Chapter Eight
THE LANDSCAPING COMPANY pushed Harper over the edge. She’d been prepared to do all the work herself, to stay up nights and give up sleep, but an unexpected call from a landscaper who needed her to do the billing for him was one job too far.
The money was good and the work relatively easy. There was an existing database. All Harper had to do was enter the amount for the month, print out the invoices, stuff them in envelopes and pop them in the mail. Easy-peasy—except for the fact that there were nearly five hundred clients and the invoicing had to be done in less than two days.
Between that new job, her regular clients, the additional brochure work she had for the city and a flower shop client who wanted a “spruce” on content for her website, Harper was slammed. She’d been forced to hire help.
Rather than go through the trouble of placing an ad online or interviewing people, she heard about Morgan Wolfenbarger, a friend of a friend, who was looking for part-time work.
In the “oh goody” column, Morgan showed up right on time. She was tall and curvy, with long, curly dark hair. Under items that would be considered less fortunate, Morgan was a talker.
“Your house is really nice,” she said as Harper showed her to the small office where she would input the information on Harper’s only computer. Note to self—if she was going to continue to use extra help, she would need a second computer.
“We need to remodel our kitchen,” Morgan continued, as she settled in the chair. “It’s a disaster, but with the kids and everything, when would we find the time? And what would we do while it was torn up? I guess I could freeze a bunch of meals, but who wants to do that? Trust me, after running Supper’s in the Bag all those years, the last thing I want to do is prep meals.”
Harper remembered the cute storefront in town. “Was that your company? I heard good things about it.” Not that she would ever have used the service. Supper’s in the Bag provided ingredients and recipes for easy meals. You went in and prepped a handful of meals, then took them home and cooked them when you needed them. A time saver for the busy mom—or at least one who wasn’t expected to make every single thing from scratch.
“My husband bought the franchise for me. We both thought it was a great idea, but then it turned out to be way more work than I expected. I lost my best employee.” Morgan rolled her eyes. “Don’t ever hire family. It’s a disaster. Anyway, after that, I had to put in more hours, which was a mess and in the end, we sold the franchise.” She sighed. “I’d really rather stay home, but Brent says I need to bring in some money for the kids’ college funds. Oh, speaking of money, you’re going to pay me under the table, right?”
“What? No. I’ll be reporting your income.” If she didn’t, Harper wouldn’t be able to claim the deduction, which she needed to reduce her own taxes. Oh, yeah, and it was illegal.
“I thought you said you would.” Morgan’s mouth formed a pout. “You said I would have to be contract labor, so what does that mean? I have to keep track of my own income and report it and stuff?”
“Yes, that’s what it means. I don’t want to hire you as an employee until we both know this is going to work out.”
“That sucks.” Morgan turned back to the computer and sighed. “Fine. What do you want me to do?”
Harper showed her how to pull up the individual landscaping invoices and enter the amount to be billed.
“I get it, I get it,” she grumbled halfway through the explanation. “I was hoping the work would be more interesting. I told Brent getting a job like this was going to be a drag. Maybe I should try something in sales.”
“Until then,” Harper murmured, trying not to snap at the other woman. If Morgan worked as hard as she complained, everything would be fine. She left her to do the billing and went into her craft room to start on the next set of bags she had to make for Cathy.
Four hours later, Harper thought longingly of the book of instructions Great-Aunt Cheryl had left. Maybe there was a command that would have the dogs stalking Morgan without actually hurting her. Her so-called helper had been anything but helpful. Morgan had found twenty excuses to stop billing and start talking. She’d taken three breaks, had spent time on her cell phone, both talking and texting. At the end of her scheduled time, she’d hadn’t entered even a quarter of the invoices.
“I know I said I could come tomorrow,” Morgan said as she walked to the front door. “But I just don’t know. Can I text you later?”
Harper gritted her teeth. “Sure. Let me know.” Because as annoying and inefficient as Morgan had been, Harper needed help.
“Okay, and you’ll pay me on Friday?”
Harper wanted to ask, “Pay you for what?” but instead forced herself to smile and said, “Of course.”
“Great. It was fun today. Bye.”
