Page 50 of Assistant to the Billionaire CEO

“He’s writing an essay or something today. He took the day off. Are you two close?”

“I know him from yoga class,” I replied, “and yes, we’re friends. What kind of essay is he writing? And why is he doing it on a Saturday?”

“Full of questions, aren’t you, ma’am? He’s writing a fancy-shmancy college essay, but I have no idea why he’s writing it on a Saturday. All I know is that he said he’s trying to ‘better himself.’”

“He didn’t tell me he’s taking college classes. What is he studying?” I pried, suddenly realizing that I didn’t know nearly as much about my friendly gym buddy and neighborhood cab driver as I thought I did.

“Psychology, if I remember correctly,” he said. “He wants to be a head doctor.”

Oh! Nice. That was why his advice always seemed so meaningful. “I think he’d be a great one.”

Jay the Hunk stopped the cab in front of Swayze’s and rotated in his seat to look at me, telling me the price. He knew it was to be deducted from my account.

“One moment, please.” I dug through my handbag and withdrew my wallet. I leafed through it and handed Jay a sizable tip. Nothing made me happier than being able to leave someone a tip that was big enough to make them smile, although the Copeland financial planner called it an “irresponsible expenditure.” It did make him smile, and I knew that no financial planner’s approval would be a better feeling than that. “See you around,” I said as I slid out of the cab’s back seat. “Say hi to the Brit.”

“Have a nice day, ma’am. I’ll tell Jay you send your regards when I see him again.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

Swayze’s was buzzing with activity. Peeping through the thick glass door that served as its entrance, I saw rows of glass tables with ornate metal chairs around them. Most of them were filled with rambunctious occupants drinking liquor and enjoying each other’s company. There was something infectious about the atmosphere of a busy bar that even I couldn’t resist.

A youthful hostess with a face full of dark makeup and shoulder-length black hair came jogging up to me as I entered the establishment. “Welcome, welcome,” she greeted me in a Southern drawl, and led me to the table where Damon was already seated, his favorite drink—a bourbon—in front of him. Ace wasn’t there.

“Hi, Pancake.” He gave me a hug.

“Hey, Muffin.”

“Can I ask the waitress to bring you anything?” the hostess asked as I sat down across from my brother.

“An extra-creamy strawberry milkshake would be nice, please,” I said, smiling across the table at Damon.

He shook his head at me. “An extra-creamy strawberry milkshake?”

“Don’t judge.”

“An extra-creamy strawberry milkshake it is,” the hostess said in a friendly tone and nodded. “Coming right up! Anything else for you, handsome?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“An extra-creamy strawberry milkshake?” Damon asked again as she left. “Weird.”

“Says the weirdest guy in the room.” I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out at him.

“Don’t be silly. How am I weird?”

“You called me weird first, so you have to explain yourself first,” I insisted. “How amIweird?”

“Hmm, let me think, I don’t know, MissExtra-CreamyStrawberry Milkshake.”

“You’ve got me there,” I said, giggling, “but you’re the worst kind of weird: the kind that looks normal.”

He chuckled softly.

I put my elbows on the table and rested my chin on my hands. “So, what do you want to talk about? How is Ace in trouble?”

“We’re diving right in, then? I thought we’d make small talk first. Perhaps talk about your first week at your new job? Anything exciting happening?”

“Nope, you first. I want to know why you asked me to come. I’m dying of curiosity. I won’t be able to talk about anything else until I know.” I chose not to tell Damon what had happened with the creepy delivery guy for fear it might cause him to worry about me, or worse, make him doubt that I was safe at work. I knew he’d worry, and I didn’t want that.

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