“Well—well, I’m not really a PA. I don’t do shorthand.”
“Except for court reporters, who does? What else?”
“I’m not even sure what a PA does.”
“Didn’t the headhunter who sent you to this Santini guy give you a description?”
“I didn’t go through a headhunter.”
“The agency, then. Didn’t they—”
“I didn’t go through an agency, either. “
“You applied online?”
“No.”
“Then, how’d you get the job?”
Emily licked her lips. It was a good question. Too bad the answer wasn’t.
I met him when I was standing in the rain after I was fired from the bar where I played piano.
“Emily?”
“I, uh, I went to apply for a different job. The woman who interviewed me looked at my application and thought I’d be a better candidate for PA than for the job I’d applied for.”
“I assume Santini interviewed you, too.”
“Yes.”
“Well, what’s the problem? If the interviewer thinks you’re right, if the guy you’ll be working for agrees, why question it?”
Why, indeed?
“Em?”
“Well—well, I really don’t know him.”
“How could you? You just started working for him.”
“Actually, I haven’t. Not yet. My first day is tomorrow.”
“So you’ll know more after that.”
“Right. Right.”
“Emily? Is there more to this than you’re telling me?”
“What more could there be?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. Is this guy unpleasant?”
“No.”
“Is he dirty? Does he smell?”
Only in the best possible way.