Page 6 of Assistant to the Billionaire CEO

Oliver leaned back in his seat. “And a perfectly good friendship.”

“That too,” I agreed.

“Yeah. Whatever.” Miles drank what was left of his beer. “Fine,” he added when Oliver glared at him.

“I won’t mention it either,” Oliver confirmed, shifting to face me, “but I’m sure as hell not going to help you to dig up dirt on him.”

“I don’t expect you to,” I said, as I noticed Ace making his way back toward the table out of the corner of my eye. “That’s my job, anyway. I’ll investigate his firm like I do with all of our high-risk cases. It’s procedure. This one won’t be special. I won’t make it personal. I’ll keep it objective.”

“Ace,heyheyhey.” Miles cut me off. “Bro! Did you have a nice dump?”

Ace shook his head. “I wasn’t taking a dump.” He hung his semi-formal black jacket on the back of his chair and quietly sat down. “Dick.”

“Nobody pisses for ten minutes,” Miles argued, chortling at his own words and flicking a beer cap at Ace. “You do look happier than when you left. Oh, I got it. Were you rubbing one out?”

“I was outside getting some fresh air.” Ace lifted the beer glass in front of him and tilted its contents down his throat.

“Since when are you a fresh air fanatic?” Oliver narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Get out of my ass.”

Beep, beep.

We all paused and stared at my cell.

It was lying face-up on the center of the table, since I’d ignored making it part of our “no phones during nights out” initiative. To my annoyance, its screen lit up and revealed a preview of a message from my baby sister, Stella.

It was a brief one.

Stella:Hey, Batman. Remember spending Halloween in Big Bend National Park…

The message itself wasn’t problematic, but the photo that accompanied it was.

It depicted a much younger version of me, dressed up as the Dark Knight, a.k.a. Batman. Even worse, it showed a, let’s say, rather unflattering version of my sister, wrapped in orange cloth—a failed attempt to dress up as a pumpkin. Her round, orange-painted face was perfectly framed by a pair of chunky tortoiseshell glasses and her braces glistened in whatever light source we’d posed in front of for the photo. She was making a funny face and crossing her eyes. It was the stupidest picture I’d ever seen of her. By a long shot. Not that I could talk. I didn’t look any better.

Needless to say, I didn’t feel the urge to get into that conversation. I was hopeful that in their drunken state, the guys hadn’t registered any of it. In one smooth motion, I snatched my phone away, stowing it in my pants pocket.

Silence.

When I looked back up at them, all three were staring at me.

“Batman?” Ace asked.

“Dude.” Miles grinned.

“So what?” I grumbled.

“The better question is: Who was the oddball?” Miles pointed out, crossing his eyes. The guys chuckled.

“Yeah, exactly.” Oliver jumped in before I had a chance to wave it off. “The girl. Who was the pumpkin next to you? Your fugly neighbor?”

“My sister.”

Everybody’s face dropped. “Oh.”

Miles and Oliver gave me sad “Fuck, sorry” eyes.

“She doesn’t look like that anymore,” I said, unsure why I felt the sudden need to explain myself. Maybe some weird sense of protection over my baby sister. Not that it mattered what my buddies thought of Stella’s face or her costume choices.

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