Chapter Three When Life Gives You Lemons, Make a Playlist
Chapter Three
When Life Gives You Lemons, Make a Playlist
Frankie
There’s embarrassment, and then there’s this—interviewing with the man who witnessed your most recent worst moment. Honestly, the interview was over before it even began. The universe must really hate me.
But I guess there was one silver lining to being kicked out of Hayes’s office.
Curiously, his uncle Charles invited me to meet him for coffee this morning.
I wasn’t sure what to make of his invitation at first, but I figured why not.
These people clearly had money and connections.
I’d be stupid not to follow through on a potential lead.
Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t relish the idea of soon being homeless.
I listened to my best hype-up playlist this morning while getting ready, and since I had no idea what kind of coffee this would be, I dressed in what Tessa would call smart-casual.
I didn’t want to appear like I was trying too hard, but I wanted to look put together.
I wore my nice jeans, with no rips or holes, and a pink silky top.
Simple ballet flats and a giant purse, which contains like half my life.
What? I like to be prepared for anything life throws my way.
When I enter the café, my eyes scan the room. I spot Charles at a table in the back and head straight there. He’s your stereotypical elderly white guy—thinning silver hair, slumped shoulders, and a frown that makes him look like he just bit into a lemon.
“Good morning,” I chirp, slipping into the chair in front of him.
“Morning. Charles Winthrop.” He extends one age-spotted hand in my direction. We’ve technically met, but now that I’m facing him across a conference table, the name hits different. Like stepping into a history book.
There’s a Wikipedia page about the Winthrop family.
They’ve been featured in Forbes magazine and countless news articles.
They’re like the Vanderbilts. I haven’t personally read much about them, but I think their fortune was made in the late 1800s and early 1900s in oil or something.
They have donated hospitals to cities and funded public universities.
I know enough to know they are a very big deal.
I think of Hayes, and things begin to click into place—the finely tailored suit and Rolex on his wrist. Thank God I didn’t wear sweatpants to this meeting. I already feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. I feel like I’m starring in a reality show I’m definitely not qualified for.
I give him a polite smile and try not to do anything embarrassing. I don’t think I’ve ever had coffee with a billionaire before.
“I’ll cut to the chase,” he says, leaning in. “I’ve never seen someone speak to Hayes the way you did.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well maybe he wouldn’t have such a stick up his bum if more people did.”
He seems amused by me, more than anything. “I suppose that’s a possibility. And you’ve worked as an accountant . . . ?”
“For the last eight years, and I love it . . . I’m just starting to wonder if it doesn’t love me back.”
“Were you let go?” Those blue eyes fix on mine, and his bushy gray eyebrows lift.
Shaking my head, I lean closer. “Corporate downsizing. Prior to that, all my employee reviews were outstanding. Believe me, it was a total crock of—” I catch myself and flash him my best not-about-to-swear smile.
“You will never find peace if you’re fixated on things you cannot control.”
I stare hard at him. “Say that again.”
He does, more slowly this time.
Nodding, I lean forward. “You’ll never find peace if you’re fixated on things you can’t control. That’s good. I like that.”
“Well, it’s true. How would you like to work for me?”
I blink at him, unspeaking. “Doing what? Because if you think I’m looking for a sugar daddy or something, you have another think coming . . .”
Charles’s shocked expression eventually gives way to a look of amusement. “I’m looking for a travel companion.”
“What’s a travel companion?” I blurt, thoroughly unprepared for where this morning has taken me.
“Actually, could you put a pin in that? I saw a giant chocolate chip muffin in the bakery window that was practically calling my name when I came in. I can’t focus until I eat.
You want one?” I rise from the chair and begin digging through my monstrous purse in search of my wallet.
“A chocolate muffin?” Charles sounds confused.
I nod. “If you don’t eat something, your blood sugar could get low. Low blood sugar could lead to hypoglycemia. If left untreated, hypoglycemia can lead to blurred vision, seizures, and even death . . .”
Charles continues blinking at me, like I’m a difficult math equation he’s trying to solve.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those health nuts,” I scoff. My personal belief is that life is too short not to indulge—which I do often.
“Okay,” he eventually relents, but I think mostly because he wants me to stop talking.
After a quick trip to the counter, I set a double chocolate muffin in front of Charles on a saucer with a mental ta-da!
He stares down at it and pokes it with his fork. “Wow. That’s quite a breakfast.”
“That’s a breakfast of champions right there.”
I dig into my own muffin, wiping the crumbs from my cheek. “So . . . you were about to tell me what a travel companion is.”
“So I was.” He pauses to take a bite of his muffin. “Dear God . . .” He groans and looks up at me, bewildered. “Why have I never tried one of these?”
I shrug.
“My cholesterol be damned, this is incredible.” He takes another bite, and we eat in silence for a few moments. Chocolatey goodness explodes over my taste buds, and I hum to myself, happy as can be, at least for the moment.
Finally, Charles finishes his muffin, except for a few crumbs, and wipes his hands.
“I’m looking to hire someone—a travel companion—to accompany me over the next few months as I visit some of my properties.
I have poor eyesight, due to macular degeneration, and I could use help with my luggage from time to time.
But mostly I’m looking for someone to socialize with, since globe-trotting alone doesn’t appeal to me. ”
Abandoning my own muffin, I give him a puzzled look. “Why not invite someone you’re close to? A family member maybe? Surely they’d enjoy a free vacation, right?”
