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“Now do as the lady said.”
“Do you have a preference of artist, ma’am? Bing Crosby? Frank Sinatra? Dean Martin? Perhaps Alvin and the Chipmunks?”
“What?” Hayes demanded. “Alvin and the fucking Chipmunks?”
“I believe it’s Alvin and the Chipmunks, sir. No fucking, your lordship.”
Abigail couldn’t seem to stop laughing. “Is your chief of staff serious right now?”
Immediately the outrageous, high-pitched voices of the rodent trio wailed from the car speakers.
Hayes groaned. “Make it stop.”
The volume increased.
Before now, the thing hadn’t argued with him, and Hayes preferred it that way.
“Excuse me, Chief of Staff?” Abigail said between her little gasped breaths. “Could you please play Sinatra’s version of the song?”
“My pleasure, Miss. Or is it Ms.? Mrs.?”
Hayes shut down the line of questioning. “Tell your creator to quit being nosy.”
“Perhaps you’re referring to the Genius?”
If Hayes had any idea how to uninstall the AI upgrade, he might just do it. “Call her Abigail.”
“I exist to please, Abigail.”
Finally something that wouldn’t burst his eardrums filled the passenger compartment.
“This is the best car ride ever.”
For one of them. And Bonds, perhaps. If he was listening to the exchange.
When the song switched from instrumental to words, Abigail sang along.
This time, he was the one who chuckled.
“I know. I know. I’m terrible! But I’m not going to let that stop me.”
What she lacked in talent, she made up for in enthusiasm.
When they reached the chorus, she looked at him. “You know the words.”
Her joy was contagious. Surprising even himself, he joined in.
When they reached a congested area, he had to slow down, but for once the delay didn’t bother him. It gave him time to notice the holiday displays and occasional Christmas tree stand. He drove this direction most days. How had he not seen all the banners and frivolity until now?
Maybe drowning in the past hadn’t served him well.
At a stoplight, he glanced at her. “Are you hungry?” Neither of them had eaten breakfast, and they hadn’t touched the scones he’d bought at the Quarter. The server had packaged them in a to-go box, and they’d make a good snack later. “For what I have in mind, the eggnog lattes and café au laits won’t fuel us for long.”
“Oh? In that case, you’d better fortify yourself.”
“Cheeky wench.” Hayes was more concerned about her stamina. At this moment, food was running a distant second on his body’s list of demands. “Any particular place or type of food?”
“Cajun? Creole?”
