“What name do you want to use?”
“Umm.” Do I need an alias? “Angie, I guess.” I watch Dominic type, not sure why a secretary or personal assistant is not in the works for such a seemingly lucrative business. Surely they have the money to hire extra help.
“Okay to use your legal last name?”
I hesitate a second and still my fidgeting leg—a nervous habit I can’t seem to break.
“The site is password protected, and members have to pay an initial entrance fee to even be part of the agency. They, of course, have the routine background check done. All financial information done through payroll is encrypted using secure measures.” Dominic focuses on me for multiple seconds, looking over the open laptop.
“Sure, McFee.”
“Angie McFee. It does have a nice ring to it.”
Um, thanks?
“Age?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Birthday?”
“June tenth.”
“Height?”
“Five feet, five inches.”
“Eye color?”
“Hazel, I guess. There’s green in them too.”
Dominic shows his perfect teeth and types a few things into the computer. “Okay, got it. Next, describe your hair.”
“Medium brown, mid-back length, naturally wavy.”
“Weight?”
“About one forty-five.” On a good day. On a bad day binge, well…add five?
“Bra size?”
Seriously? How can he even ask this with such poise? He doesn’t even blush. But then again, guys don’t blush, do they? I watch open-mouthed as his eyes move to the screen, and he clicks the mouse button. His attention cuts back to me, staring into my eyes for my answer. At least he has the decency to linger there.
“34 C.”
He nods knowingly and glances at the screen, without typing anything additional.
How mortifying!
A feeling of being exposed makes me jerk my eyes down to make sure the V of my dress is in place. Strangely enough, Dominic doesn’t seem the slightest bit fazed.
“Are you a student? Have a second job?” And just like that the topic of my breasts is done.
“Student, yes. No second job,” I reply.
“Major?” he follows up.
“English.” Because saying investigative journalism is not something I should be broadcasting online. If I plan to use the agency in my future work, it’s best I do not tip anyone—especially my classy pimp boss—off with my secret agenda.