little errand-running business into a lucrative company with a steady income.
That was two months ago, and there was no backup plan.
Beckett was too old to babysit or deliver papers, too controversial for office politics, and way too smart to participate in another clinical trial. Giving a temp agency a percentage of her hard-earned cash was also out. So eighteen months ago, she’d done what any self-respecting, mature woman with only a high school diploma and strong work ethic did when faced with acute, recurring unemployment syndrome.
She’d become her own boss.
According to the writers at Us Weekly and the mastermind team who wrote the “Your Next Career; You’re Welcome!” quiz, Beckett had four perfect matches for future employment: portable-toilet cleaner, landfill operator, adult entertainer, and becoming her own boss.
With the support of her friend Heineken, she quickly ruled out the first and second options—confined spaces gave her the willies, and vehicles with four wheels were a waste of resources. Option three had merit, but when it came to mastering tassels, she learned that she didn’t have the right skill set. Which left her with six empty bottles and a single option.
She’d filed the necessary paperwork for Consider It Done, Rome’s top personal concierge service, the next day and never looked back.
With years of odd jobs under her belt, establishing a steady base of regular customers hadn’t been hard. But convincing the town that hiring a personal concierge wasn’t the same as hiring a teenaged neighbor to mow the lawn? She was still working on that.
“I’m expanding my services to include select local businesses that could benefit from my expertise and experience. I can help with staffing, overseeing small projects, and bulk food delivery. I’m working with a law firm in town, handling all their employee relocations for intra-office transfers, and they’re willing to put me on retainer to be their lunch delivery service. We’re discussing which restaurants will be included on their list.”
She unzipped her favorite kick-ass leather jacket, which made her feel like a tough girl, and flashed Levi the new, personalized NO MATTER HOW BIG OR SMALL THE TASK, ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS ASK, THEN CONSIDER IT DONE tee she’d had printed up.
“Catchy.” He straightened. “Now I know how you got Dean to go along with you,” he said—to her chest.
“You’re such a guy.” But his suspicions had merit.
Dean was a twenty-year-old marine science major, on the six-year track at the local junior college, who embraced Van Life in his upcycled mustard colored, ’67 Volkswagen Deluxe Microbus. Catching waves and women were his way of life.
“How’d you get Gus to agree? The guy’s as rigid as his starched apron.”
“Dean went along for the tips.” She looked at the crowded waiting room, studying the new arrangement of the tables, which made room for three more tabletops but placed the hostess stand too far from the bar, making it impossible for people waiting there to hear their names being called. “Gus went along because he values my insight. Look around—you have more interest than seats available. And no matter how many different ways you try rearranging this place, there are always going to be more hungry customers than seats.”
“Not such a bad problem to have,” Levi said, but he didn’t sound as confident as he had a moment ago.
“Maybe. But kind of dumb to have a problem at all when the solution is sitting in front of you.”
Levi looked at her shirt again, then to the chicken who’d hopped into her lap.
“You’re right. I’d like to hire you to solve a pressing problem.” He took a folded bill from the tip jar, straightened it, then slapped it on the counter. “Here’s twenty bucks for you and your chicken to go anywhere but here.”
And to think at one time, she’d considered him sweet.
“No can do. I’m already on a job. Plus, you wouldn’t deny Gregory a celebratory drink for passing his empathy test, would you?”
“I’ll give you a paper cup and you can make him a trough. Outside.”
“Sorry. I’m meeting someone for a drink. Inside.” She took off her coat and leaned back, making herself comfortable.
“I hope this someone is human.”
Gregory took the moment to flap his little misbehaving butt onto the bar top again. Levi leveled a glare at him and then pointed a threatening finger.
“Oh, be careful, sometimes he . . . bites,” she trailed off, completely in awe when, instead of pecking at Levi, Gregory hopped back down into his chair, his clucking quickly morphing into a