“You did not post my job.”
“The second you said you quit, I posted it all over the Google, the newspaper, the TV, the radio.”
“The printing press and Pony Express?”
“Lord, you’re disrespectful.” He flopped his gloved hands in dismissal then walked those cowboy legs toward the entrance. “Does this mean I’m not getting your desk?”
“Not today.”
Not even turning back, he called, “Pretty sure I have grounds to sue for age discrimination.”
“We can settle out of court,” I yelled. “If you don’t sue, I’ll give you an electric lift chair and some denture cream.”
“You better bring more than that, Hattie Sutton!” Ernie paused at the doorway and faced me. “Miller’s in San Francisco for four days. He’s staying with a friend named Lachlan, and they’re having daily meetings at an unmarked office space. I’ll text you the address.”
I tried to recover, but I couldn’t hide my expression of absolute shock. “How could you possibly know all that?”
His cheeks lifted in a little smirk. “You’re not the only one who’s returned to the dating world. I’ve been hanging out with your Aunt Frannie. She has lots of intel.”
“You? You’re dating Aunt Frannie?”
“She talks more than you do.”
Ernie could’ve told me the world was square, and I would not have been less surprised. How had Frannie hidden this so well? “Well. Welcome to the family.”
“You and I are not related.”
“But we could be.” I grinned and waggled my eyebrows. “No making out at Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Gross. Get out of here and get to work. I’ll handle the clients tomorrow, if you even care.”
“Oh, I care, Ernie.” I ran to catch up with him. “I care a lot.” Then I tossed him a large bag. “Here’s that bonus you asked for.”
He peered inside. “Hershey’s?”
“Only the best for you.”
“I’d rather have a fat check.”
“Take that up with Miller.”
“You can.” He tucked the bag beneath his arm and almost smiled. “When you see him in California.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
“Tell me again how you managed a private plane?” At six a.m. the next morning, I snapped my seatbelt on the small Cessna.
Sylvie released a contented sigh as she arranged her snacks in her lap in order of importance. “An old CIA buddy of mine flies on the regular to keep up his pilot’s license. When I asked him if he’d fly us to San Fran today, he agreed.”
“How much do I owe him?” I couldn’t find a commercial flight out for a few days, so when Sylvie had proposed the private plane idea, I’d jumped at the opportunity. Now I wondered if I’d get to California, pour out my heart to Miller, then fly back with nothing but rejection and a bill I’d be paying until I was Sylvie’s age.
“Shorty Santos owes me big-time. Back in the eighties I saved him once from a great white shark and another time from a woman with a hook nose and a poison dart gun.” She chuckled at the memories. “Oh, good times.” Then Sylvie pulled out a small water mister and squirted the area around her.
“What are you doing?”
She sprayed the wall beside her. “I’m dousing this bird in holy water and prayers. Can’t be too careful.”
“We’re not Catholic.”
