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The voice continues, “We’re looking for efficient, detail-oriented, and seen but not heard. Anyway, we’re looking to fill the spot ASAP, so call me back!”
The message ends.
“Seen and not heard?” Charlie repeats, smirking. “So, instead of being valued as a complex human being providing a service, you’ll be treated like a misbehaving child in the nineteenth century. Lovely.”
“It’s not funny.” I sigh. “Believe it or not, this isn’t a bad gig, on the assistant scale of one-to-Scott Rudin, at least.”
“You can’t be considering it?” Charlie looks gobsmacked.
“It’s a job.”
“You have a job.”
“Squiring you to weddings for a month doesn’t count as a career,” I point out, but I’m secretly relieved he’s not about to call it all off in the wake of KissGate.
“Well, neither does setting out some chump’s bagel every morning at five a.m. It’s completely beneath you,” he says, determined. “Why are you even running around after these guys? You could make a killing and work on your own terms.”
“Doing… What, exactly?” I prompt.
“You’ll think of something.” He shrugs, like it’s easy. “You’re so smart, Grace. I can’t think of one reason you shouldn’t do it.”
I sigh. I know he thinks he’s being helpful, but it’s not so simple. If Charlie wants something, I’m guessing he just goes right ahead and does it, without the endless spirals of insecurity and self-doubt that always seem to trip me up.
“That’s very nice of you to say,” I reply dryly. “But not everyone has the Charlie Fox bravado.”
“EvenIdon’t have my kind of bravado,” he says, with a grin. “Yeah, these days, it’s usually legit. But I started out by faking it. One hundred percent.”
“Yeah, right,” I snort, disbelieving. Clearly, he forgets that we were in high school together.
He’s exasperated with me, but I’m not backing down. There’s simply no way this gorgeous, successful man didn’t stride into the world with a natural glow. His picture should be on the Wikipedia entry for “golden boy.”
“I swear to God. I had to puff myself up for school every morning,” Charlie insists. “And the number of mental pep talks I had to give myself in college? Hourly.” He searches my face for a reaction. When I won’t give him more than a skeptical eye-narrow, he sighs. “Okay, fine. Close your eyes.”
I feel a shiver.Could he… ?
But nope, Charlie is in the middle of some pep talk visualization thing, not a sexual fantasy.
Damnit.
“Closed,” he repeats, waiting.
“Fine.” I do as he says. Of course, once my eyes are shut, that just sends all my other senses into overdrive, feeling the heat of his presence, just a few inches away. The scent of his aftershave, just like the night we kissed…
“On your dream day in this city,” he says, “What does work look like?”
Work.
Right. That.
I try to get my mind out of the gutter—and away from his lips.
“Eating cake as a well-paid taste-tester for Milk Bar bakery,” I reply. That, I’m confident about.
I hear Charlie laugh. Standing here with my eyes closed feels oddly more intimate than when I was looking right at him.
“Realistically,” he corrects. “What does a dream day look like?”
My mind flashes images of working for the Bassingers. It wasn’t all bad—especially before Bret moved in. There were fun problems to solve; there were walks with Henri through the park. “I guess like my last job.”