Morgan drove away. Harper went into the living room and screamed out loud. Both dogs stared at her as if concerned about the state of her being.
“I’m fine,” she told them before sinking onto the sofa and covering her face with her hands.
“That doesn’t bode well,” Lucas said as he let himself into the house and bent down to pet an enthused Thor. “What happened?”
She raised her head. “I hired someone.”
“Good for you.”
“She was a disaster.”
“Did you check her references?”
Lucas looked good, as he always did. Jeans, boots, long-sleeved shirt and blazer. There was an air of competence about him. He was a gentleman who knew how to handle himself. He turned to Jazz and greeted her before sitting across from the sofa.
Harper groaned. “I didn’t ask for references. She’s a friend of a friend and I was desperate. I thought it would be fine, but it wasn’t. She never shut up. When she wasn’t talking to me, she was on the phone. She took three breaks in four hours and she wanted to be paid under the table. She barely did any work, so I’ll be up late tonight finishing the invoices.”
She held up her hand. “Don’t say it. I know. I’m the boss. I should have told her to shut up and do the work.” Only that wasn’t her style. She didn’t want to have to manage her help—she wanted them to show up and do their job for the time paid.
She waited, but Lucas didn’t speak. Finally she groaned. “What? Just say it.”
“You told me not to say it.”
“I take it back.”
“Your business isn’t going to be what you want it to be until you take it seriously and treat it with respect. You’re only playing at being a business owner, Harper, and it shows.”
She winced. “That’s harsh.”
“What do you want from all this? You’re more than capable. Set some goals, then follow through. Until then, you’re only five minutes away from everything crashing down on you.”
She’d thought she was closer to ten minutes from disaster, but his point was a good one. Brutal but honest. Maybe it was time to listen to what she already knew was true.
* * *
Stacey found herself wanting to bounce in her seat as they drove to the airport. She didn’t know why she was so excited to see Ashton again, but she was. A voice in her head whispered it might be because he would be a distraction from worrying about the impending baby, but she ignored that. She enjoyed spending time with Kit’s nephew.
“What are you thinking?” her husband asked as they headed north on Pacific Coast Highway.
“That I hope Ashton enjoys his time with us.”
“I do, too. He’s been through a lot.”
He had, dealing with his mother and getting moved around so much. “I’m glad he’s going to be with us until he heads to college.” She looked at Kit. “He’s going to need a car to drive. Instead of trading in yours for the SUV you want, let’s keep it and he can use it. Do you think he’ll need a car when he goes to MIT? Maybe we could keep it here for him to use on break.”
Kit had been researching the safest SUVs so they could have it before the baby was born. Yet one more area where she was woefully unprepared to be a parent—she hadn’t even thought about things like safe cars or babyproofing the house. Ashton would be easier. He could mostly take care of himself.
Kit glanced at her again and shook his head. “You won’t mind?”
She struggled to figure out what he was talking about. Her being a bad mother was unlikely to be the topic at hand.
“Mind what?”
“Not trading in my car? It’s worth about six or seven grand.”
“We can afford a new car without it. Don’t you want Ashton to have a car?”
“Yes, I want him to have a car. I just don’t want you to think I’m spoiling him or...” He drew in a breath. “He’s my problem, Stacey, not yours.”
“I thought he was our family. Was I wrong?”
Kit grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. “You’re not wrong and I’m one lucky guy.”
She was grateful he thought that. From her perspective, she was riddled with flaws and the good fortune was all hers.
“Then it’s settled,” she told him. “You’ll go get the SUV in the next week or so and Ashton will drive your Escort. I’ll keep the Accord. Everyone is happy.”
“Everyone is.”
Before they could pull into the cell phone lot, Ashton texted that he had his bag and would be waiting for them on the lower level. Stacey watched for him, then waved when she spotted him.
“Over there.”
Kit maneuvered through the crush of cars. Stacey jumped out when he came to a stop.
“You’re here,” she said, hugging him. “How was your trip?”
“Good. Both flights were on time. I had an aisle seat and the flight attendant gave me extra peanuts.”
