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“So, where are we headed that requires me to dress nicely?” I asked.
“We’re going into town. It’s a surprise,” Hank said.
“Meaning if you tell me now, I probably wouldn’t agree to it.”
“Yep. Now get a move on it. I want you in one of those fancy hats of yours, a nicer pair of boots, and a button-down.”
“Am I performing somewhere?” I asked.
“Nope. Now go get dressed.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were heading into town. I was driving my truck, and Hank was grumbling about it in the back. I told him he wasn’t gonna sit up front and bitch in my ear the entire ride, and he didn’t believe I’d put him in the backseat.
Now, he was grumbling because I held up my end of the bargain.
“Take a left here.”
“Right. Right-right-right!”
“You missed it. Turn around. It was that street by the church.”
“You’re not worth a shit at giving directions,” I said.
“Payback for making me sit back here,” Hank said.
We pulled into a building that said P.A. or P.R. or some shit like that. I groaned as my head fell back, my truck rolling into a space. Fucking Hank. Of course, he would drag me to this bullshit. I didn’t think he was actually serious about hiring someone like this for me. I was fine. I was back at the farm. What the fuck did I need someone like this for?
“I’m not going inside,” I said.
“Yes, you are. We’re interviewing some people today,” Hank said.
“No, you’re interviewing people today. I’m going and getting breakfast.”
“You already had breakfast.”
“I had microwaved coffee. Hardly a breakfast,” I said.
“Your fault for sleeping in late.”
“Late? I woke up at nine, asshole.”
“Paul was out the fucking door by seven this morning,” he said.
“How the fuck would you know that?” I asked.
“Because I know Paul. He’s always out the damn door by seven in the morning. The man thrives on routine. Now get your ass inside, or I’ll drag you in by your ear. I’m sure someone would love a picture of that.”
“Asshole.”
“Come on,” he said.
I climbed out of the truck and made my way into the building, making sure Hank knew exactly how unhappy I was with the whole thing. Hank responded by opening doors for me like some kind of a big-dicked asshole, making me look like some sort of diva. We walked through the main lobby of this sprawling office space and stepped into an elevator. Hank pressed the button marked seven and away we went, rising up the massive metal encasing to meet whoever the hell Hank was gonna hire to fix me.
“So—what’s this person supposed to be doing for me?” I asked.
“I’m hiring you a P.A. today. An assistant, of sorts. They’re gonna help you get your schedule together, help you balance your touring and your farm. Help you manage time and get your shit together so you can be a presentable person to society.”
“I’m pretty presentable,” I said.
