Comfort Object (6 page)

I obediently said “cheese,” but Jeremy said “provolone” and looked over at me, so it ended up looking like he was giving me a kiss. We laughed as we crowded together over the small digital-camera screen to look at the photo.

“I'll print it out tonight!” said Guillermo. “Next time you come, you sign!”

The whole way home I couldn't get the solid, warm feel of his body against mine out of my head.

* * *

He did come back, just a few days later, right before closing time again. I was half-annoyed, half-joyous. A little part of me fantasized that he'd come back just to see me. He'd definitely flirted with me last time.

“I'll have the usual,” he said when I came to his table.

“Raspberry-walnut vinaigrette and all?”

“Yes, whatever Little Nell suggests.”

The name jolted me for a moment. I looked for irony in his eyes, but he just smiled and handed back the menu.

I headed to the kitchen. No, he couldn't know. I was actually rather little, barely five feet tall and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. That's probably why he called me Little Nell. If he'd ever been to the club, I would have known. I would have heard the gossip. I went back out with his beer and set it on the table.

“Can you sit and have a beer with me?” he asked.

I glanced around the restaurant. Another couple was still lingering over their meal. “I'm not supposed to sit down with the customers while I'm working.”

He smiled. “So you're a good little worker, are you?”

“I try to be.”

“I need someone like you. I need an assistant. Do you have any friends looking for a job?”

I opened my mouth and then closed it, but he got the hint.

“Or maybe you're looking for a better job. You like waitressing here?”

I shrugged and looked away. All of a sudden, his eyes really intimidated me. Or maybe I was just afraid he'd see how desperate I was for his job. I wondered how much he'd pay. Somehow I knew it would be more than I made working for Guillermo, tips and all.

“God, you don't know how tempting that is. But Guillermo…they're so nice here. I would hate to leave him and his wife high and dry.”

Jeremy sighed. “And loyal too. There's got to be a way to lure you away from here.”

I laughed softly. “I don't know. If you keep talking to me and keeping me from the other customers, maybe you'll get me fired.”

“Excellent plan. I'll get you fired, and then you'll have to come work for me.”

“Or just offer me a lot of money. A salary I can't refuse.”

I laughed, but he looked at me soberly. “I actually would like to find an assistant like you. Pleasant, responsible, loyal”—he smiled—“and a little bit fun. Think about it?”

“Well…”
Don't sound desperate!
“Yeah. I… Yeah. You need an assistant starting when?”

“I'll be traveling a lot in the upcoming weeks. I need someone right away. Someone who's free to travel, who can keep me organized and sane while I work on location.”

I looked over at the couple across the restaurant, their empty glasses and frowns of impatience.

“Mr. Gray, excuse me. I have to—”

“Go on. Come and talk to me later. But think about it.”

“I will.”

Think about it
. God, as if I had to think about it. Personal assistant to Jeremy Gray. Travel, exotic locations, and the movie-star life on movie-star sets and in movie-star hotels. Wow. And I would rub shoulders with him all the time.
Him
, Jeremy Gray. Hot, nice, friendly, sexy, famous movie-star man. Every day. I would see him every day, wouldn't I, if I were his personal assistant? What was there to think about?

I filled glasses and gave the other table their check. They gave me a shitty tip when they left, but I didn't care. I was already picturing handing Guillermo my two weeks' notice and riding off with Jeremy Gray into the movie-star sunset. When I returned to his table he was on the phone, so I hovered around the bar and the kitchen, dying to talk to him. Finally, at the end of the meal, he gave me his business card.

“Listen, Nell, I'd love to talk to you more about this job, if you're interested.”

“Yes, to be honest, I am interested.” I tried to keep the desperate adulation out of my voice.

“Maybe we can meet over dinner to discuss it. What evening would be best?”

“I'm off Monday.” Damn, it was only Thursday, but Guillermo really needed me on the weekend nights. “Or we could do lunch.”

“I'd prefer dinner. A nice place where we can sit and chat and talk things over. How about Monday night at the Diplomat? Dinner, you and me.”

“
Dinner, you and me
.” Swoon. He was being very proper and businesslike, but my imagination was in overdrive.

“That sounds great, Mr. Gray.”

