“Yeah. OK. I guess that’s the good thing about working month to month. We can renegotiate at the end of thirty days. What about bennies?”
“Standard stuff. Medical. Dental. Sundays off.”
“They’re closed Sundays?”
“You could say that. One other weekday, you’ll work it out with the boss. Two weeks of vacation after six months if you last that long. Plus room and board.”
“Huh?”
Marcia gave a gusty sigh. “Didn’t I mention? This is a ranch.”
“A what?”
“A ranch. Horses. Cows. Whatever the fuck wanders around on a ranch.” There was a tiny pause. “In Montana.”
“Forget that. I’m not—”
“It’s a big place. Several thousand acres. You grew up in ranching country, right?”
Lissa had grown up on El Sueño, a ranch the size of a small nation that had belonged to Wildes for generations, and she’d left it as soon as she could because ranching and ranches were definitely not her thing.
“I did. And I don’t like—”
“Nobody’s asking you to ride the range.”
Lissa chewed on her lip again. “What is this place? A dude ranch? A resort?”
“Listen, I don’t have time for Twenty Questions. I got to get back to these people. I promised them an answer tonight.”
Lissa had never been to Montana, but she knew a lot about it. Montana was the western state where the mega-rich played at being ranchers. They bought enormous spreads of land, spent fortunes duding them up, visited once in a blue moon and pretended they were cowboys.
And they entertained.
Hollywood glitterati. Directors. Producers. People who could afford to play at being John Wayne for a long weekend. That explained the question about basic cooking. She’d be expected to provide supposedly down-home meals that were actually elegant ones in disguise, and she’d have the pleasure of using mint and haricots verts and kale straight from the garden, eggs fresh from the henhouse.
Best of all, she could make contacts, maybe even connect with guests who’d be so taken with the idea of basic elegance that they’d want to fund a restaurant— and that would be what she’d call it, Basic Elegance…
“Lissa? I’m waiting. You in or not?”
“What about staff?”
“What about it? You’ll work that out with the owner.”
Lissa drew a long, steadying breath.
“OK. I’m in. Just tell me where to be and when.”
“They’ll send a plane for you. Seven tomorrow morning, at LAX.”
“I’ll take my car. I’ll need wheels once I’m there, Marcia.”
“It’s a sixteen-hour drive.”
“But—”
“I’ll have them add a car to that list of bennies. You good with that?”
A decent salary. A roof over her head. A car. A chance to establish herself. And no more I-adore-myself actors littering her life.