“. . . is that Hunter and I need a favor. Do you have a passport?”
Maylee frowned. “Well, that’s a mighty odd question, Ms. Gretchen, but yes, I do. My mama says it’s best to be prepared for anything, so I got a passport before I came here to the big city.” She was rather proud of that passport. Not many people in her hometown had one. Not many people in her hometown traveled out of state, much less out of the country.
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Gretchen said, and Maylee could have sworn she was stifling a laugh. Ms. Gretchen was such a happy person, always smiling and laughing. It made Maylee happy to see her with Mr. Hunter, who could use a good belly laugh or two.
“Do y’all need more paperwork on me? I gave copies of everything to the employment agency . . .” She let her words trail off. Did people need more ID when they were letting you go? She bit down on a fingernail, feeling miserable. She’d tried so hard, she really did. She never complained about the long hours or the fact that people who called in were rude to her. She just endured it. And she still wasn’t good enough for working for Mr. Hunter, she suspected. He wanted someone polished who would never ask a single question, and that just wasn’t Maylee. She was rather lacking in the polish department, sadly.
“No, no. I’m sorry. I’m scaring the crap out of you, aren’t I?”
“Well, I might need to change my britches after this call,” Maylee admitted with a small smile. “But it’s okay. I can handle it. What’s up?”
“I’m calling because Hunter and I need a favor. Hunter has a friend who is in need of an assistant as soon as possible because his is sick, and he’s about to go on an important trip.”
“Oh?” So, wait . . . she wasn’t getting fired? Thank you, Jesus.
“Yes. His name is Griffin Verdi. Have you heard of him?”
“Can’t say that I have, Ms. Gretchen. Sounds a bit like a Harry Potter character.” Maylee loved the Harry Potter books. She was pretty sure she’d be a Hufflepuff.
This time, Gretchen giggled out loud. “He’s not. He’s kind of a dick, actually. But, he’s offered to pay you double time if you go on a trip with him and act as his personal secretary. He needs someone to manage his appointments and such. He’s a bit absent-minded and Hunter tells me he’s useless without an assistant.”
Maylee had stopped listening after the magical words of “double time.” Maylee looked at her small, Goodwill-furnished, closet-sized apartment, and crossed her legs on the mattress she’d thrown on the floor that acted as her bed. A little more money would go a long way, though she’d never ask Mr. Hunter for a raise. She wasn’t a beggar, no matter what New Yorkers thought of country folk. “So he’s a jackass and needs his hand held while on vacation? I think I can manage that, Ms. Gretchen.”
“That’s it in a nutshell,” Gretchen said smugly. “I knew you were perfect for this job when I heard it. So can you go? He needs you to meet him at the airport tomorrow.” She gave Maylee some rattled-off details that Maylee quickly wrote on a nearby Post-it, then said, “I can send you an email with everything if you like.”
“That would be great, Ms. Gretchen. Just . . . are you sure you want me?”
“Oh, no doubt in my mind,” Gretchen said. “You were the first one I thought of when I heard he was looking.”
“Really?” Maylee’s brows furrowed. “Why?”
“Oh. Um, you’re young and you’re not tied down by family, so I figured you could leave at a moment’s notice. Am I right?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, great. I’ll text Griffin and let him know. He’ll be so pleased. Just pack all of your normal business wear.”
She’d have to get a cab to the airport. Actually, no. Cabs were expensive. Maybe she could take the subway instead. That was cheaper. “Can I ask where we’re going, Ms. Gretchen? Is it England? Italy?” Oh, she’d always wanted to see Italy! Excitement began to spin in her mind. Double time and a vacation? It was like Christmas around here. Ms. Gretchen was so sweet for thinking of her.
“It’s a place called Bellissime. It’s a very small country on the border of Italy and France. Right next to Monaco. Have you heard of it?”
“Um.” Maylee thought for a moment, then snuck a piece of popcorn and tossed it in her mouth. Geography wasn’t a strong suit of hers. “Isn’t that the place they’re gonna have that royal wedding?” She didn’t read a lot of tabloids, but it was hard to miss the headlines. A pretty blonde princess in some European country was marrying Hollywood actor Luke Houston, who had a chiseled jaw, a dreamy smile, and was in a lot of really bad movies. “It’s so sweet.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re going,” Gretchen said. “Griffin’s been invited to the wedding.”
She choked on a piece of popcorn, wheezing. “Beg pardon?”
“Royal wedding,” Gretchen repeated. “Big shindig. Lots of stuck-up ass**les getting their picture taken.”
Maylee coughed, the popcorn lodged in the back of her throat. “Oh. Oh mercy,” she wheezed. She knew there was a reason why she liked Ms. Gretchen. She was so down to earth. “And again, you’re sure you want me to go to this?”
“You’ll be fine,” Gretchen said, a coaxing note in her voice. “It’ll be fun. Think of the stories you’ll have to tell afterward! And don’t forget, double time. All you have to do is make sure Griffin gets to places on time and take his phone calls. It’ll be easy.”
And Ms. Gretchen had wanted her to do it? Maylee beamed at the thought. “You tell Mr. Griffin he’s got himself an assistant.”
“Perfect!” Gretchen sounded utterly delighted. “I’ll send you an email with all the deets. Thanks, Maylee. You’re the best!”
They hung up and Maylee immediately unfolded her legs, heading across her tiny apartment over to the rickety old desktop computer she had set up. She couldn’t really afford a laptop yet, and someone had sold her this great—if noisy—computer on a street corner. She clicked it on and waited for it to start up, then she snagged a local hotspot and went web-surfing to find out everything she could about Bellissime.
The Wikipedia page on Bellissime was fascinating.
One of the oldest constitutional monarchies in Europe, Bellissime is a small mountainous country bordered on the east by Italy, west by France, and north by Switzerland. Tucked into the Alps, the official language is French, but as the monarchy has had British connections since the Middle Ages, English is commonly spoken. Bellissime is known for three things: its monarchy, its chocolate, and the tiny size of the country. Only Monaco and the Vatican are smaller.