He grinned as he spoke, which made her chest tighten just a little. Ashton had Kit’s smile. The continuity between the generations gave her an odd sense of comfort. Unlike his uncle, Ashton had hazel eyes that were almost gray. Ashton’s hair was a little darker, and as much in need of a cut as Kit’s. He was about six feet tall and still had the lanky build of a growing teen.
Kit got out of the car and approached. “Good to see you.”
“Hey, Kit.”
They grasped hands, then did that kind of semihug, backslap that men seemed to favor these days. Ashton tossed his battered suitcase in the trunk and grabbed his backpack before sliding into the back seat.
“The baby still a secret?” Ashton asked as they drove toward the exit. “In case I see Bunny.”
“Oh, you’ll see her,” Kit said cheerfully. “Stacey, honey, want to share the good news?”
Stacey glanced back at Ashton. “My mother still doesn’t know.”
“Okay, how far along are you?”
“One hundred and ninety-seven days.”
“That’s precise.”
“We have a calendar,” she murmured. “It makes it easy to remember when the baby is due.” They’d had the option to buy a calendar that counted up or counted down. At least theirs didn’t directly remind her of how few days there were left to tell her mother.
“We got a dog,” she added, mostly to change the topic. “Bay is also pregnant and everyone knows. She’s a Doberman and very well trained. She used to work for the government.”
“So don’t mess with her,” Kit added. “Not only can she kill you, I’m pretty sure she would know how to hide the body.”
“Bay is very sweet.” Stacey shook her head. “I don’t want Ashton to be worried about our dog.”
“I get along with dogs,” Ashton assured her. “Puppies will be fun.”
“I’ve been studying what’s involved with the canine birthing process. The vet thinks since Bay had puppies before, she’ll be an excellent mother.” Stacey was hoping the dog could teach her a thing or two. It would be nice to expand her knowledge on the subject, which was, to date, virtually nonexistent. All she knew about being a mother was that she didn’t want to be like hers. She never wanted her daughter to feel about her the way she felt about Bunny. Not exactly the role model for a well-rounded upbringing.
The return trip was quick. Kit pulled into the driveway. While Ashton collected his luggage, Stacey went inside to remind Bay they were adding to the pack. Technically dogs didn’t think of their family members as being part of a pack. Dogs were more loyal than that, so the family unit was more like a gang where allegiance was sworn and members protected each other to the death. But when she’d tried to explain that to Kit, he’d told her that talking about their pack was going to be easier for everyone. And when it came to things like social niceties, she trusted Kit implicitly.
“Bay, sit,” Stacey said as Ashton walked into the living room. The Doberman’s ears went up, but she stayed in place.
Ashton dropped his bags and slowly approached the dog. “Hey, Bay. I’m Ashton. You’re beautiful.”
“Bay, greet,” Stacey said.
Bay rose and stepped toward Ashton. She sniffed his hand, then his shoes before turning her attention to Stacey.
“Good girl. Ashton is going to be living with us now. He’s part of the pack.”
Bay looked between them before walking closer to Ashton. He dropped to one knee and rubbed the side of her face. Her stubby tail wiggled furiously as she swiped his cheek with her tongue. Ashton winked.
“Told you. Dogs love me.” He grinned. “As do the ladies.”
“Let’s see if you love your room,” Kit said, carrying his nephew’s bags.
They all went down the hall and into Ashton’s room. Stacey hovered in the doorway, anxious about his reaction.
“If I forgot anything, just let me know. There are school supplies in the desk and toiletries in the bathroom.”
Ashton turned in a slow circle, then faced her. “Stacey, it’s perfect. Thank you for letting me stay here.”
“We’re happy to have you.”
She hesitated, wanting to say more. It seemed as if Ashton needed something, but she had no idea what. Should she ask about his mother? The friends he was leaving behind? Did he want the house Wi-Fi code?
Uncertainty made her uneasy and she looked to her husband, who appeared perfectly relaxed. Harper would know, she thought regretfully. Bunny, even Becca. She was the only one who was forever scrambling to be just like everyone else.
* * *
“This is Harper.”
“What the hell, Harper? Is this how you treat all your clients? What’s wrong with you? You’re not just fired. I swear, if I had time, I would sue you.”
