I know," Torie said brightly.

That evening, as Meg hosed off the day's dust from the drink cart, the catering manager approached and told her one of the members wanted to hire her to serve at a ladies' luncheon at her home the next day. The few townspeople who could afford it routinely hired staff to help at private parties, but no one had ever requested her, and she needed all the money she could get to make up for the materials she'd just bought. "Sure," she said.

"Pick up a white server's shirt in the catering office before you leave. Wear a black skirt with it."

The closest thing Meg had was her black-and-white Miu Miu mini from the resale shop. It would have to do.

The catering manager handed over a piece of paper with the directions. "Chef Duncan is cooking, and you'll be working with Haley Kittle. She'll show you the ropes. Be there at ten. And this is a big deal, so do a good job."

After she got back from the swimming hole that evening, Meg finally looked at the information the catering manager had given her. There was something familiar about the directions. Her gaze flew to the bottom of the page where the name of the person she'd be working for was typed out.

Francesca Beaudine

She crumpled the paper in her fist. What kind of game was Francesca playing? Did she really think Meg would take the job? Except Meg had already done exactly that.

She yanked on her happy printing company T-shirt and stomped around the kitchen for a while, cursing Francesca, cursing herself for not reading the information earlier when she could still have refused. But would she have? Probably not. Her stupid pride wouldn't let her.

The temptation to pick up her phone and call Ted was nearly unbearable. She made herself a sandwich instead and carried it out to the cemetery only to discover she'd lost her appetite. It was no coincidence this was happening while he was gone. Francesca had executed a stealth attack designed to put Meg in her place. It probably made little difference to her whether Meg accepted or not. She wanted to make a point. Meg was an outsider, a down-on-her-luck drifter forced to work for a meager hourly wage. An outsider who'd only be allowed in Francesca's house as one of the help. 

Meg pitched the sandwich into the weeds. Screw that.

She reached the Beaudine compound a little before ten the next morning. She'd chosen her sparkly pink platforms to wear with the white catering blouse and Miu Miu mini. They wouldn't be the most comfortable shoes to work in, but the best defense against Francesca was a strong offense, and they'd send the message that she had no intention of being invisible. Meg would hold her head high, smile until her cheeks ached, and do her job well enough to put a crimp in Francesca's satisfaction.

Haley pulled up in her red Ford Focus. She barely spoke as they walked into the house together, and she looked so pale Meg grew concerned. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I've got . . . really bad cramps."

"Can you get someone to work for you?"

"I tried, but nobody's around."

The Beaudine kitchen was both luxurious and homey with sunny saffron walls, a terra-cotta floor, and handcrafted cobalt blue tile work. An enormous wrought-iron chandelier bearing colorful glass cups hung in the center of the room, and open shelves displayed copper pots and hand-thrown pottery.

Chef Duncan was unpacking the food he'd prepped for the event. A short man in his early forties, he had a big nose and a graying shrub of wiry auburn hair protruding from beneath his toque. He frowned as Haley disappeared into the bathroom, then barked at Meg to get to work.

While she set up the glassware and began organizing the serving dishes, he detailed the menu: bite-size puffed pastry hors d'oeuvres filled with melted Brie and orange marmalade, minted fresh pea soup served in demitasse cups that still needed to be washed, a fennel-laced salad, warm pretzel rolls, and the main course, asparagus frittata and smoked salmon, which they'd plate in the kitchen. The pièce de résistance was dessert, individually potted chocolate soufflés the chef had been working all summer to perfect and which must, must, must be served as soon as they came out of the oven and placed gently, gently, gently in front of each guest.