Chapter Twenty-One
Fletcher
After twelve days of working nonstop at the hotel, coming home only for dinner and sleep, I finally have a chance to decompress.
Half my staff had been sick. The temps I hired needed more training than I'd hoped would be the case.
Now, I'm lying in bed with Jennifer---and listening to her softly snoring. It's adorable.
In the morning, I hug my rug rats and then say goodbye to Jennifer.
I'd love to kiss her, but I'm in a hurry.
I slept in slightly too long, and now I must drive a touch faster than usual to avoid being late for work.
Once I've gotten situated in my office and have my chair adjusted correctly, I bring out the piles of paperwork that have turned into a precarious mountain on my desk.
I've just picked up my pen when my mobile phone rings. I recognize the name of the caller instantly and pick up on the second ring. "Hello, Dominic. How is jolly old England today?"
"Bloody fantastic. But that's not why I rang you."
"You had more than time-zone discussions in mind, eh?"
"Time zones?" Dom chuckles. "No, Fletch. We have an invitation for you and your new love. The little monsters will enjoy it too."
I blow out a sigh. "Is there a point to this conversation? I am at work, you know."
"And as uptight as ever, eh?" Dom clucks his tongue. "I rang you because Florry and Patty are worried about you. Apparently, you've become severely uptight."
"Patty? How do you know my mother-in-law?"
"She and Florry have become good friends."
How in the world Dominic Rigby knows about my life here in Nebraska is beyond my comprehension. "Dom, I am very busy right now."
"And that's why we're coming to help you."
Coming to help me? Ohhh, I don't like the sound of that. "I'm far too busy to waste time entertaining you, Chelsea, and your two children here in America."
Dominic bursts into uproarious laughter. "No, no, Fletch. You've got it all wrong. It won't be just your family and ours." He lowers his voice to a stage whisper. "The American Wives Club is coming to your rescue, whether you like it or not."
I've heard of the American Wives Club---from Dominic.
It's a group of busybody women who are determined to meddle in other people's lives.
The Club did help Hugh Parrish and his American love, Avery, after a scandal nearly ruined Hugh.
And I've heard that the Club was created when Scotsman Rory MacTaggart married American Emery on a whim. That worked out well, I believe.
But still...
"No, Dom, do not come to America to save me from...whatever."
"You misunderstand, mate. The game is already afoot."
I freeze, unable to speak for at least five seconds. "What does that mean, precisely?"
"You are the American Wives Club's latest mission. And since our mates are already flying to Nebraska on three private jets owned by three billionaires, you have no choice." Dominic chuckles darkly. "Give in, Mr. Murgatroyd, you can't escape the Club."
Bloody hell. I thought my life was already a sodding mess, but my old friend seems determined to cock it up even more.
"Still there, Fletch?"
"Ah, yes."
"Excellent. Now listen up." He pauses---for dramatic effect, I'm sure. Then he declares, "The first contingent will arrive tomorrow. Oh, and we've hired some people to help with the logistics."
"But the hotel---"
"Trust me. Everything has already been taken care of."
Dominic Rigby hangs up on me. The bloody wanker.
I stare at my phone as if it's morphed into a man-eating lion. The American Wives Club? Coming here? To Nebraska? To help me with what, exactly?
My hands shake slightly as I set the phone down.
I've heard the stories about that so-called club---how they swoop in like well-meaning hurricanes, rearranging people's lives with the subtlety of a marching band.
Sure, they helped Hugh. But his situation was different.
Hugh, Lord Sommerleigh, needed saving from a scandal.
I only need to get through my sodding paperwork.
I grab my mobile phone and dial Jennifer's number.
She answers on the third ring. "Fletcher? Are you okay? You just left twenty minutes ago."
"Jennifer, love, we have an outlandish situation to deal with." I rake my free hand through my hair, probably making it stand up at ridiculous angles. "Remember how I mentioned my friend Dominic from university? The one who married Chelsea, an American?"
"Vaguely, yes. Why?"
I draw in a deep breath and exhale it slowly. "Well, Dom just rang to inform me that the American Wives Club means to descend upon us like a horde of locusts. Tomorrow. In three private jets."
Silence on the other end. Then: "I'm sorry, what now?"
