“I told you so. Maybe your charts aren’t always accurate.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing. The charts are usually pretty precise. So, you definitely told him you’re leaving and that was it? He just said ‘okay find me a new girl’?”
“Well … he did end up calling me in the middle of the night to talk about it again.”
“Uh-huh, now we’re getting somewhere.”
“I guess that I did take him by surprise. It’s not like I gave any prior indication that I wanted to leave, so he was just looking for more of an explanation. You know probably wanting to make sure that it wasn’t anything he did.”
“Well it was something he did, right? You’re leaving because he’s such a horrible boss.”
“I never said he was horrible.”
“That’s funny because that seems like all you’ve ever said about him. You had no life. We don’t know him. He’s not what we think—”
I stop her there.
“You misinterpreted. This is about me not him. I just want a change. I’m an actress, so I should be on television, right? Putting the degree that the good folks of First Methodist Church paid for to use.”
“Have you started lining up auditions then?”
“Not yet. I have to give Coop his thirty days, train the new assistant, and then I can focus my energies elsewhere.”
“So where are you headed now?”
“The office. The applicant I selected is coming in to meet him.”
“A woman?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her anything about him?”
“Due to a confidentiality clause, the agency doesn’t reveal who the client is until the last minute. It’s to protect the client’s privacy. She doesn’t know that it’s Coop yet.”
“Well were you at least able to warn her of the type of commitment the job requires?”
“Absolutely not. I want her to take the job, don’t I?”
* * *
Due to Coop’s hectic schedule we don’t usually spend a large amount of time in the office, which is probably a good thing because he only rents one floor of the building that we’re in. While the space includes his office suite, my office, a large conference room, a weight room, a kitchenette, and a multipurpose area where Tito spends much of his time catching up on sports; it’s small enough that it makes it difficult to avoid each other. But today, I have no choice but to deal with him.
I knock on his office door and promptly enter the room. I watch him for a moment. He’s on the floor, shirtless, in loose sweatpants doing his daily set of push-ups. He always has his shirt off, but lately it’s distracting.
“What are you doing?”
“My workout. What does it look like?”
“I told you I have an applicant coming in. A good one.”
“So, bring her in.”
“I thought we were keeping things professional.”
“I can’t wear sweats?”
“For someone that hates the attention of random women so much, you sure seem to have your shirt off all the time.”
