Her Naughty Holiday

“I don’t even feel comfortable getting manicures. Do you really think I could handle hiring a male escort? And what on earth are you doing looking up male escorts, anyway?”

“I admire them. They are the only men on the planet doing what the Goddess intends men to do, i.e., devoting themselves entirely to female pleasure.”

“If I didn’t let you hire a stripper for my birthday, do you really think I’m going to hire a male escort? For anything? Including my little problem or my big problem?”

“Okay, maybe not. But you could ask Pops.”

“What?”

“Ask Pops. You know, my father? Picks me up every day? The tall guy with the dirt under his nails who’s cute, I guess, for a dad.”

“Yes, I know who your father is. We’ve met a few hundred times.”

“Well, ask him, then. He has all his teeth and all his hair and he knows how to cook a turkey. What more could any woman want in a fake boyfriend?”

“He’s your dad.”

“I know. I’ve also met him,” Ruthie said.

“I can’t ask your dad to help me with my little problem.”

“Not your little problem. Your big problem. He can be your fake boyfriend this week.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not? He’s not dating anybody. Plus, he likes you. And he’ll be alone this week while I’m with Mom.”

“Because he’s your dad. And you work for me. And I think that would be a little bit weird.” Clover paused. “Wait. What do you mean he likes me?”

“I mean he likes you. Why wouldn’t he like you? You’re nice and you’re a goddess.”

“I’m dirt-encrusted on a daily basis,” she said. She also lived in her jeans, fleece vests and turtlenecks, and any makeup she put on in the morning she’d sweated off by noon. Her blond hair never left its ponytail until night.

“So is Mother Nature.”

“Is your father attracted to Mother Nature?”

“If he’s smart he is. And he’s smart, but don’t tell him that. Come on, Clo, Pops thinks you’re awesome for giving me this job. He says you’re a good role model. He really does like you.”

“Liking me is not the same as liking me. And even if he did like me, he’s your father. I don’t want things to be weird with you and me.”

“You don’t think it’s already weird that you check him out every time he picks me up?”

Clover blushed crimson.

“I do not check your father out.”

“I have lived all my life under the curse of the Sexy Single Dad. My own friends check him out. It’s so gross. But it’s not gross when you do it. It’s adorable.”

Clover glared at Ruthie across the office.

“Suit yourself,” Ruthie said. “I didn’t want a badass stepmother, anyway. I’ll just write down the number for the male escort service. Do you like blond guys? Sven is half-off this week.”

“Which half?”

“You’ll have to call and find out...” Ruthie raised her head and glanced out the window behind Clover’s desk. “Speak of the devil. Pops is here. Time to fly.”

Clover turned around and looked out at the truck pulling into the parking lot of Clover’s Greenery, the finest plant nursery in the entire Mount Hood area according to PNW Garden Supply. That reputation was seemingly why they were ready to hand over a cool five million dollars to her for her two locations and the name. That was the sticking point. The name. It was her name. She kind of wanted to keep her name and use her name and sell plants with her name. Look at Erick, Ruthie’s dad. Painted right on the side of his white Dodge Ram were the words Erick Fields—Cedar Roofing, Siding and Decking. He was his business. His name was his work. His work was his name. She respected that. Giving up her right to do business under the name Clover Greene would hurt. But would it hurt so much that five million dollars couldn’t ease the pain?

Probably not.

She watched as Erick parked his truck and walked toward the office. He usually picked Ruthie up after work since Ruthie didn’t have a car of her own, but today he was taking her to the airport to visit her mother for the week. Whether Clover wanted to admit it or not, Erick was cute and Clover was checking him out. Actually, cute wasn’t the right word for Erick. He was handsome. Ruggedly handsome with his close-cropped brown-and-gray hair and his dark eyes that always seemed to be laughing at something. And tall? Definitely. And Erick was manly, with his buff-colored work coat, his steel-tipped work boots and his hands always stained with paint or deck stain. Manly without being macho, which she appreciated. She had no time for macho or swagger in a man. No posturing for her. Erick turned his head and looked through the window, raising his hand in a wave. Clover sat up straight. Oops. She got caught staring. She gave a quick casual wave back and spun around in her desk chair again, hoping Ruthie hadn’t seen.

Ruthie was back at her small desk, clearing up her stuff and throwing it all into her backpack. It would be dull around here with Ruthie gone for the week and the nursery closed for winter after today. Clover always felt lost when she didn’t have to come in to work at eight every morning and stay until eight every night. With the nursery taking up so much of her time, she didn’t have much of a life outside it. When the nursery closed down for the season, Clover didn’t know what to do with herself. Maybe her mother had a point. Maybe Clover should give her personal life more attention.

Or maybe that was her family talking, not her.

“You sure you don’t want me to pimp you out to Pops?” Ruthie asked as she slung her backpack over her shoulder.

“As God is my witness, I do not want you to pimp me out to your father. Or anyone. Ever.”

“Your loss. He can do magic with a Big Green Egg. That’s not a sex thing, by the way. That’s a grill.”

“I know what a Big Green Egg is. I know it is not a sex thing.”

“Although Mom does say Pops was good—”

“Stop right there, young lady. I have nothing but respect for your father. Especially since he puts up with you forty-five weeks out of the year. Now go. Have a great week with your mom. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m going to worry about you, Clo.”

“I’m your boss, I’m an adult and I’ll be fine.”

“You’re my friend. You’re a hot mess. You need help.”

“I need a hug. Come here.”

Ruthie groaned as Clover hugged her.

“No groaning. You’ll have a great time in LA.”

“Too much sun. I hate the sun,” Ruthie said. “Why would I live here if I liked the sun?”

“I know you hate the sun. I’m sure it hates you, too. Wear sunscreen and a hat. You’ll come back as ghastly pale and sickly looking as ever, I promise.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”