Page 11

Eloise ordered out for lunch, and even though I’d brought one with me, she asked what I wanted and I couldn’t say no. She’d ordered from a really fancy place that I never would have gotten to eat from if Eloise hadn’t said “order whatever you want.” I got a hold of myself and didn’t order the most expensive thing, but I couldn’t say no to a poke bowl and miso soup with a soda.

Eloise asked if I wanted to eat outside and I was curious about the backyard after I’d seen it through the windows. Her house was unreal. As in, it was hard to believe it was real. Every inch decorated and curated and filled with things. Not just books, but framed art and figurines and real plants and antique tables. There was even a grandfather clock that I really liked. The woman had a fucking china cabinet. With china in it. Her house reminded me of those ’90s romantic movies. Warm with tons of light.

We sat outside on the huge porch in comfortable chairs that reclined. There were a number of bird feeders dotted around the perfectly manicured lawn. On one side by the fence was a little garden that I couldn’t imagine she tended herself. The beds were laid out beautifully with stone borders and an arch with roses climbing on it.

“Someday I might put in a pond,” Eloise said as we sat down to eat. Now that we weren’t working, I had no idea what the hell to say to her. I was surprised that she’d asked to eat with me. I would have thought she might want some privacy or something.

“That would look nice,” I said as I watched Eloise wield her chopsticks to eat her spicy tuna bowl.

Figuring that lunchtime chatting was allowed, I went for it. “Can I ask you something?”

She paused and glanced over at me. “That depends on what it is.”

“I was just wondering how you got started writing. I know you’ve talked about it in interviews, but what’s the real non-PR story?” After the job interview, I’d read her bio and scanned a few of the interviews that she had on her site.

Eloise studied me for a moment, and I did my best not to flinch too much.

“What makes you think the story I’ve told isn’t the truth?” she asked, turning things around on me.

“Maybe it is. I’d still like to hear your story from you,” I said, wanting to cross my arms. Something inside me fizzed pleasantly as I challenged her just a little.

Eloise pressed her lips together and nodded. “Let’s just say that I grew up without a lot. So from the time I was young, I was determined to be financially successful. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I knew I was going to be good at it. There was no other option. I had an English teacher in high school who saw some potential in me and gave me the spark I needed to start writing outside of class assignments. At first it was just short stories and I won a few small awards. Nothing major, but I knew I had a skill and I was going to use it. Then I went to college on a full scholarship and worked full time to save money. And then I wrote when I could. That English teacher had a contact at a large romance publisher and suggested I try my hand at it. They agreed to publish my first manuscript and then I went searching for a literary agent and found Sylvia, who I’ve been with ever since. That book hit the bestseller list and so did the next. Nearly every book I’ve ever written has hit a list and earned out my advances. I work hard. Every day. Year after year. Ass in my chair.” Hearing her say the word “ass” did something funny to my stomach.

She looked incredible when she was talking like that. I didn’t even know what to say to that.

“Oh,” I finally came up with.

“Any other questions?” She didn’t look mad, exactly, but there was something guarded about her now.

I shouldn’t ask, but my impulsivity was part of my charm. At least I hoped it was. “Do you love it?”

She sat back, as if I’d surprised her with that question.

Then she exhaled and laughed a little. It transformed her face and for a second I felt like I was staring into the full force of the sun. She was blinding.

“Yes, I love it. Even when I don’t.”

We finished lunch and went back to work and I still hated the silence, but I was trying to be on my best behavior. Somehow, I’d almost made it through the entire day without messing anything up. I was on a roll.

An alarm went off that startled me.

“Quitting time,” Eloise announced, stretching her arms over her head. She sighed and I realized I needed to get up and move around. I’d been sitting too long.

“You did well today,” she said, nodding as she closed her laptop.

“Uh, thanks. It wasn’t so bad.”

She stretched her neck and then started doing some exercises with her wrists. “Remember I have Pilates tomorrow morning, so you don’t need to be here until ten thirty.”

“I could pick you up coffee on my way,” I said. She’d handed over a debit card for me to use which shocked me so much I almost choked on my own tongue. Between that and the laptop, this woman was putting a lot of trust in me. Sure, I’d signed contracts and so forth, but still.

Eloise did that thing where she pressed her lips together. “I’m sending you my order. Don’t get it wrong.” I sure as shit was going to try not to.

She typed out a message on her phone and mine pinged a second later. Not only did she have a specific order, but she demanded that I go not to one of the chain coffee places near my apartment, but the fancy place that was a bitch to get to. Fun. But I guess she was paying me enough to have the coffee that she wanted, so I was going to deliver. She hadn’t asked for anything with the coffee, but I made a decision right then and there to find out what she liked. I’d start with regular croissants and work my way through the pastries.

“Any plans tonight?” she asked. On a normal night, I might have gone to hang out with Hunter and Reid or gone out to dinner, but I was so completely and totally drained from this day that all I wanted was a shower and to let my brain shut off with some terrible TV and a piece of cake the size of my head. I’d have to pick the cake up on the way home, but it was a good reward after a job well done. Well, a job done, at any rate. I didn’t think I was going to be winning an assistant awards, but I’d done what she asked. Sorted her old emails into folders and backed up the website and updated things and had deleted comments on her social media. It wasn’t rocket surgery, but I’d done a decent job. And I hadn’t made any horrible mistakes or faux pas. That was a victory too.

“No, nothing special,” I said. “Uh, you?” It seemed rude not to ask.