the gates. Goodness, he’d gotten angry. What had made him so jaded? Shelby wasn’t naïve enough to believe everyone prayed, but she had thought those who didn’t at least wished for things.
Not Vander, apparently.
She headed to the front door, shaking off the image of Vander radiating intensity in the hot morning sun, looking both fierce and delicious in his Italian gray suit. Jeffries answered the door promptly, and they went through their usual comedic interaction.
“Hello, Jeffries,” she said, giving him as regal a nod as she could muster. “Fine weather we’re having.” She used that line often because she’d heard it in British movies.
“Indeed it is, Ms. McGuiness,” he answered, looking as if he might break his rule and smile for once.
Butlers from England apparently never smiled. They were like those guys with the tall black hats who guarded Buckingham Palace. Perhaps they endured the same no-smile training. Such a shame, if you asked her.
“Ms. Hardcrew is in the informal parlor.”
Like normal, Shelby waited for him to show her the way. Just this once, she wished she could ask him if he’d ever thrown a coin into Gail’s fountain. Vander’s attitude about the whole thing had made her wonder how other people felt about wishing.
From the minute she’d thrown her first coin in Gail’s Italian fountain all those years ago the day of her job interview, Jeffries had begrudgingly accepted her eccentricity. Apparently no one had thought to pollute Gail’s precious Italian fountain with coins before, but people had begun to do so after seeing Shelby’s coins at the bottom of the water. Jeffries pretended he didn’t like it one bit, but Gail assured her it was all an act. Her boss, of course, found the tradition charming—so much so, she’d insisted that her butler leave the coins there. Over the last five years, the number of coins had multiplied until they took up more space at the bottom than the handmade blue Italian tiles.
Shelby liked to think of Gail’s fountain as the fountain of infinite wishes. Her luck had changed for the better the moment she’d thrown that first coin into the water, wishing for a successful interview. Five years later, she had a fabulous salary that allowed her to afford the finer things in life, a convertible BMW named Pearl that she loved to hear purr on the road, and the best darn job an accountant could ever hope to find. With an incredible boss to boot.
When she stepped into the parlor, she couldn’t help but smile at Gail. “Do you know how grateful I am to be working for you?” she said spontaneously.
Jeffries cleared his throat behind her, and she spared him a quick glance. Her wish had been granted. There was a slight uptick to his usually stern mouth. He was smiling!
“Shelby McGuiness, you’re going to make me cry,” Gail gushed, and Shelby turned to look at her boss, who wrapped her white boa around her.
“No need for that,” she said, and then Shelby spotted the half-drunk bourbon on the table in front of her boss—a common occurrence despite Gail’s protestation she wasn’t drinking for health reasons. “I was just thinking about wishes and how important they are. If you don’t wish for anything, you can never receive anything.”
“Indeed, miss,” she heard Jeffries mutter behind her before closing the door and leaving them alone.
Saints preserve her, but Jeffries seemed to believe in wishes too!
Only Vander didn’t, and he was still successful, so there had to be some disconnect in her thinking. Well, he could continue to do things his way, wish-less, while she remained committed to hers.
“Shelby, I know why you didn’t tell Vander you worked for me, but Lord Almighty, girl, you should have. He’ll always do his best, but your connection to me gives him an added incentive.”
“Is that why he was here?” Shelby asked, coming over and sitting down on the sofa next to her boss.
Gail gave her a decided
Not Vander, apparently.
She headed to the front door, shaking off the image of Vander radiating intensity in the hot morning sun, looking both fierce and delicious in his Italian gray suit. Jeffries answered the door promptly, and they went through their usual comedic interaction.
“Hello, Jeffries,” she said, giving him as regal a nod as she could muster. “Fine weather we’re having.” She used that line often because she’d heard it in British movies.
“Indeed it is, Ms. McGuiness,” he answered, looking as if he might break his rule and smile for once.
Butlers from England apparently never smiled. They were like those guys with the tall black hats who guarded Buckingham Palace. Perhaps they endured the same no-smile training. Such a shame, if you asked her.
“Ms. Hardcrew is in the informal parlor.”
Like normal, Shelby waited for him to show her the way. Just this once, she wished she could ask him if he’d ever thrown a coin into Gail’s fountain. Vander’s attitude about the whole thing had made her wonder how other people felt about wishing.
From the minute she’d thrown her first coin in Gail’s Italian fountain all those years ago the day of her job interview, Jeffries had begrudgingly accepted her eccentricity. Apparently no one had thought to pollute Gail’s precious Italian fountain with coins before, but people had begun to do so after seeing Shelby’s coins at the bottom of the water. Jeffries pretended he didn’t like it one bit, but Gail assured her it was all an act. Her boss, of course, found the tradition charming—so much so, she’d insisted that her butler leave the coins there. Over the last five years, the number of coins had multiplied until they took up more space at the bottom than the handmade blue Italian tiles.
Shelby liked to think of Gail’s fountain as the fountain of infinite wishes. Her luck had changed for the better the moment she’d thrown that first coin into the water, wishing for a successful interview. Five years later, she had a fabulous salary that allowed her to afford the finer things in life, a convertible BMW named Pearl that she loved to hear purr on the road, and the best darn job an accountant could ever hope to find. With an incredible boss to boot.
When she stepped into the parlor, she couldn’t help but smile at Gail. “Do you know how grateful I am to be working for you?” she said spontaneously.
Jeffries cleared his throat behind her, and she spared him a quick glance. Her wish had been granted. There was a slight uptick to his usually stern mouth. He was smiling!
“Shelby McGuiness, you’re going to make me cry,” Gail gushed, and Shelby turned to look at her boss, who wrapped her white boa around her.
“No need for that,” she said, and then Shelby spotted the half-drunk bourbon on the table in front of her boss—a common occurrence despite Gail’s protestation she wasn’t drinking for health reasons. “I was just thinking about wishes and how important they are. If you don’t wish for anything, you can never receive anything.”
“Indeed, miss,” she heard Jeffries mutter behind her before closing the door and leaving them alone.
Saints preserve her, but Jeffries seemed to believe in wishes too!
Only Vander didn’t, and he was still successful, so there had to be some disconnect in her thinking. Well, he could continue to do things his way, wish-less, while she remained committed to hers.
“Shelby, I know why you didn’t tell Vander you worked for me, but Lord Almighty, girl, you should have. He’ll always do his best, but your connection to me gives him an added incentive.”
“Is that why he was here?” Shelby asked, coming over and sitting down on the sofa next to her boss.
Gail gave her a decided
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