“Yes and no. I lost my wife very young, and I never remarried. We never got around to having kids ourselves, and while I’m close with my nieces and nephews . . . they’re all busy with their own lives.”
One of his nephews is Hayes—enough said. I wouldn’t want to travel with him either.
“Speaking of family . . . I didn’t see a ring, so I assume you’re unmarried?”
“Happily single,” I chirp.
Charles nods. “Very good. Anyway, I enjoy travel and have a number of homes I’d like to visit. And I hate trying to line up dates that could work for others and just end up feeling like a bother. I’d prefer to go when I want to go.”
“I get that,” I say, having always been very independent myself. I would hate relying on other people.
“I’d like to get to know you a little better if we’re really going to consider this. What would make you a good travel companion?”
I consider his question. I’m a ton of fun and liven up any situation, but I try to imagine myself traveling to new places with this elderly man . . . What would that actually be like? And what role would I play?
Strangely enough, I can actually picture it.
I didn’t have a father growing up, and my mom has been gone for three years now .
. . I’ve kind of missed having the steady influence of someone older in my life.
Someone who’s weathered a few trials and come out the other side.
I could picture us chatting casually over coffee—or maybe chocolate muffins.
It’s oddly . . . appealing. Or maybe all this sugar has gone to my head and I’m romanticizing the idea.
I decide to play along for now, even if I’m not sure I want the job.
“First, I guess, is my ability to keep my cool when things don’t go according to plan.
And I’m good at talking to new people, so I tend to make friends wherever I go.
” Charles is studying me from across the table.
“I’m not picky with food, and I have no allergies, so I never order off a special menu and am easygoing about where or what to eat. ”
“That can be helpful, I agree. What else?”
“I’m a good listener and conversationalist, I have a wide range of interests, so I know the basics about a lot of things and can a least start a conversation. I’m generally a positive person; it takes a lot for me to complain.”
“Very good.” Charles nods.
“Oh, and I’m small, so I don’t mind taking the middle seat on a plane.” I grin, pleased with myself that I thought of such a detail.
“We will be flying first class, there are no middle seats.”
“Oh. Even better.” My smile widens.
“Is your passport current?” Charles asks.
I nod. “Where are you looking to travel to, exactly?”
“I was thinking we should start with Montana. I have a property outside of Big Sky that I haven’t been to in ages.
I’ve been advised we should take the first trip as a trial run and that it should last no longer than a week to make sure we don’t want to kill each other by the end.
I can be a lot to put up with, I’ve been told. ”
“That sounds reasonable. I’ve never been to Montana. But should we talk pay? Expenses?”
“I’ll match whatever your last salary was, and the only expenses you’ll have are your own souvenirs or personal items.”
Wow. It’s a generous offer. It’s kind of surreal, to be honest, but I’m still totally unsure if it’s the right move for me. “Can I think it over?”
“Of course.”
On my way out of the coffee shop, I call Tessa and fill her in.
“Maybe your luck is turning around, Frankie.”
She’s kind of right. It seems like it could be. But I want to make a good decision. “On the one hand . . . dream opportunity. But on the other, I’ve always loved being an accountant. Math is the only thing in my life that’s always made sense and never let me down.”
“I hear you,” Tessa says cautiously. “But I think this job could be good for you.”
“Yeah maybe, but if I accept, I feel like I’d be starting over.” Facing a new set of challenges.
“Perhaps, in some ways. But accounting is always going to be there. You can always go back to it.”
I consider her advice, and the weight of this decision feels heavier than it should be.
Could I really explain a six-month gap in my résumé to my next accounting firm?
Not to mention I’d be leaving my comfort zone far behind.
Was I really okay with that? Then again, Charles’s name would be an excellent line on a résumé, even with the term “travel companion.”
I’ve never imagined being wealthy or spoiled—never even wished for that life. While other people chased status, I was happiest in the background. Quietly working. Keeping my head down. Remembering birthdays. That was my comfort zone. I was damn good at what I did.
Whenever I stepped outside that lane . . . things tended to go sideways.
So the idea of a whole new trajectory—even one as exciting as jet-setting with Charles—fills me with uncertainty. Because when the spotlight hits me, something usually breaks. Sometimes literally.
It seemed like most people my age had things figured out. They knew what they wanted next—marriage, kids, a mortgage, maybe a golden retriever.
Taking this job felt like the opposite of settling down. Not that it was a bad thing. The whole marriage-and-kids thing wasn’t necessarily on my radar yet.
Sure, I wanted that someday. It just felt . . . a long way off. I’ve always been a bit of a late bloomer.
And maybe, deep down, I also questioned whether I’d ever meet someone who fit. None of the men I met have been worth evolving for.
And based on my spotty track record, it wasn’t likely. Which meant it was best not to get my hopes up.
“I feel like my entire life plan fell through.”
“So, make a backup plan. I think this detour could be exactly what you need.”
She might be right. Traveling the world for a few months was probably a dream come true for some people—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And after being laid off, I promised myself I’d never get emotionally attached to a job ever again. I wouldn’t love an organization that didn’t love me back.
“It’s only a few months, Frankie. After it’s done, you can go right back to accounting.”
Still processing all of this and more, I think of Charles, who seems every bit like a genuine, grandfatherly type, though I have nothing to base this on. But he seems normal, almost sweet. I wonder if, in some strange way, we’d be good for each other.
“I’m going to do it,” I announce.
Tessa gives a little cheer. “That’s my girl!”