Page 3 of The Bonus

It’s a new name. I don’t know a Veronica other than Veronica Rothchild the supermodel, and I know that they met two weeks ago at a charity event.

I’m happy with his regular women because I know that he sees them just as that…regulars. But every time he meets someone new, I panic a little, knowing this could be the woman he finally falls in love with.

As well as acting, another job I excel at is as undercover detective. I know who he is sleeping with before he does.

“Well, you don’t have long for lunch, you have to be back at the office at one thirty for a very important meeting.” I focus on the screen.

“Cancel it.”

“Impossible.” I keep typing and try to change the subject. “Who am I sending flowers to today?”

“Hmm.” He purses his lips as he thinks. “Melissa.”

“The card should read?” I act uninterested.

“You were incredible last night.”

I clench my teeth so hard I nearly break my jaw. “Is that it?”

“Umm.” He walks over to the window and looks down over New York. “Come away with me this weekend.”

My eyes linger on his back as sadness sets in.

I can’t do this anymore.

Every time I send one of his girls flowers or gifts, I die a little inside.

I’m twenty-nine years old, and for seven years I have hung on Gabriel Ferrara’s every word, waiting for him to notice me.

Waiting for even just a shred of his attention, for him to admit his undying love and sweep me off my feet.

But it’s never going to happen, is it?

He doesn’t see me like that, he is never going to see me like that.

I run through the rest of his day on autopilot, my mind off in another place, and I know that while he is away with Melissa this weekend, I will be at home, wishing the time away until Monday so that I can see him again. So that I can be a personal assistant to his full and exciting life.

Pathetic.

“What are you waiting for?” he snaps.

I glance up. Huh? Was he talking?

“I beg your pardon?” I ask.

He gestures toward his door. “Leave, I have work to do.”

“Oh…right.” I stand, embarrassed. I walk toward the door.

“Gracie,” he calls and I turn back to him.

“Yes.”

“Don’t wear that perfume again.”

I frown in confusion.

“I don’t like it.”

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