Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
My mind whirls. Who is this Grace person? I try to think, but no one comes to mind. There was the woman that I hooked up with last month, but her name was something that started with “L.” I would remember if her name was Grace.
Then, there’s my ex from a year ago who keeps calling and then hanging up before I can answer. Adelaide is insane, and I’m happy to be rid of her. Crazies are difficult to reason with, and being with one who’s hot and crazy seems to be an especially lethal mix.
But who is the sumptuous woman standing before me, and who is Grace?
“I’m sorry,” I say in a silky tone. “But I think you have the wrong person. I don’t know who you’re talking about, nor do I know anything about these alleged high crimes I’ve committed.”
The girl snorts, her cheeks a bewitching shade of pink.
“Grace Mitchell is my mother,” she says in a trembling voice. “She’s worked for Le Palms for almost ten years now as a showgirl, and you just fired her tonight. You broke her heart, Mr. Savage, and cast her away like she means nothing! After ten years of service. Is this how you treat all your employees?”
I squint, trying to recall the events of tonight. I did have a conversation with George Cox, who manages the showgirls who work at Le Palms earlier. And he did say something about having to let a couple of the girls go because of drug-related dependencies and general truancy. But he didn’t say anything about firing a middle-aged woman who was supporting her family. Or did he?
“I’m sorry,” I say with a shrug. “But personnel matters are private, and I can’t discuss them with any random stranger who comes bursting into my office in the middle of the night. Now if you’ll excuse me,” I say in a frigidly polite tone.
But the blonde’s not having it.
“No,” she spits. “You listen to me, Cameron Savage. My mom has worked long and hard for years now working her fingers to the bone, and you are not going to break her like this. Before she was a showgirl at Le Palms, she worked in housekeeping doing the hotel linens and other peoples’ laundry. Do you understand what I’m saying? My mom is not a leech. She is not a bloodsucker. Grace is a good person who works hard, and she doesn’t deserve to be fired from her job just like that!”
I shake my head, weariness overtaking me. The girl is gorgeous, but I hate all matters pertaining to HR. It’s not my forte, although I’ve had to become skilled at managing people out of sheer necessity.
“I’m sorry, and who are you again?” I drawl. I’ve already asked but I want to get under her skin. Clearly, I’m an asshole of the nth degree.
Her cheeks flare red again.
“I’m Madeline Mitchell,” she says stiffly. “Grace’s daughter.”
I look at the woman for a moment. She really is shapely, come to think of it. The baggy sweater can’t hide the well-formed breasts beneath the thick, lumpy material, and her jeans hang loosely on long, slender legs. She’s well-proportioned, and her face and hair look touched by sunshine, even within the gloom of my office.
“Okay, let’s just say for argument’s sake that I did fire your mother. What do you want me to do?”
“Re-hire her,” says Maddy promptly, her hands on her hips. “That’s the only decent thing to do.”
I lean back in my chair.
“Yes, but I can’t do that. My guess is that your mother is over-worked and probably too old to keep doing what she’s doing. Being a showgirl isn’t just about smiling and high-kicks; it’s about being an athlete. You have to get up there for three hours straight and take the crowd by storm. There’s all sorts of tumbling, in addition to shimmying, shaking, and multiple costume changes. It’s not for the faint of heart and it’s hard on your body. How old is your mom now? Forty? Forty-one? Forty-two?”
Maddy’s lip trembles.
“She’s forty,” she says in a rigid voice.
I sigh.
“Exactly. Most of the showgirls are twenty-five, or even younger. This isn’t really a job for the middle-aged, and my guess is that your mother has been worn down by the experience. It’s kinder and gentler for us to let her go, Maddy. There’s no sense in beating an old horse when there’s nothing left in the gas tank.”
That makes the blonde girl fly into a rage. She literally charges me, screaming.
“Don’t you call my mother an old horse! Grace has more than a thousand times your value, you son of a bitch! She’s worked her tail off for this stupid Le Palms for more than a decade, and this is how you repay her?”
I fend off her blows, which is pretty easy because although Maddy is tall, I’ve got to be at least six inches taller. Not only that, but Maddy is thin and lithe, whereas I’m huge and burly. I’m all muscle, whereas she’s sensuous curves, and she doesn’t have a chance to strike me.