Open Invitation?

Now battling an itch in an uncouth place, Lil sighed. It was really tough to be a lady today.

She ignored the itch, crossed her legs and punched the speakerphone button with one tastefully manicured, medium-length nail. “Finesse, Lilia speaking.”

“Haaaaaaaaah,” said a man’s voice, deep and lazy and full of almost sinister sexual vibrations.

Haaaaaaaaaah? Since her mind was more focused on ni hao, or hello in Chinese, it took her a moment to process his accent.

“Haaaaaaaaaaah,” he repeated. “Maaaah nayme is Dayan Graaanger, Miz Lundun.”

My goodness. His Texas drawl was thicker than the peach preserves Nana Lisbeth used to put away each summer.

“Hello, Mr. Granger. How may I help you?”

“I gotch your nayme by way of a Mrs. Shane.”

Her partner Shannon’s mother. Interesting.

“And the dill is—”

Dill? The spice?

“—I need some emergency, uh, charm school lessons. Mah sister’s marryin’ some blue-blood Brit and she don’t want me to embarrass her at her own weddin’.”

Oh, the poor man. So the sister has humiliated him by saying so. Lil’s heart went out to him, even though his accent was almost comical. “When will the nuptials take place, Mr. Granger?”

“In two weeks.”

Lilia raised an eyebrow and looked at her gilt-edged, blue-leather appointment book. “I’m afraid that I’m out of the office on vacation starting Monday, a week from today. Could you come in tomorrow, perhaps? I think I can clear my afternoon.”

“Ahh think this is gonna take more than a single afternoon, Miz London, but I guess I can try to find a flight.”

“From where will you be traveling?”

“Amarillo, Texas.”

She’d surmised that he was coming from somewhere in the Wild West.

“I can probably give you two and a half days this week, but I’m afraid that’s all the time I have,” she said regretfully.

“Here’s the dill, Miz Granger. Because I’m guilty of procrastinatin’ on this, I’m willing to triple your normal fees if you’ll take me on. I need dancin’ lessons. I need fark lessons. I need—”

Lil paused. What on earth is a fark? “Fark lessons, Mr. Granger?”

“You know. Like knife ‘n’ fark. I’ve been warned there’s gonna be five farks at this damn dinner, and hell if I know what to do with ’em. Also, I need to learn ballroom dancin’—the waltz and that kinda crap. And I need clothes, plus a penguin suit.”

Penguin…oh, dear. He needs a great deal more than that, by the sound of it.

“I know it’s short notice, Miz London. But I’d make it worth your while. An’ I’m a real charmin’ guy. It won’t be no chore.”

Her lips twitched. “Yes, obviously you possess a great deal of ch—ah, charisma, Mr. Granger. But—”

“Ten thousand dollars a week. How does that sound?”

“I beg your pardon?” Lilia blinked rapidly. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

“Okay, twelve. But that’s my final offer. Twelve thousand a week, for the next two weeks. And I’ll pay for your vacation that you have to reschedule, if I’m pleased with your work. A bonus, you could call that.”

Lilia’s brain didn’t require more than a nanosecond to do the math. Twenty-four thousand dollars for Finesse and a free vacation for her? They could hire a PR firm to make a push for more business. And even start anticipating actual salaries!

“Mr. Granger, your offer is very generous.” Lil hesitated, torn between wanting her vacation and wanting the business.

“Well, I think so.”

She could take her vacation a little later. “I do hate to ask, but would you be willing to sign a contract with everything down in black and white?”

“I’ll sign my own ass in red permanent marker if you’ll take me on.”

Lilia tried not to choke. “That—that won’t be necessary, Mr. Granger. Why don’t you give me your fax number, and I’ll send a contract right over?”

“You betcha.” He recited the number, and Lilia immediately typed it straight into her computer, where she’d already opened up a file with his name on it. “Mr. Granger? Just for our records, how is it that you know Mrs. Shane?”

“My mother knows her. Some Paris fashion show they both attend? Or some charity event? The kind where you pay five thousand for a plate of rubber veal, soaked in champagne and topped with escargot? The type of thing where everybody there gets to show off their flashy jewels and plastic surgeon’s miracles, while feeling smug and righteous ’cuz every sip of their drink costs a hundred bucks.”

The man has a chip on his shoulder, that much is certain. Poor guy. It sounds like he really doesn’t fit in with his own family. She wondered why he was so different.

Lilia recaptured her thoughts and pressed her lips together, along with her silk hosiery-clad knees. She found something about this man’s Texas-accented voice very…carnal.

Which was utterly ridiculous, since she could barely understand that redneck drawl of his. Not to mention the fact that just during their brief conversation so far, he’d butchered the basics of Grammar 101 as she knew it. Still, his voice poured over her like sexual syrup—and she couldn’t help liking him.

“Thank you, Mr. Granger,” Lilia said. “I look forward to meeting you tomorrow. Will you confirm with me when you find a flight?”

“You betcha.”

Lilia smiled. “Goodbye, Mr. Granger.”

“Catch ya later, Miz London.”

She sat at her desk reflecting for a moment: was it realistic to think she could break his slang speech patterns or change his accent in two weeks? Probably not.

She could dress him and teach him basic table manners, dance steps and polite conversation. She could explain some of the peculiarities of the English language. But as for the rest, no.

She could suggest ways of capitalizing on his Texas heritage and demeanor. She could train him to be a charming eccentric: good-humored about his differences. If he was at all good-looking she’d show him how to kiss a lady’s hand and compliment her without smarm. The British women would swoon.

However, she was undoubtedly reading too much into that voice. Dan Granger might be gangly, have a prominent Adam’s apple and pizzalike skin for all she knew. She’d just have to wait and find out.

Twenty-four thousand dollars for two weeks of work, though! Lilia decided that she didn’t care what Dan Granger looked like. She stood up and pirouetted into the reception area. “Shan? Jane? I’m bringing in the big bucks!”

Shannon stuck her blond head out of her office. True to form, she wore tight, black, boot-cut slacks and an electric-blue leather jacket. “Huh? What’s this about big bucks?”