Harper went cold as her stomach clenched into a knot. She stared at the phone number on the screen, but didn’t recognize it.
“I’m sorry,” she said as calmly as she could. “Who am I speaking with?”
“Stan over at Mischief Bay Landscaping. You messed up my billing. From what I’ve been able to figure out, nearly a quarter of my customers were billed wrong. Wrong amount, wrong invoice—you name it, you screwed it up. I’m going to tell everyone I know what a shitty job you did. Mischief Bay is a small town and I’m going to do my best to see you never get another job in it again.”
There was a click, then silence. Harper thought she might throw up, only there wasn’t time. She raced into her office, Thor and Jazz on her heels. She flipped open her laptop and clicked on the landscaping billing program, then grabbed the stack of invoices that were to be entered.
The first three or four were fine, but as she got deeper into the stack, she saw that Stan had been right. The amounts were transposed or the wrong services had been entered. Two lawn service clients had been billed the right amount but the column for pool service had been checked.
It went on like that through the first quarter of the stack. After that, the billing was correct.
Harper sank onto her chair and moaned. No, no, no. It couldn’t be this bad. It couldn’t. But it was, and she only had herself to blame.
She’d known Morgan wasn’t paying attention to her work, but she’d been too wimpy to call her on it and too busy to check her work. Now she was going to pay big-time.
Stan wasn’t kidding. Mischief Bay might be smack in the middle of Los Angeles County, but it was still a small town where nearly everyone knew everyone else. If he started telling people how she’d screwed up, she was done for.
Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed it back and told herself not to panic. She had to figure out how to fix the problem. She couldn’t undo the mistakes in the billing and Stan was mad. Even more important, his customers were pissed at him and he could easily lose business from the mistake. So she had to make it right.
She tugged off her headset and raced to the kitchen where she grabbed her handbag.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” she told the dogs. They had a doggie door should they need to go to the bathroom and they’d already been on their walk with Dwayne, so they should be tired.
She hurried to her car and drove directly to Stan’s office. With luck he was still there, plotting his revenge. She burst into the small building and found the older man sitting at his messy desk. He glared at her.
“What do you want, Harper?”
She’d done her best to plan her response on the way over, but faced with in-person fury, she found her mind going blank. For a second she thought her stomach was going to make good on its earlier threats, then she drew in a breath and told herself she had to get a grip. There was no one else around to fix this particular mess.
“I wanted to apologize in person,” she told him. “You are right about everything you said. The invoices were wrong and that is inexcusable. I didn’t do my job correctly. Worse, I made a mess for you to clean up when all you wanted to do was get one thing off your already-full plate.”
His stern expression didn’t relax. “So? You’re sorry. You said it. Now go.”
“I will in a second. First I would like the chance to fix what I did. By five this afternoon I will have compared every invoice with your original paperwork. I’ll make a complete list of which are correct and which aren’t. Over the next two days I will personally call every customer who received an incorrect invoice and explain it was my fault, not yours. I will send out corrected invoices.” She swallowed. “I would also like to do next month’s invoicing for free. After that, you can be rid of me.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s ridiculous. Do you know how much money you’re going to lose?”
“No, but that doesn’t matter. You relied on me and I let you down.”
Stan glared at her. “It wasn’t your mistake, was it?”
She raised her chin. “It’s my company and my responsibility. That’s what matters here.”
“You’re killing me, Harper, you know that? Fine. Fix the invoice and call the clients. You can do next month’s billing for the amount we agreed on, but if there’s even one mistake, we’re through. Got it?”
“Yes. I’ll get you the report by five today. Thank you for allowing me to fix this.”
He waved to the door. “You have a lot of work to do. Get out of my office.”
She did as she was told and escaped. Once she was in her car, the shaking started. That was followed by waves of cold, then her old friend nausea returned. When she was able to hold her phone without dropping it, she texted Morgan and told her she was fired. Perhaps not the most professional of reactions but Harper figured she had earned the right to be pissy. Now all she had to do was clean up the Stan mess, which meant finding an extra twenty or thirty hours in every day.