“How motivated are you?” she asked.
“Very.”
The brunette from the Penthouse’s open door approached us. “Elizabeth—let me handle this.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I’m fine, Zara. What do you know about sports?” she asked.
“What kind of sports are you asking about?”
“Start with soccer.”
“David Beckham’s career was long but is basically over,” I said. “American parents will take out a second mortgage on their house to finance their kid’s way into soccer camps and clubs and tournaments. All for the dream.”
She nodded. “Why did you drop out of high school?”
“My parents died unexpectedly,” I said. “It threw me.”
She paused and bowed her head for a moment. “I’m sorry. I lost my mother when I was ten. It’s not easy.”
“No it’s not.”
“Elizabeth, this has to be taxing,” Zara said. “I’ll take it from here.”
“You’ll take it from here when I tell you to take it from here. Lucille—your Uncle John Trabbicio is in an institution for the mentally challenged. Does this affect your every-day-life?”
I shoved my hands on my hips. “Would it affect your every day life?”
“There’s one in every family,” Zara said. “My cousin practically cut off my dead grandmother’s chubby, inflexible fingers to procure her rings seconds before we closed her casket. Elizabeth simply wants to know that you can get the job done.”
I frowned. “Uncle John was with dad at the hospital after the motorcycle accident. He held his hand when he died. He lost it a few months later. I pay for him to live at Vail instead of County.”
“I see,” she said. “That’s sad. It also means you’re motivated. When can you start?”
“When do you want me to start?”
She eyed me up and down and crinkled her nose. “You’re raw material, rough-around-the-edges. Mr. Philips, Zara and I need to train you and we need to do that quickly. Considering we have our work cut out for us, I think we should start immediately. You can start immediately, yes?”
“Um. Sure?”
“Fabulous. Zara—make the phone call please. I need to excuse myself for a moment.” Elizabeth turned and raced back inside the Penthouse.
Zara slid her iPhone from her purse and hit one button. “I’d like to speak to D’Alba please. Tell him Zara Wentworth is calling on behalf of Lady Billingsley. No I will not leave a message. Yes, you can put me on hold but only for a moment. He’s expecting her call.”
She glanced at her diamond-encrusted watch, then back at me and frowned. “Have you ever had your eyebrows waxed?”
“Absolutely not. I read those horror stories that describe—all too graphically might I add—what happens to body parts when you over-wax them. I tweeze my brows.”
“You do know you’re supposed to tweeze between your brows?”
I harrumphed.
“Can you work late tonight? She’ll pay overtime.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Yes,” Zara said.
“Yeah, we confirmed that,” I said.
“When speaking the affirmative we use the word, ‘Yes.’”
“Okay,” I said.
She shook her head. “You need to say, ‘Yes.’”
“I already said ‘Okay’. I can stay late tonight.”
“For the love of God, say, ‘Yes,’” Zara said.
“How many times do I have to say it?” I hollered and suddenly wondered if she was hearing impaired. A wave of guilt swept over me and I felt terrible. It was wrong and incredibly insensitive of me to yell at some young, overly-coiffed woman who was hearing impaired.
Zara ground her teeth and spoke into her phone. “Tell D’Alba it’s Lady Zara calling. This is in regards to the situation they discussed last week. The one where Elizabeth promised to pay him twice his going rate. Yes, dear. We will see him in twenty… what do you mean he can’t see us for two hours?” She jabbed her thumb into her temple and grimaced. “Fine. We’ll see him in two hours. Tell D’Alba I’m not as nice as Elizabeth. He’d better be giving us his A game or I’ll be spilling-all on the royal circuit. And this time it will be about who really wore the tiara or what riding the polo ponies hard actually means.” She hung up the phone and massaged her temples. “Good help is so hard to find.”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes it is.”
This was totally my opportunity to impress upon Elizabeth’s friend that I would not be simply good help—I would be great. I was not only hard-working but I was also a take-charge kind of girl who would go the extra mile.
“Why don’t we work on something else before we meet with this D’Alba dude,” I said. “I could get you all something to drink, and then we could organize Elizabeth’s closets, or clean out her purse.” I paced. “We could talk Mr. Philip Philips into wearing a shirt without a sweater vest?”
She arched one eyebrow. “Good luck with that one. Hmm. Not a bad idea, however. How long have you walked like a football player?”
“I know—good, huh?” I smiled. “That wasn’t an easy gait to learn.”
“I imagine not,” she said.
“I had to toughen-it-up a bit after my parents died. Just ’cause I was single, young and unprotected, I didn’t want guys thinking they could take advantage of me. I watched a bunch of Bears football games and imitated the linebackers until I had it down.”
“Kudos on your determination. Unfortunately, you can’t walk like a gorilla if you’re to successfully assist Elizabeth.”
“Gorilla?”
She punched a button on her phone. “Mr. Philips?”
“Yes, Zara,” he said.
“We’re conducting our first lesson with Elizabeth’s new assistant. I require a larger room than this claustrophobic hotel suite. Ideas?”
“Absolutely. Let me make a few calls.”
“Splendid. Bring the feather duster.”
“What exactly does this part-time job entail?” I asked.
Enjoying the read? You can purchase Part-time Princess here!
http://www.amazon.com/Part-time-Princess-Ladies-Waiting-1-ebook/dp/B00M8LVW10
Cupcakes, Diaries, and Rotten Inquiries: A Romantic, Comedic Annie Graceland Mystery, #6 Page 20
