“If you’d use voicemail, Sunny, I wouldn’t be able to snoop.”
Sunny only let callers go to voicemail if it was after hours. “You’d be the first to complain if you never talked to a real person.”
“I would never presume to call Roger a real person,” Max said, her brow raised.
Sunny smiled. Sunny always smiled. Her perpetually “sunny” attitude was one of the things Max liked best about her. Her boss was a breath of fresh air. “Sit down, and tell me how the interview went.”
Max handed over the stack, her note on top, then sat in Sunny’s cushy yellow chair. “Shitty.”
She’d barely made it to the interview on time, but she’d no longer been interested in the job the moment she read about Wendy Gregory in the mystery man’s discarded newspaper. After a few minutes of planning in her car once the job interview was done, she’d rushed right over to Sunny’s office.
“They don’t need me for data entry, Sunny.”
“They want the data evaluated as it’s entered.”
“I don’t clean windows, and I don’t do data entry. It doesn’t pay to underutilize me. How about that full-charge bookkeeper?” She indicated the pink paper with Remy Hackett’s name on it.
Sunny picked it up and read. “Who took this?” Her smile never faded, but the tone suggested a hint of annoyance. “It isn’t Roger’s handwriting. I insist the assistants sign and date these for me.”
The thing about Sunny was that as nice as she sounded—as nice as she was—she had a will of iron. People tended to underestimate her soft manner and usually conciliatory tone.
All of which was why the best way into Wendy’s job—into her life—was through Sunny’s temp agency. It also meant any suspicion would first fall on Sunny. Max felt a twinge of guilt at using her boss, but her options were limited at this point.
“Give him a call,” Max urged with much the same tone Cameron used when trying to manipulate her.
“Hackett’s Appliance Parts. I’ve never heard of them. I wonder where they got my name?”
“Probably the phonebook. With a position like this, you can bill my full rate. Go ahead. Call him.”
Sunny tapped her fingernails on her desk, then picked up a pencil and used the eraser end to dial the phone. “Mr. Hackett, please.” Her nose wrinkled with distaste as if she’d just been insulted. “Sunny Wright with the Wright Solution Employment Agency,” she said through lightly pursed lips, then covered the receiver with her hand. “Not a particularly professional atmosphere.”
“Good, then I won’t have to worry about a new wardrobe.”
Sunny looked Max’s habitual attire up and down. Black blazer and black pants. Her only concession to femininity was her three-inch black heels, and usually, the only concession to color was a black-and-red striped tie. Today, however, she’d had to do without the tie and white shirt.
“I like the turtleneck,” Sunny said. “It’s a different look for you.”
Max didn’t mention what was hidden underneath, long scratches on her throat.
Sunny’s attention snapped back to her call. “Yes, Mr. Hackett. I got your message concerning your need for a full-charge bookkeeper.” A pause. Sunny’s blue eyes clouded. “You didn’t?...perhaps someone on your staff called...ambulance-chaser?” Her eyes widened with shock. She gasped. Max held her breath. “Well, I never. In all my career...I wouldn’t dream of...I demand an apology”—a longer pause this time—“I agree, you couldn’t have been more wrong...well, I should think you’re a bit embarrassed...I’m terribly sorry about what happened, but that gives you no right...no, that is not good enough...I wouldn’t let one of my people work for you if...” Sunny looked straight at Max across the expanse of her desk.
Please, please, accept the apology. If this didn’t work, she’d have to apply for the position without Sunny’s intervention and think of a good excuse later for how she’d found out about the job.
Sunny let out an exasperated breath and went on. “Yes, I’m sure it’s been a strain...please, Mr. Hackett, there’s no need to feel so badly over this...well, perhaps you could be more specific about the position...I think I have a suitable person in mind...I can fax her resume, but under the circumstances, I’m not sure it would be right for—” Sunny tipped her head to one side, a questioning gaze set on Max.
Max sighed a breath of relief and nodded her head vigorously.
“Well, all right then...What time?...Tomorrow at seven? That’s rather early...I’m sure she could continue for the day if you’re agreeable...The address?” Sunny pulled a yellow pad in front of her, scribbled, then dotted an i with a decisive stab. “No further apology is necessary...Thank you, Mr. Hackett.”