Which I know sounds a little too dedicated, but he pays me well, and I don’t mind.
Not many personal assistants in this city bring in a salary generous enough to pay for twelve hundred square feet in Manhattan, with a parking garage where they work, full insurance benefits, and a nice retirement plan. I don’t have to take public transportation.
I’m spoiled.
So you bet your ass I’m dedicated to Carter.
Did it hurt my marriage? Yes, but many things led to the demise of that relationship, not just a demanding career. It didn’t help that my ex was threatened by the fact that I am successful. It wouldn’t matter who I worked for.
But that’s in the past, and I’m happy with my life.
Someone’s parked in my designated parking spot, again, so I circle until I find a space, then shoot a quick text off to my super, informing him that someone needs to be towed, and hurry inside where it’s warm.
To top it off, the elevator is broken. Also again. So I slug it up the four flights to my floor and breathe heavily as I toss my handbag and briefcase on my kitchen counter. I’ve just opened the fridge to reach for my bottle of water when the front door bursts open and my best friend, Christopher, makes a dramatic entrance.
“This place is a dump,” he announces as he drops onto a stool at the breakfast bar.
“Hello to you, too.” I drink my water and watch him, amused. Our building is anything but a dump. It’s actually really nice. But Christopher isn’t patient when it comes to things breaking down.
“The elevator isn’t working again,” he says. “I had to take the stairs down here, which means I’ll have to take them back up again.”
I drink my water, eyeing his six-foot frame. “You’re a freaking dancer. You’re in shape. Two flights of stairs are a breeze for you.”
“That’s not the point.” He sets a brown bag on the counter and my stomach growls. “You’re hungry, darling.”
“Starving. What did you bring me?”
“Pastrami on rye,” he says as he pulls the sandwich out of the bag and passes it to me. “Your favorite.”
“God bless you.” I unwrap the wax paper and sink my teeth into the still-warm goodness. “Smph gmph.”
“You’re such a lady,” he says with a laugh.
“I know.” I swallow the bite of goodness and take a swig of water. “Where’s yours?”
“I already ate it. You’ve been working late a lot lately.”
“Work’s busy. It’s not a big deal.”
“You have bags under your eyes. But you’re in luck because I brought eye patches.” He pulls the patches out of his back pocket. “And they’re still cold from the freezer. Come here, I’ll put them on for you.”
“You come to me, I’m eating.”
“Such a diva,” he says as he circles the island and opens the pouches, then arranges the cold tabs under my eyes. They’re strangely soothing. “There, these will get rid of the bags. And the dark circles.”
“I think you just told me I look like shit.”
“That’s not at all what I said.” He kisses my cheek then returns to his stool. “You’re always beautiful. But you work too hard, and your eyes are tired.”
“What would I do without you here to take care of me?”
“I shudder to think about it.” He shivers dramatically, because just about everything he does in life is dramatic, and makes me laugh.
“How’s Alonzo?” I ask before taking another bite of my pastrami.
“Who?” He frowns.
“The dude you were dating two weeks ago.”
“Oh. Right. I have no idea.”
I raise a brow. “What happened?”
“He’s an idiot. Took one and a half dates to figure it out.”
“Faster than the last one.” I shrug and polish off the sandwich, then sigh in happiness. “Should I be this in love with a sandwich?”
“It’s a pretty good sandwich,” he says. “What else is going on with you?”
“What do you mean?”
Christopher rolls his eyes. “I’m your best friend, Nora. Something’s been up with you, I just haven’t been able to put my finger on it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were having man issues, but we got rid of that issue last year.”
I sigh and toss my garbage in the recycle bin and then lead him to the living room where we sit on my incredibly comfortable couch. “Okay, I’m just going to be blunt.”
“That’s the way we do things, honey.”
“Why do I suddenly think Carter’s hot?”
“Uh, because he is hot. Duh.” Christopher tilts his head. “Please don’t tell me you’re just now figuring that out. I mean, I understand that you were married, but you weren’t dead.”
“I’ve always known he’s handsome, but he’s my boss, and up until a year ago, I was married.”
“To an idiot, and like I said, not dead,” he says, but I ignore him. I stand and pace the living room.