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He eyes me unhappily.
“It’s okay, McTavish,” I say, reaching out and patting his hand as if it’s a pet. “I understand. And if it makes you feel any better, you don’t have to fire me: I quit.”
“I’ll give ye a really good reference,” he says, looking relieved. “Or I could lend ye some money if ye want? Oh, that reminds me; here are the wages we owe ye.”
He pulls out a wad of notes and hands them to me. I stare at him, astonished.
“You can’t possibly owe me any wages,” I say firmly. “I barely did any work at all yesterday. All I did was forget to deliver the picnic baskets, then drop a £200 bottle of wine.”
I hand the money back to him. He shakes his head firmly.
“A McTavish always pays his way,” he says, giving me the money again. I almost throw it right back at him.
“There’s nothing to pay,” I insist. “Use it to replace the wine. I owe you for that, anyway.”
“Ach, dinnae worry about that,” he says. “Just take it, Lexie. Ye can consider it a severance payment.”
“I don’t deserve a severance payment,” I reply. “You take it.”
We spend the next thirty seconds or so playing a bizarre game of pass-the-parcel with the cash until I finally jump up from the table to get away from it.
“I’m not taking your money, McTavish,” I say, crossing my arms so he can’t try to give me it back. “Not as wages, and not as a loan. Oh, and here are the keys to the car, too.”
I pluck them off the kitchen counter and chuck them onto the table between us, knowing if I get too close, he’ll try to give me the money again.
“I’m really, really grateful for everything,” I say, my voice wobbling slightly. “But… I really need to get some sleep now. I’m sorry. For everything.”
“It’s all right, lass,” McTavish says, finally giving up. “I tell ye what, why don’t we just call this a break, until the filming’s over? It’s just Violet King who’s got a problem with ye being there. Once she leaves, ye can come back, if ye still want to? I’ll keep the job open for ye.”
I smile tremulously, knowing that if I haven’t found another job by the time Violet and Jett check out of The View, I’ll probably be in the debtor’s jail.
I really must try to find out if that’s actually a thing.
I say goodbye to McTavish and let him out the back door, waving as he passes the window. A few seconds later, though, I hear the letterbox at the front of the house clatter open, followed by a soft thud as something is pushed through it to land on the floor.
By the time I make it to the hallway, where I find the money McTavish was trying to give me, plus the keys to the orange car, sitting there on the doormat, he’s already gone.
Twenty
The next morning, Mum’s at my door before I even have the chance to brush my teeth or run a comb through my hair.
“You look nice,” she says — a comment which instantly tells me something’s up, because Mum hardly ever compliments my appearance; mostly because it’s never quite up to scratch as far as she’s concerned.
“Okay, out with it,” I demand, closing the door firmly behind her (The photographers are back outside the house this morning, which is strange, because it’s been ages since I last threw something at a celebrity, so God knows why they’re still interested in me). “What have you done?”
“What makes you think I’ve done something?” says Mum guiltily, sounding exactly like someone who’sdone something. “Can’t a mother just want to spend some time with her daughter?”
“Sure they can,” I reply, turning and heading for the kitchen. “But whenyoudo it, it makes me think you’re buttering me up for something you know I’m not going to like, so why don’t you tell me what it is, then we can take it from there?”
Mum shifts uneasily from foot to foot. She’s not looking me in the eye.
This might be worse than I thought.
“I take it you haven’t been online yet this morning, then?” she says, looking up at last. “Or checked your messages?”
“No, why?” I switch on the kettle, frowning. “Don’t tell me Scarlett Scott’s finally back at work again? Her coming after me is the last thing I need.”
“It’s not Scarlett, no,” says Mum uneasily. “It’s The Tinseltown Insider. You know that gossip magazine I used to buy?”
