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“Where are you headed right now?” he asked.
She glanced at the shuttle. Still there, thank God. “Salt Lake City airport.”
“And where are you flying to?”
“Arizona. Why, you want to give me a lift?”
He watched her carefully, taking in her leggings and the cropped T-shirt that exposed a slice of her belly. “And what’s waiting for you in Arizona?”
She felt the sting of his question in the center of her chest. “My dad.” Besides him, home had always been Micky and Carson, Micky’s ex-boyfriend. Both of them were gone now. Going home sounded bleaker by the minute.
“No job?” the man asked.
“No, but I’m starting my own business.” She flashed him a grin. “And it’ll be fabulous.”
“I believe it,” the bus driver said.
The shuttle engine rumbled to life. “Anyhow, safe travels.” She turned to go. She wouldn’t have time to use the restroom or grab her snacks.
My Frappucino!
“Would you like a job?” the suit called.
Turning back, she gave him a slow smile. “I tell you I’m starting my own business, and you offer me a measly job?” She raised an eyebrow. I’m listening.
“Martin Branson, band manager.”
“Della Swanson, bus-fixer, poet, and best friend you’ll ever have.”
That serious expression lifted for just a moment. “I have to head back to LA.” He tipped his head toward the bus. “And the guys have to finish their tour. You interested?”
“What’s the job?”
“Personal assistant.”
“I’d be a kickass PA.”
The shuttle driver honked and called out the open door. “Got to get going.”
She held up a finger, never once taking her gaze off Martin. “But I’ve got bigger plans, so you’ve got one shot to make it worth missing my flight home. What’s the pay?”
“One fifty K.”
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Clarify. And if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, I want a contract.”
“Oh, you’ll get a contract.” He cracked a grin. “You’ll get several.”
“Is this real? Or am I going to wave the shuttle on, only to find out I have to get naked to do this job?”
“You’ll work ridiculous hours, you’ll see unspeakable things, but I can guarantee you this job is real and above board.”
“And you’re seriously going to pay me one hundred and fifty thousand dollars to make some musician’s smoothie every morning?”
“No, that’s the annual salary. You’re only working until the tour ends in a few days.”
Oh. That wouldn’t amount to much. Unless… “But you’re paying me for a full month, right?”
“I can absolutely do that.”
