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“That’s a departure from your usual roster of clients.”
“One I’m enjoying by the minute.”
Another fit of giggles.
Great. Working with two attractive bosses-slash-clients means I revert to being a teenager again.
“What do you mean?”
“Are you in front of your laptop?”
“I can be.”
“I’ll wait.”
She squints. “This better be good, Ari.”
“Trust me, it is.”
She gets up from where she was sitting. I watch as the images go blurry and she moves from a couch to a table.
“Okay, what’s the deal?”
“Open two tabs in a browser. In one of them type, Beckett Christensen. In the other, type Rhys Hartford.” I spell both their names.
“Please hold,” she says in her best phone operator voice.
“Holding!” I giggle.
I should stop drinking, but instead, I take advantage of the moment to sip more wine.
Her facial expression precedes her exclamation.
“Mother of God!” Her wide eyes move back to her phone.
“I know, right?”
“You’re working with those two guys?”
“Yup!”
“Seriously?”
“I signed all the papers late this afternoon. It’s official!”
“Better you than me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I love Oscar with all my heart, but come on. Your clients are smoking hot. I couldn’t work with them. I’d be drooling all over myself and lose focus.”
“I’m a consummate professional.”
“Fuck being a professional. Did you see what they look like?”
“I sat across from them all day long and well into the evening, so yeah, I know exactly what they look like.”
“And you didn’t drool all over yourself?”