"Apparently, my mother and Patty have been conspiring with this...informal organization. They claim I need rescuing from my uptight ways." I slouch in my chair, staring at the ceiling tiles. "Dom says they're already on the way."
Jennifer's laughter bubbles through the phone, and I can almost picture the woman I love shaking her head. "Fletcher, only you would make it sound like we're being invaded by giant robots. It's probably nothing more than some friends wanting to visit."
"You don't understand." My emphatic tone might have been overkill.
I speak softly even though my office door is closed.
"These people are notorious. They call themselves a 'club,' but they're more like a special ops team for romantic interventions.
They've been responsible for at least a dozen high-profile matchmakings and relationship rescues. Or so Dominic told me a few years ago."
"And they're coming here? For us?" Jennifer sounds more intrigued than alarmed, which worries me further.
"Isn't that what I said? Yes, three private jets full of meddling socialites and their equally meddling husbands." I massage my temple where a headache is already forming. "And according to Dom, they've 'handled' my work situation. Whatever that means."
I hear Jennifer moving about, probably pacing as she does when she's thinking. "Well, we should at least meet them before you start panicking. Maybe they're just friendly people."
"Friendly people call ahead. They don't commandeer private jets and rearrange my work schedule."
"You're probably right," I concede, though my gut tells me otherwise. "But how do I explain this to tell the children? 'Oh, by the way, a group of American socialites is coming to reorganize our lives because your grandmothers think I'm too stressed?"
"We'll figure it out together," Jennifer assures me. "Sweetie, whatever happens, we'll handle it. You, me, and the kids. That's what families do."
The word 'family,' spoken in Jennifer's sweet voice, settles my anxiety just enough that I no longer worry I might have a coronary. "You are right as always, love."
"I should probably warn you---I'm dying to meet these mysterious club members."
"Sounds like an epic disaster to me," I mutter.
Then I glance at my paperwork mountain, wondering if any of it will matter once the American Wives Club descends upon us.
I shut my eyes and groan pathetically. I can already tell Jennifer's too curious for her own good.
"I should go, I suppose. According to Dom, I have about twenty-four hours to prepare for an invasion. I'd better say goodbye now."
"Love you, sweetie."
"I love you too, Jennifer." And I need to marry that woman soon. But my friends seem determined to take over my life, at least for a few days.
As I hang up the phone, I stare at my desk and wonder how I'm supposed to concentrate knowing what's coming. A knock at my door interrupts my spiraling thoughts.
"Come in," I call out, expecting Marjorie with the morning reports.
Instead, my assistant manager, Debbie, enters. She looks suspiciously cheerful. "Morning, boss! I've got some interesting news."
"Let me guess---you've been contacted by someone from the American Wives Club?"
Debbie's eyes bulge. "How did you know? A woman called Emery MacTaggart contacted me this morning. Said she was handling some logistics for your friends."
Wonderful. Someone I've never met and had never heard of until this morning wants to arrange my life.
I sink into my chair as if quicksand might swallow me up. "And what exactly did this Emery person say?"
"She was super nice, actually. Totally professional too." Debbie sits down across from my desk. "She's arranged for additional temporary staff to cover your duties for the next week. Said you'd be needing time for 'family matters.'"
My eye twitches. Am I developing a tic? "Family matters? I assume that means my family."
"Uh-huh. That's what she told me. Oh, and she's booked the entire east wing of the hotel for their group. They'll need conference rooms, catering facilities, and something called a 'war room.'"
A war room? Crikey. I sink deeper into my chair. "Debbie, please tell me you didn't agree to any of this."
"Well, she did mention that payment would be handled in full, plus a substantial bonus for any inconvenience." Debbie smiles sheepishly. "It seemed rude to refuse such a generous offer."
Of course it did. Money talks, and clearly, the American Wives Club speaks fluent currency.
"How substantial are we talking?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to know.
"Let's just say it's enough to cover your salary for the next six months." Debbie's smile widens. "Emery also mentioned upgrading our conference facilities. Permanently. As a gift."
I gawp at her, speechless. These people operate on a level I can't even comprehend. Who casually throws around six-figure sums to rearrange a stranger's work schedule?
"All right, then." I stand up, tugging my suit jacket down. "Get back to your duties, please, Debbie."
As she leaves the room, my skin begins to itch. Whatever I'm being roped into, I suspect it will be a circus of monumental proportions.