What You Need(5)
I grinned.
“But offer me something else. Your da gave me a bottle of Midleton for my birthday, so you’ll have to do better on the bribery.”
“A ticket to the Super Bowl when the Vikings finally make it in this century.”
She snorted. “Oh, that’s a pie-in-the-sky dream, with the lousy way those lads have been playin’. That’s one favor I’d never be collectin’ on, yeah?”
“Point for Miss Maggie.” I threw a look at the conference room door. “What’ll it take?”
“I don’t need you to buy me anything, Brady Lund.” She cocked her head. “But you could do be doin’ me a wee favor. Tit for tat, eh?”
“Name it.”
“My young niece Siobhan is visitin’ from Ireland. It’d be lovely if you could take her to dinner and a nightclub. Give her the true American experience. She’s been stuck with me all week.”
Shah-von. That had a sexy ring to it. “When?”
“Tomorrow night, since she’s leavin’ for California on Monday.”
“Deal. Now what’s the opportunity?”
Maggie leaned across the desk. “The boss man’s given in to your ma’s badgering about you getting out in the community more to represent the Lund name and he’s givin’ you the first choice of one of her pet projects. ‘Choice’ bein’ the operative word, because you don’t got one, but you—as the oldest—do get to choose first.”
Great. “What are they?”
“First, an entire weekend helping her with the annual art sale, fund-raiser and ball for the Minnesota Arts Foundation. Seems that’d be the easy one, yeah? Not so, lad. She’s plannin’ on holdin’ a bachelor auction as a fund-raiser, and she means to put you or your brothers or your cousins up on the podium for sale!”
“I’ll pass on that one. What are my other options?”
“Being a runway model for a charity fashion show put on by Dayton’s and the Minneapolis Art Institute.”
I could just see them giving me nothing but a strategically placed canvas to wear. “Pass. Next?”
“Participating in activities for at-risk youth for the Lund Cares Community Outreach program. That one will give you more leeway, but since the commitment is for Saturdays when you’re always buried in work, no one will ever be expectin’ you to pick it.”
My eyes narrowed. “This isn’t some reverse psychology thing you and Mom cooked up?”
“So suspicious, but I can’t say as I blame ya. God love yer ma, but she’s got some barmy ideas.”
I kissed her cheek. “Thank you. You’re the best. What time should I pick up Siobhan?”
Her eyes danced. “Can ya send a car service for her? She’d get a right kick outta that.”
That actually worked better for me, not having to make small talk at the door. And not letting Maggie witness firsthand how little charm I actually possessed when it came to chatting up women I didn’t know. “Absolutely. Say . . . seven?”
“Perfect.” Maggie gave me a push. “Get in there. Good luck.”
Chapter Two
Lennox
‡
Friday night I slipped on my pajamas, made myself a mug of Lemon Zinger tea and cracked open my bookkeeping program on my laptop. I downloaded two weeks worth of banking transactions—expenses and income—getting a giddy sense of satisfaction at seeing my once meager bank account growing, as well as my retirement fund. The fact I even had a retirement fund was still something to celebrate as proof that I had a real job with benefits and everything.
One more year and I would have enough money for a down payment for my own place. But for now I had a pretty sweet gig, living in a house instead of a cramped apartment.
Since my roommate, Kiley, had warned me she wouldn’t be home tonight, I curled up on the couch in the living room and watched TV. After living on the road for almost a decade and then spending the next two years in school, I finally had time to catch up on all the TV shows I’d heard people talking about. Lately I’d been obsessed with Dexter, mostly because I’d met a lot of psychopaths, but none of them had that slightly warped moral compass—they’d all been just plain crazy.
My phone rang and I glanced at the caller ID. A number I didn’t recognize showed on the screen. I was too curious to ignore it. “Hello?”
“Lenni, baby girl, how are you?”
I tensed up at hearing her fake cooing tone. I was twenty-eight—not eight. Not that she’d been much of a mother to me at that age either. “I’m fine. This is another new number.”