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“They’re happy,” Evie said curtly. “The bottom line is; staff have adjusted and things are satisfactory.”
“Great,” I responded with equal curtness. “Send her an email thanking her for the report and ask if she wishes to discuss anything else in greater detail, and if so, why.”
Evie bit her lip.
“Okay,” she nodded.
“That’s it for today,” I said, turning away.
“You’re… not coming into the office?” she asked, uncertainty in her voice.
“I’ll be working,” I said, turning back to face her, poker-faced.
“You just… won’t be there physically?” she guessed.
“Bingo!” I tapped a finger in her direction. “Now you’ve got it! Read as many emails as possible, figure out what is important and what isn’t. Let me know about the rest of the day too.”
“Where will you be?” she asked me.
I rolled my eyes. This was like talking to my ex-wife, whom I had gotten rid of, very successfully.
“I’ll answer my phone if you call. Don’t send more than five texts,” I warned her, then waved my hand at her. Dismissed. She slunk out of the houseand I thought to myself that the jury was still out on this one.
But by dinnertime, me and Summer having sushi outside on the patio, I still hadn’t fired her. Somehow, I’d gotten into a tech review by a developer friend of mine and that had sidetracked me.
“Is Evie still around?” Summer asked me. She was dressed in an oversized hoodie with huge sneakers, looking like a kid-sized gangster-rapper, which was her preferred look at the moment.
“No…” I said.
“But she is still working for you?”
I shrugged. “I guess…”
“I like her,” Summer said and took a bite out of her nigiri.
“You do?” I was surprised. Summer liked almost nobody. Most days, I didn’t think she particularly liked me and I was her father.
Summer nodded. “She’s real.”
Maybe I’d give Evie another day, I thought.
Chapter 3
Evie
My mother calls after a few days to hear how it’s going in the new job.
“Fine,” I say.
“It’s going well?” She asks again. Clearly, I haven’t convinced her.
“Oh, yeah. I’m busy but I’m loving it,” I say, working up as much enthusiasm as I possibly can.
I don’t know why I’m lying to my mother, possibly to avoid admitting that I can’t even do something as basic as being someone’s personal assistant.
The truth is, I have no idea what I’m doing.
I get up early to go through Tate’s emails, then try to figure out who is important and who isn’t, how to read his messages and prioritize the ones he’d want to deal with. I’ve come to realize that he basically wants to speak to no-one and that I am supposed to block most people wanting access to him, feeding them a rich diet of lies that sound completely different to whatever they heard last time. I’ve come to learn that he is a genius who can’t work in the office, must be left to his own devices to go rock climbing or play golf where he, only occasionally, mind you, gets fantastic ideas, which he then feeds to his team of fabulous developers who then make everything happen in the dark like clever little elves.
