Her Naughty Holiday (Men at Work 2)

“Has she met any of your customers? She should come answer the phone for a week here, and then she can say nobody cares if your plants die,” Ruthie said. “Does she not know if the plants die, your business dies?”

“Kelly means well.”

“You have to let me burn her house down. Please?”

“No burning anything. You’re still on probation.”

“Fine. But if she ever comes in here I’m going to put a Venus flytrap down her pants.”

“That doesn’t sound very Zen.”

“Zen is a teaching of Buddhism. Although I respect Buddhism, I’m technically a neo-pagan. And neo-pagans would totally put a Venus flytrap down your sister’s pants. At least this neo-pagan would.”

“You’re very...sweet? Okay, no, but it’s nice of you to defend me. My family wants the best for me, but it’s always their version of ‘the best,’ not my version. I know exactly what Mom will say when I tell her about the buyout offer. She’ll say, ‘Oh, Clo, honey, that’s wonderful. Now you can quit work and finally focus on your personal life.’ I’d bet money on those exact words.”

“Weird. I’d say, ‘Oh, Clo, that’s wonderful. Five million dollars buys, like, five years of male escort services.’”

“Only five years?”

“Those guys make bank, Clo. You should hire one. He could help you with your little problem...” Ruthie sang, fluttering her eyelashes, the very picture of feigned innocence.

“I don’t even feel comfortable getting manicures. Do you really think I could handle hiring a male escort? And what on earth are you doing looking up male escorts, anyway?”

“I admire them. They are the only men on the planet doing what the Goddess intends men to do, i.e., devoting themselves entirely to female pleasure.”

“If I didn’t let you hire a stripper for my birthday, do you really think I’m going to hire a male escort? For anything? Including my little problem or my big problem?”

“Okay, maybe not. But you could ask Pops.”

“What?”

“Ask Pops. You know, my father? Picks me up every day? The tall guy with the dirt under his nails who’s cute, I guess, for a dad.”

“Yes, I know who your father is. We’ve met a few hundred times.”

“Well, ask him, then. He has all his teeth and all his hair and he knows how to cook a turkey. What more could any woman want in a fake boyfriend?”

“He’s your dad.”

“I know. I’ve also met him,” Ruthie said.

“I can’t ask your dad to help me with my little problem.”

“Not your little problem. Your big problem. He can be your fake boyfriend this week.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not? He’s not dating anybody. Plus, he likes you. And he’ll be alone this week while I’m with Mom.”

“Because he’s your dad. And you work for me. And I think that would be a little bit weird.” Clover paused. “Wait. What do you mean he likes me?”

“I mean he likes you. Why wouldn’t he like you? You’re nice and you’re a goddess.”

“I’m dirt-encrusted on a daily basis,” she said. She also lived in her jeans, fleece vests and turtlenecks, and any makeup she put on in the morning she’d sweated off by noon. Her blond hair never left its ponytail until night.

“So is Mother Nature.”

“Is your father attracted to Mother Nature?”