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“Since today,” he said grumpily.
“You’ve never needed one before.”
“Don’t question my process.” He scowled.
Suppressing a smile, I asked, “All right. What does an assistant do for you?”
Please say “Suck me off,”I thought, followed by the harrowing question—Since when did I start talking like that? Even in my head?
Riggs rubbed his chin, mulling over the question. “Carry my equipment, help me set up the lighting, serve as a placeholder when I try out different lenses ...” He frowned. “Polish my shoes, wipe my ass, stroke my co—”
“As much asthisassistant would like to sue you for sexual harassment, I can do without the rest of this sentence,” I singsonged, rinsing the plate in the sink. “How much are you paying?”
Not that it mattered. I wasn’t in a position to negotiate. Minimum wage would be fine.
Riggs slung his elbows over the counter, his body angled toward mine. “What’s the rate for photography assistants these days?”
“I have no idea.” I laughed. “I just became one fifteen seconds ago.”
“Two grand? Flat rate for the entire date?” he suggested.
“Twogrand?” I spluttered. “Riggs, how are you going to come up with that kind of money? You can’t even pay for the subwa—” I zipped it, perhaps a moment too late, seeing as he was now looking at me with an unidentified expression that made me want to swallow all my words back.
“It’s all about money for you, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.
“I mean ... isn’t it to everyone?”
He shook his head, looking pensive.
“To answer your question, while I can’t afford it, the company can.Discoverypays for my photography aide. It’s a perk. So I’ll pay you and send the bill to them.”
That sounded so ...odd. At the same time, for a reason I couldn’t quite fathom, I knew Riggs was going to come up with that money. He’d never let me down before and had always made good on his promises.Unlike BJ.
Speaking of the knobhead, I could use a distraction. Working with Riggs for the day would not only be good for my wallet but also my psyche. Besides, how bad could it be, working for the man I’d married to deceive the authorities and had had wild sex with just yesterday? What couldpossiblygo wrong?
“What if the solicitor doesn’t have time for us today?” I asked, remembering we needed to send our application to the USCIS.
He laughed sardonically. “Do you know who I a—” Riggs stopped abruptly, clearing his throat. “She will. She’s a good friend of Christian’s.”
Did he just pull the Do-you-know-who-I-am routine? How peculiar. He was literally ... well, I was going to say no one, but that wasn’t right. He was alotfor me.
“So where are we off to, partner?” I offered Riggs my pinkie.
“The most romantic place in the world.” He laced his pinkie in mine, swinging our arms together while taking another sip of his beer. “An abandoned prison.”
Felicity Zimmerman had a corner office in one of Manhattan’s glitziest skyscrapers. She was a freakishly attractive woman in her forties and treated us as if we were royalty. She said she’d hold our hands through the entire process, first filing for a CR1 visa and then, two weeks after, a green card.
She went on to fill out the I-130A form with us and said she’d send it from her office and pull some strings with her friends in the immigration office. It all sounded very reassuring and terribly expensive.
Felicity explained that since Riggs was the petitioner, he wouldn’t have to attend the interview himself, but that it would look lovely if he accompanied me when the time came.
“Optics are the name of the game.” She looked between us, making eye contact to ensure we were on board. “And since everything you’ve filed in your I-130A is fairly recent, establishing a strong relationship and for Mr. Bates to show up with you would put the adjudicating officer at ease. Even if he won’t be able to enter the actual interview.”
“That’s fine,” Riggs said. “I’ll make sure I’m there.”
At the end of the hour, I asked Felicity how much she charged. Probably I should’ve begun with that question, but I didn’t want to be anxious the entire meeting.
“Nine hundred per hour.” She smiled.
