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“Grace has a luxury concierge service,” he says, with complete certainty.
I have a what now?
I shoot him a frown. “He’s overstating it. I’m just a personal assistant.”
The group’s expression is like I announced that my building has bedbugs. In a falsely high-pitched tone, one of the girls says, “Oh my gosh,fun.”
“I lovemy assistant,” the other girl says. “She’s like family.”
Her assistant, I guarantee you, would not say the same.
The awkwardness of the conversation breaks it up quickly, at least. They trot off to another friend, and I glare at Charlie. “You should have told me if you were ashamed of my job.”
“Ashamed?” He sounds genuinely surprised.
I make air-quotes. “Luxury concierge service?”
He gives a casual shrug. “Grace, it’s just branding. Different words for the same work.”
I snort. “Trust me, there areverydifferent meanings between—”
“Between PA and luxury concierge?” he asks. “I know. But they’re word choices. Yesterday, I got applications from bartenders, mixologists, cocktail specialists. Got one from analewife.”
“… Which is?”
“Female brewer,” Charlie says, grinning. “Historical term and job, turns out.”
“That’s pretty cool,” I admit, but then I remember my outrage. “That’s not the point! Are you ashamed that I’m a lowly assistant?”
“What? No.” Charlie looks offended. “Are you? Because when she asked about your job, you looked panicked. Like you were about to retreat into your little turtle shell.”
“My turtle shell!?” I sputter. Yes, I can be a little shy—and I definitely was in high school. But comparing me to a reptile? “That doesn’t mean you can make me sound like someone I’m not!”
“Did I really do that, though?” He gestures around us, at the splashes of color and eye-catching patterns. “All these influencers. They’re finding the best light and backdrop for their picture, right? It doesn’t change the outfit. Just how you present it. That’s all I was doing.”
“Well,” I huff, “they’re probably also using filters to totally lie and misrepresent—”
“Okay, bad example,” he cuts me off, hands up in surrender. “And I won’t do it again. But the right combination of words doesn’t change the facts of your work experience. It just helps people see you better.”
I take a deep breath. I want to stay mad at him, but could he actually be…Right?
“Man, you’re really a good talker, aren’t you?” I marvel, shaking my head as my irritation melts away. “Why on earth do you need me standing beside you when you could charm the spon-con dresses off of these lovely ladies?”
Charlie gives a chuckle. “I think I’ve made it clear that weddings are not my scene for hookups.”
“But maybe you’d meet someone great,” I suggest. “It could turn into something real.”
“I’m not looking for anything like that,” he reminds me. “I’m perfectly happy keeping things casual.”
I roll my eyes. A commitment-phobic bachelor playboy? How original. “Oh my God,” I whisper dramatically, leaning closer. “Do you have a horrible secret keeping you from ever achieving emotional intimacy? Do you only have months to live? A wife locked in your attic?”
He nearly spits out his drink. “What?”
“I’m kidding,” I say, grinning. “Unless you really are pulling a Mr. de Winter on me. In which case, please do whisk me to your beautiful country house, I’m perfectly happy to accept creepy ghosts and irate housekeepers.”
Charlie seems to relax. He laughs along with me. “No great secret, it’s just… How I am. I try to be honest about it, so nobody gets hurt.”
“You’re telling me that if… Angelina Jolie herself appeared before you and pledged her love, you wouldn’t reconsider?” I ask in disbelief.
