He doesn’t answer my question with words, but the pinched, straight-faced look he tosses my direction tells me not to fight it. And for some ridiculous untold reason I don’t. “Get me a Long Island, please.”
“Two Long Islands and a blanket for my lady,” Trey directs the waiter and turns back to our conversation.
I almost release a stupid girly laugh at the “my lady” part, but I get ahold of myself in time. I’m back to normal before I speak. “You didn’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.”
Trey slides his thumb back and forth on his jaw line as his eyes noticeably travel up and down my body, stopping at my chest to linger. “Let’s let me do what I need to do, okay?”
His not-so-cryptic comment about my hard nipples causes my face to heat. I wrap my arms around my sides to try and cover up the evidence before they poke through my tank top more. My B-cups have never felt so large and in the way before. Plus, I’m not sure if it’s the temperature or his gaze that’s to blame for my current condition.
In a hurry to change the topic, I fill the silence with my answer for Trey’s earlier question. People seem to think life in New York City is a whirlwind of excitement, but in my case it mostly involves working. I explain my job title might be “Executive Assistant,” but I’m more of a gopher. My days — and sometimes nights — are spent making sure my bosses’ clients are satisfied with our financial services.
You’d think it would be simple since I work for a financial firm, copy some papers here or there, but over the last five years I’ve done it all. From shopping for a million-dollar apartment with Mrs. Peterson to buying a new Aston Martin Vantage GT in green for Mr. Clark.
High profile clients often come with high profile problems, which is why I get paid so much to make sure every detail is taken care of before issues arise. It’s also why I’ve purchased every birthday, Christmas, Valentines, and anniversary gift for the wives of more than one of my male clients. If I’m truthful, there are a few mistresses on my gift list too. I’m paid to not ask questions.
It’s not how I planned to use my accounting degree after graduation, but a girl needs to eat. I like food. Food is expensive in the city… along with everything else.
My description of Clark’s face when he realized he couldn’t drive the stick shift, but he’d already signed on the dotted line for his brand new pretty Vantage has us both laughing.
“I drove the car home for him and then set him up private lessons with a tutor the next day.” My face hurts from how far my lips have stretched as we’ve talked. I can’t remember the last time I smiled so much.
Trey wipes his finger under his eye, any earlier awkwardness between us fizzled away while I talked. “God, that’s hilarious. I have a buddy who bought a house boat before he realized he suffers from sea sickness. They could be friends.”
Our laughter fades as I run out of good stories. I’ve barely eaten up five minutes. I fidget with the ends of my tank top. “Enough about my crazy life. What do you do?”
Trey leans back in his seat and is silent, almost as if he’s deciding what he plans to tell me in advance. “I’m pretty much one of those rich assholes you deal with.”
I chuckle at his expression and serious tone until more time passes and I notice he isn’t laughing with me.
