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My whole upper body burns.
Ah.
Better.
“I’ll message him myself,” I say as I check the clock. “Six minutes to go.”
When my fingers snap together, it’s out of habit. Other assistants adapted to the snapping.
Gwen lifts one eyebrow. “Whoa. Wait a sec. You’re… um… you’re snapping at me?”
“I need you to pick up the pace.”
“Monday…” she whispers under her breath. “Only ‘til Monday.”
“What about Monday?”
“Nothing.” She bows over the laptop and takes forever reading the screen, trailing her finger down it. Sighing.
“Okay, here’s one that might be important to you. Vanessa’s trip to Cabo has been delayed. She wants to know if you’d like to get coffee this Saturday.”
“That’s a hard ‘no.’”
“Are you sure? She sent more emojis. I’m sure they’re an important part of the message. They’re how we convey emotion in this modern era, as you know, so I really don’t want to leave that off. Without them, the computer age would be very robotic and mechanical, no heart to it. Anyway, speaking of hearts, that’s what she sent. Four hearts. One was the sparkly heart, which I assume means her heart is bursting with love for you.”
“Well, she can burst with love for someone else. And we are officially out of time. Get that KPI and Metrics report to accounting. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“And you’ll call Kate?” She stands and gestures to the Post-it still hanging off my computer like a misplaced flag. “She’d really appreciate it.”
“I’m thinking about it.” And I’m thinking ‘no.’ I seal my lips.
“You’re not going to call her, are you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Well, I’m having a hard time telling what is my business, and what isn’t.” She bites her lip. “It’s getting a tad complicated, isn’t it?”
She couldn’t be more correct.
But I won’t admit that to her. I stride to the door and open it.
“You’re going to call that Brian guy back? He sounded like a nice guy.”
I nod and wait with anticipation for her to pass by me. As I suspected, I get a thrill when she draws near.
Her eyes meet mine, and she lingers in the doorway with me. “Why do you have a private investigator, anyway?”
“Also none of your business,” I tell her.
“I’m a curious person. Like you.”
“You can ask, but I don’t have to answer.”
“What if I say something like that next time you ask me about my relationship status?”
“Fair enough. I’ll still take good guesses.”
“Well, I have a guess about this detective of yours.” Her big, blue eyes examine my face. I watch her gaze travel to my scar. “I bet it has to do with your past—your personal past—something that happened to you that you don’t want people to know about.”
