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“Absolutely, Sir.” I grasp the tablet and ease back into the cushions.
“I won’t need you to go.”
“Perfect.” Going to Vegas holds little appeal. More noise. More lights. And more flash. I’ll gladly stay in and watch reruns of my favorite television shows from the comfort of my sofa. I cross my legs as he takes another call. If anything comes up, I can troubleshoot from the comfort of my home. The blessings of the internet.
Of course, I know the drill. I had to take a test on his likes and dislikes after reading a 50-page paper that detailed every nuance of traveling that a human could think of. And some no one would consider.
He likes one tablespoon of Dark Muscovado Sugar with his coffee. His coffee must be precisely 173 degrees. And he only wears dress shoes produced in Italy–oxfords with covered laces.
Mr. Burke is 50 years old, rich as Midas, and beloved by both politicians and celebrities. And he pays four times as much as I dreamed of earning.
We move at a snail’s pace as we travel through the city while he discusses the details of a company he’s planning to pursue this week with whoever he’s speaking to on the phone. This is why I get paid so much. He wants to ensure the people who work for him keep their mouths shut. Not that I’d betray his trust. I take business secrets seriously and wouldn’t resort to payoffs for information.
After he hangs up, he pursues me with his eyes. “How is your family?”
“They’re well. Thank you for asking.” I smile at him and straighten in my seat.
“Good. Whose birthday was it?” He pours a liberal dose of scotch into his glass.
“It wasn’t a birthday. We had homecoming this weekend, and my brother asked me to help sell raffle tickets for the school. And then earlier today, I helped my mom prep for a bake sale and painted little kid’s faces for charity.”
“I see.” He presses his lips together, causing his salt and pepper mustache to flex with his movements. “Where’s the money going?”
“My parents collect money every year for underprivileged children. They try and raise enough to buy at least 20 families school supplies every school year and Christmas presents for the holidays.” Talking about my parents makes my eyes well with tears. They did a phenomenal job of raising us, and it’s such a blessing to realize how lucky we were. “We were a big family of five and got by because my mom was the most resourceful person I’ve ever met. She even washed and folded aluminum foil to reuse.” I chuckle at the memories of those silver packets in the drawer. “And it was her mission to help bring joy to kids that might not be so lucky.”
“And you helped?”
“Of course. We all did. Ever since I can remember.” Langley eases onto the exit ramp as we approach the upscale hotel.
“You continue to surprise and impress me.”
Heat creeps up my cheeks. “It’s not that impressive.”
“It really is. Few people care about anyone outside of their immediate family. It’s refreshing to be around someone so unlike the typical 23-year-old.” He rotates his shoulders and straightens his black and gold print tie. “Make out a check for me to sign.”
“For?” I tap on the screen, making a note to prep a payment when I get to work in the morning.
“20k.”
“And the payee?”
“Your parent’s charity.”
“What?” I drop the tablet on my lap and gape at him.
“It sounds like a worthy cause, and I’m always in search of those.” He nods. “And I’d like you to recruit some more privileged children to go on a shopping trip with you to purchase the Christmas presents. That way, they can learn the importance of giving back.”
“Yes, Sir.” Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. At all. But why wouldn’t I? Mr. Burke is a kind and giving man who is worth a fortune. I respect him as a businessman and as a person. This is why no matter how much I’d like to move back home–I can’t. There are no PA positions available for someone as influential as my boss, and it’s awesome to be involved with his charity work and other business transactions.
I gnaw on my bottom lip. Do I want to move back home? The door swings open for Mr. Burke to depart as a Bermuda shirt-wearing photographer flashes his camera at him, searching for the perfect image. Or at least one that the person next to him doesn’t get. Yeah. I wouldn’t miss this. Langley sends him back with the rest of the paparazzi.
Moments later, he opens the door for me, and I slide out while holding the bottom of my dress to keep it from sliding up and giving them a view of my cellulite. Not that they care about me. Other than the random speculation of whether he’s doing his young assistant or not.
Mr. Burke is happily married, but only his inner circle knows that fact. He has a 35-year-old wife that he keeps secret. She’s beautiful and sweet but abhors the limelight, so they sneak off in private to see each other. So far, he’s been successful.They’ve been together for 10 years and have two children.
As I watch him work the crowd, my mind wanders. I don’t have much purpose at these events except for transcribing any new appointments.
What would Cole think of my boss? Why are you thinking about that? They won’t ever meet each other.
