“My father is not sweeping your floors!”

“No, I don’t expect he would.” Crawley looked at me, dragging this out like a sick kid pulling the wings off a fly. “What I really need is a business partner for the new restaurant. Someone who can run it. Someone who knows Italian cooking.”

I tried to speak, but all that came out was a stuttering, “Duh . . . duh . . . duh.”

“Do you know of anyone in need of employment who might fit those qualifications?”

“H-h-how much does it pay?”

Crawley grinned like the Grinch. “Certainly more than Pisher Plastics.”

How was I supposed to respond to this? Did Crawley get my father fired just so he could offer him what he always wanted? How twisted is that? It’s like the guy who throws somebody overboard just so he can rescue him and be the big hero. Crawley was so good at pulling strings, and at underhanded manipulation. Did I want my father under Crawley’s thumb? And then I realized with a little bit of relief that it wasn’t my decision to make. It was my father’s.

“Tell him to pay me a visit,” Crawley said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, sure.” I turned to go, in a bit of a daze. All that was left of my anger was a whole lot of smoke for me to choke on. But before I escaped, Crawley stopped me.

“One more thing. I have a job for you, too.”

“Walking dogs?”

‘No.’ He grabbed his cane, stood up, and crossed the room toward me. “I understand that you are no longer dating my granddaughter.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I would like you to pretend that you are when her parents return from Europe.”

“Excuse me?”

“You see, her parents absolutely despise you, so that makes you my best friend.”

“How can they despise me? They’ve never even met me!”

“They despise the concept of you.”

There are a whole lot of things about rich people I don’t think I’ll ever understand. But somehow I think it’s better that way. “I don’t want to be paid to date Lexie, so keep your money in your grubby little hands where it belongs.”

“That’s not the job I’m talking about.” He took another step closer, and for the first time, I sensed in him just a little bit of uncertainty. He squinted, like he was examining me, but I could tell he was deciding whether or not to offer me this “job” at all.

“For the monthly stipend of one hundred dollars, plus expenses, I would like you and my granddaughter to kidnap me once each month.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he snapped. “You are to kidnap me. You are to catch me by surprise. You are to plan some creative and adventurous event. And if I don’t threaten to have you jailed at least once during the day, then you shall be fired.”