Mrs. Carter, the owner of , turns out to be super-efficient. Less than four hours after we speak, a courier comes with an NDA agreement; a ten-page affair written in the strictest, most pretentious sounding words I have ever come across. I skip through most of it since it’s basically Miss Honeywell’s solicitors trying to impress me with just how prepared they are to take me to court and see me behind bars if I don’t keep my mouth shut. I’ve never been a talkative person anyway, so I sign the document on the spot and give it back to the courier.

The next day, Mrs. Carter calls me.

“Can you ride?” she asks as soon as I answer the phone.

“No,” I confess, my heart lurching with disappointment. I thought Jesse said I would be learning to ride. I should have known it was too good to be true.

“Excellent,” she says crisply. “Are you prepared to learn?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Let me tell you about the job. Miss Honeywell seems to have gotten herself into a bit of a scrape. Something to do with driving while under the influence. Anyway, her father negotiated a probationary sentence for her on the understanding that she must live on the ranch of a friend of his. It is not meant to be a holiday but a kind of rehabilitation. The plan is for her to learn how to ride, take care of the horses, and generally help around. At the end of her stay, her father will come to the ranch to see what progress she has made with her riding skills.

“Miss Honeywell has decided she does not care to be on a ranch in the middle of nowhere for a month, so she has hired us to find a body double to take her place. And that’s where you come in. Are you available to drop everything starting tomorrow and take her place?”

I didn’t even have to think about it. “Yes.”

“There is a catch. If the ranch hand who is in charge of teaching her reports back to her father that he is unhappy with her general attitude or her willingness to learn or do as she is told, she will have to stay for another month. If that happens, you will not be paid a single cent.”

I take a deep breath. “Wow!”

“Is that a deal breaker for you?”

“No,” I say immediately.

“Can you confirm that you are prepared to work very hard on the ranch for a month?”

“Yes.” I say the word at the speed of a bullet. Of course, I can work hard. I can work very hard.

“And you are prepared to alter your appearance slightly and wear the clothes provided to you?”

“No problem.”

“Good. It looks like we have a deal.”

“I may be having a blonde moment here, but if I learn to ride, how will Miss Honeywell ride for her father?”

“Er…yes. I was getting to that. Miss Honeywell has a solution to that problem. Her plan is that you should pretend to fall and feign injury on the day before her father comes. While you are in a separate living accommodation, she will exchange places with you.”

“She wants me to fall off a horse?” I ask incredulously.

“Well…” Mrs. Carter begins.

“I could break my neck,” I splutter.

Mrs. Carter clears her throat uncomfortably. “Miss Honeywell suggested that you arrange to fall into bushes or a body of water. I suppose you could ride out on your own and pretend you have fallen off and sustained an injury.”

How shockingly selfish and sick rich people are. But I need the money. I take a deep breath. “And then what?”

“Then, Miss Honeywell will simply pretend that, as the result of the fall, she is too afraid to get back on a horse.”

“And her father will buy that?”

“Miss Honeywell is certain that he will believe that story. There is no reason for him not to because all the ranch hands would have seen you ride.”

We are both silent for a few seconds while I digest this new requirement.

“By the way, I didn’t mention it before, but there is an extra reward. If you stick the month out to the end, Miss Honeywell is prepared to pay not five hundred dollars, but one-thousand dollars per day.”

A thrill runs through me. My God! At that rate, I’ll be able to pay off my entire loan. “A thousand dollars a day?” I echo.

“Yes, but you will only get that sum if you stay to the very end and execute the fall in a manner that is believable to those around you.”

I clutch my phone tightly. It sounds almost too good to be true. I don’t care if I break a bone anymore. “And that’s guaranteed?”

“You’ll have it in writing. Miss Honeywell is my client. She is not your employer. I am. As soon as you agree to the terms of this assignment, the entire sum will be put into escrow for you. If you make it to the end of your assignment, my agency will release the payment into your account.”

“Thirty days at a thousand dollars a day is thirty thousand dollars! That’s what I’ll get?”

“That’s correct. You’ll have to pay taxes on that, obviously.” She pauses for an instant. “Will you do it?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll do it,” I respond instantly. My head is swirling with excitement.

“Fantastic. Miss Honeywell will be pleased to hear that. Can you leave for LA tomorrow?”

“Er…I don’t have any money,” I admit quickly.

Her voice softens; loses that professional edge. “I’ll send you some pocket money with your ticket. We’ll put it under expenses. She can well afford it.” For the first time, I hear a sarcastic, disapproving tone creep into her voice.

I sigh with relief. “Can I also have a small advance? I need to pay my rent.”

“Certainly,” she says immediately.

“Thank you, Mrs. Carter.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“What do I need to bring?”

“Nothing. Just yourself. Someone will pick you up at the airport and take you to Miss Honeywell’s home and her PA, Ms. Nora Moore, will take over.”

* * *

That afternoon, I go to the diner where I work. The manager, who knows my dad and understands my financial situation, agrees to hold my job for a month. Nonetheless, I have no choice but to give up my second job stocking shelves at Target.

Afterward, I go to visit Dad at the hospice. He is sleeping soundly, so I don’t wake him. When he is awake, he’s in pain, so sleep is a good thing. I sit silently by his bedside until it’s time for me to leave. As I’m leaving, a woman from the office runs up to sternly remind me that another bill is already overdue.

“I’m sorry. I’ve had some problems, but I’ll settle it at the end of next week,” I promise.

When Chips-R-us calls to say I’ve got the job, I respectfully turn it down. That evening, before I leave to have dinner at Jesse’s, I pay my landlord. He snatches the money from my hand grumpily and stalks off. Behind his back, I flip him the bird.

At Jesse’s apartment, for the first time in a long time, I feel no stress. I relax and taste the food I am eating. Pasta with meat sauce. Jesse is a truly terrible cook. The meatballs are green and she doesn’t know how they got to be that color, but I can’t stop smiling. When the evening comes to an end, Jesse kisses me on the cheeks and wishes me luck.

The next morning, I hop on a flight to LA.