“A real job? Damn! Sorry. I only meant—” Jaimie sighed. “Look, Lissa and I figured it out months ago. You don’t really work for a private art collector.”
Emily thought of arguing. Instead, she moaned.
“No. I don’t.”
“See, one of Lissa’s friends was in New York. She met you once… Anyway, she was at Bloomie’s to buy mascara ‘cause she’d forgotten to bring hers and she was pretty sure she saw you working at the Dior counter.”
Hell. Emily tried for casual. “She could have said hello.”
“Lissa had told her you lived in New York, that you were working for a rich guy with a private art stash.”
Emily winced. “Don’t tell Travis or—”
“We’re your sisters, Em. Not the cops. And there’s nothing wrong with selling makeup.”
How about playing piano in a bar? Emily thought, but she didn’t say it.
“So, tell me about this new job. Is it at a museum? A gallery?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then where?”
Emily raised the glass to her lips, frowned when she found it empty. Back to the kitchen, snatch the bottle of Chardonnay from the counter, tuck the phone between shoulder and ear, fill the glass…
“Em? Where are you going to be working?”
“It’s not a where, it’s a who. I mean, it’s with who. With whom.”
“Someday,” Jaimie said with a little laugh, “I’m going to murder Jake. Just because he’s the grammar maven doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be. So? Are you going to explain?”
“I took a job as a personal assistant.”
“A personal trainer? But you—”
“A personal assistant. A PA. An administrative assistant.”
“Got it. To who?”
“To whom.”
“Jesus, Em… Fine. To whom?”
“A man.”
“Well, that narrows the field.”
“His name is Marco Santini. Owns his own company, makes buckets and buckets of money.”
“Like Travis.”
“I guess. But he’s in construction, not finance. “
“And?”
“And, I’m not sure I should have taken it. The job.”
“Why?”