He holds his hand out, and I take it, though I make sure to mutter something about him being a corrupting influence just to save face.
Later, thinking back, I’ll wonder if Iactuallyfelt sparks when ourfingers touched or if those came later. Or were they ever there at all? Maybe it was just a trite concept that my brain transposed onto a night that was simultaneously amazing and awful, a dreamlike haze and an absolute fucking nightmare, a figment to make me feel a little less guilty about doing something terrible. I mean,sure, I helped a man cheat on his wife, but who could blame me? The sparks, Your Honor, thesparks!I plead the Fifth.
He walks me to his car, and I stop short.
“You havegotto be kidding me.”
“What, you don’t like it?”
It’s a bright-blue Corvette. Loud and ostentatious and—“It’s kind of cliché, isn’t it? You’re a bit young for a midlife crisis.”
“I think that makes itnota cliché.”
A few minutes later, as I take in the sleek interior, he says, “What are you thinking?”
“I’m pretty sure this is the nicest car I’ve ever been in.”
“How do you manage to make that sound like an insult?”
“It’s not an insult,” I protest a bit too fervently.
“Now Iknowit’s an insult. Come on, what are you really thinking? I can handle it.”
I decide to take him at his word. “Who cleans your car?”
“What?”
“Your car. Who takes it to the car wash, gets the inside vacuumed and detailed, et cetera?” Because in addition to being the nicest car I’ve been in, it’s also the cleanest. It’s got that new-car smell and everything. And I’d bet money that’s not Alex’s doing.
“I fail to see why that matters.”
“Of course you do.” I snort.
Alex stares at me for a moment. He’s turned completely in my direction, leaned back against his door, arms crossed in front of his chest, one kneebrought up so his shoe is on his seat. I wonder if his shoe is leaving a mark. A mark I’m sure won’t be there long.
“I have an assistant—”
“Ifuckingknew it.” I laugh.
“Whom I payvery well, I’ll have you know.”
“Well, congratulations,” I say sarcastically. “What’s your assistant’s name?”
“His name is Sam.”
“And how old is dear Sam?”
“Twenty-two.”
“And how does twenty-two-year-old Sam feel about assisting a boss only three years older than him?”
“You know, I’ve never thought to ask.”
“Alex, I hate to break it to you, but Sam deserves a raise.”
“You don’t even know how much I’m paying him.”
“I don’t need to know.” I laugh, then remark, “I think this is the longest you and I have talked one-on-one the entire time I’ve known you.”
