Page 32 of Lady and the Camp
I grumbled. “I’m not mad.”
“No, I think you’re mad.” She chewed at her lip, which made my eye twitch for some reason. “Obviously, I meant the campers’ decisions are made at the campfire. Not that they are running the camp.”
I let out a breath. “It’s fine. I overreacted. But look, I hate to be a stick in the mud, but isn’t that sort of the point of summer camp—playing around with sticks and mud? Not dressing up in pretend fancy outfits playing out some commercial clothing industry nonsense?”
“We’re multi-faceted,” one of the teens countered, and with a good wallop of attitude. “I happen to like playing in mudandwearing stylish clothes. Both are valid.”
“Don’t box us in,” a camper with yellow hair in pigtails sassed back.
My socks were older than this kid.
I threw out both hands in surrender. “I’m out of my element. You all go on with your fashion show.”
The pigtails girl did the oddest thing. She curled her finger at me, beckoning me closer.
Frozen like a deer facing a roadkill death sentence, I looked at Hudson.Help.
She caught my eye, smirked, and turned to the girl. “What do you want to tell Mr. Lucas, Angelica?”
The little girl continued to curl her finger at me. No other options available, I leaned forward and knelt to her level.
“Do you think Miss Hudson is pretty?” the girl whisper-shouted at me.
Every living thing in a twenty-foot radius had to have heard. Including Miss Hudson herself.
When I’d taken this job, a hefty helping of humility came as a side dish, having to play second fiddle to the glossy camp across the lake. But I hadn’t counted on total and complete humiliation at the hands of a nine-year-old.
The campers waited. At great cost, I looked at Hudson. She returned a neutral expression I couldn’t read. Maybe she hadn’t heard the sonic whisper after all. Maybe I could duck out and hide in my truck. Forever.
Hudson’s mouth quirked. “Well?”
I laughed, trying to play along. That’s what this all was anyway, play. “Of course.” I grinned like an idiot and played my part. Sure, sure. I’d be the crumudgeony wilderness guy smitten with the sparkly fashion diva. Cute, sure. Whatever.
The girls squealed in delight.
A knowing glint shone from Hudson’s eyes. Like she knew this wasn’t play at all.
Oh, boy was I in trouble.
Chapter 10
Hudson
Iskippedcafeteriadinnerwith the campers to snag some office time. First, I checked my phones, real and burner, back at the cabin. Unfortunately, no “it’s over, come back to civilization!” text from the attorney or the federal agent. Plenty of missed calls from unknown numbers. A couple of spam messages including one about a key and a locked account I deleted based on the preview text. Like I’d fall for some cheap and obviousgive me your account numberscam.
Oh, and a text from my mom.
Mom:My friend has an open administrative assistant position at her real estate company. Now that you’re done playing celebrity, call me and we’ll get you an interview!
Ugh. Way to kick a girl when she was down, Mom. No,how are you?just dig right in at my failure “playing” at my career.
My family had never taken my interests seriously. They all seemed to be waiting on me to outgrow whatever they viewed as my current phase. To them, I was the pretty, social girl who needed to fail out of her ideas before settling in to some conventional job they could easily explain at dinner parties.
My parents were big fans of the dinner party brag. My sister, an HR director at a respected company, had two kids who looked just like she and her husband. My brother, a business analyst for a tech company, had adopted a son with his partner. Practically sainthood.
Which left me. My parents loved to bring up how I’d been titled “Prettiest Baby” at some county fair contest. Firstly, Prettiest Baby was a pretty gross title to award a being who couldn’t control what went in or out of them. But it primed me for my next title, Prettiest Toddler. Same county fair two years later. Mom had designs on pushing me through the local pageant circuit. Only tantrums and a general distaste for following any direction from adults soured those chances quickly. To this day, Iloathedruffles.
They’d registered me for child acting classes. Dance lessons. Modeling gigs. Nope, nope, nope. I thrived on attention, but always on my terms. None of those boundary-filled activities involved anything related tomy terms.
