Benedict clears his throat. “In the interests of full disclosure…”
Ah shit.
“…it’s a woman.”
Disbelief runs through me. The rib that my former assistant cracked starts throbbing, as though it’s trying to communicate.
But maybe there’s hope. “Tell me she’s a lesbian.”
“Uh, that information isn’t generally included on a résumé. But Kim Sanford vouched for her.”
“Who’s that?”
“Salazar Pryce’s assistant. You know, the head of the Pryce family, the rich people who seem to own half the nice things around here?”
“Okay…” I still don’t know why I should care about this woman’s opinion one way or the other.
“He used to be a womanizer, and he only hired hot young chicks—competence optional—so he could charm them, fire them and later lure them into bed. Kim’s pretty, but she never fell for him. Ever. Which is why she’s been his assistant for years now.”
“Maybe he’s too ugly to fuck,” I say.
“Actually, he’s quite handsome. He could’ve been a model if he’d wanted.”
Benedict’s taste is questionable at times, but not when it comes to people’s looks. I credit his time with me for that.
He adds, “Anyway, it’s this same Kim who said this candidate’s golden.”
Golden, huh? “Did you talk with the temp yourself?”
“Not yet. But I texted with Kim. She said the woman has no interest in your face or body. Or money.”
I can feel myself sliding into extreme skepticism. No interest in my face or body, okay. She might not play for my team. But combine that with no interest in my money? “That’s like somebody claiming to have found the Loch Ness Monster in the toddler pool in their backyard.”
Benedict uses his selective hearing to filter out what he doesn’t want to acknowledge. “So, I arranged for an interview on Sunday afternoon. After your lunch with Tim.”
“What time?”
“At three, at the Aylster Hotel.”
Smart. My agent can be a bit long-winded, especially when he’s in a good mood.
Benedict adds, “I already have the suite reserved.” There’s a wide smile in his voice.
He shouldn’t have wasted time on this. The Loch Ness Monster isn’t real. But I don’t have the heart to tell him, because he sounds deliriously hopeful and isn’t going to give up until he sees for himself.
I slump in my seat, already hating that I have to “interview” a potential stalker. But seeing her at the hotel means she won’t know where I live. So that’s some consolation.
“Okay,” I say finally. “But don’t get too excited. She may not work out, in which case you’ll have to delay your time off.”
Benedict’s not listening. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. That way, you’ll text her, not me, for the next two months when you land at a quarter to midnight.”
“Even if she does work out, you’re always going to be the first person I text when I land.” It’s a good line. Simultaneously shows how much I value him and crushes his hopeless dream.
“Mmm. Can’t decide if I should be flattered or horrified,” Benedict says. “In the interests of full disclosure, I intend to turn off my cell phone and cut off the Internet.”
“You? No phone or Internet? Ha!” Benedict’s addicted to social media. There’s no alert that doesn’t make him immediately reach for his phone.
He ignores me. “I left you the mountain of scripts that arrived. Actually, mountains arrived. Plural. But Tim pared them down to a single Himalayan peak.”