“Call me Jeremy. Mr. Gray makes me feel old. Tell me your number and where you live, and I'll pick you up.”

Oh my God, oh my God.

While I was trying to choke down the thought that I was going to go to dinner with a movie star like Jeremy Gray, Guillermo hustled over with the eight-by-ten photo of us for Jeremy to sign.

He signed it,
To Guillermo and to Little Nell, the best server on earth
, but I was too distracted and excited at that moment to really think about what he meant by that.

* * *

No, I didn't get it. I was off in outer space, in la-la land, in Groupieville. I couldn't wait for Monday to arrive, and I actually spent all day Monday primping and plucking and waxing like it was some kind of date instead of a business meeting. I couldn't help it. A little voice inside me kept saying, He flirted with you. He said you were fun, pleasant. He smiled. He pulled you close to pose for a picture, and it looks like he was kissing you.
I know
. I had the picture on my wall. I had begged Guillermo for another copy, and he'd handed it to me with a smile.

Poor Guillermo. He had no idea I was planning to leave him, but if Jeremy offered me a job, I was gone.

On Monday night Jeremy picked me up at my door like a gentleman, and I didn't invite him in although I had worked all day to ensure my apartment looked chic and organized from his vantage point at the doorway.

This is about a job. It's about a job, I kept reminding myself, but a part of me couldn't stop thinking about how
personal
a personal assistant might get with a person she helped. Especially if that person was someone nice and handsome and perfect and unattached like Jeremy Gray.

I somehow managed not to simper about how incredibly handsome he looked in his suit and tie, or how totally awesome his big movie-star SUV was. I tried to hide how sexy I thought it was when he tossed the keys to the valet, and how wet it made me when he swept into the restaurant and all the bigwigs started kowtowing to him. I was even able to subdue my impulse to jump him when he led me to the table with his hand just barely touching my back. I felt like a princess when he pulled out my chair. Finally we were seated at our private table, wineglasses in hand.

“You look lovely,” he said, raising his glass to me.

I tried to look appropriately modest. Sure, I had agonized for almost two days over the simple black dress I had on, the low-heeled but stylish black pumps I wore. Businesslike yet hip and fun. Isn't that what a personal assistant of Jeremy Gray's would need to look like? I knew he was single now, but his last girlfriend had been really beautiful and fun and stylish, just like him. It was like a currency. Style and desirability. I wanted him to want me for the job.

We small talked awhile, mostly him asking questions.
Where are you from? How did you end up in LA? Previous jobs?
I edited of course, feeling slightly guilty about it. Would he hire me if he knew I'd worked at a private BDSM club for the last five years? And was it totally dishonest of me not to mention it? There was always a chance that something about my former job might come out and make him look bad. But I didn't think so. BDSM people were nothing if not universally, protectively discreet.

And Jeremy was so encouraging and funny. God, I desperately wanted to work for this man.

The food arrived, but I was almost too freaked-out to eat it. My hand shook as I reached for my wineglass. Of course he noticed.

“Are you nervous? Don't be. I've already decided I want you for the job.”

“You have?”

“If you want it, yes, it's yours. I decided it a while ago. That first night I met you actually. When I came in late and you really just wanted to go home, but you were nice to me instead.”

I smiled. “I try to be nice to everyone. It's one of the worst things about me.”

“No, not at all. I think it's great, Nell. I really do. And I hope you really are available to travel, and you really do think this job would be a good fit, and that you'll find my salary is fair.” He told me a number then that made me choke on my salad.

“I know it sounds high.” He paused as I tried to compose myself. “But I have to admit, I haven't been completely honest with you yet about the demands of the job.”

“You must have a lot of stresses and inconveniences to deal with on location.”

“I do. It's extremely difficult to go to one of these shoots, constantly traveling, working, doing PR, all the little things. I really need someone with me who I can depend on. I mean, it's a complicated job, but it's really very simple. I just need someone to get me what I need when I need it, to keep me happy and focused and able to work.”

“Sure,” I said, but the look on his face was weirding me out a little. He reached for the small portfolio he'd carried in.

“I brought this paperwork along, just for you to look over. You don't have to sign anything or agree to take the job right now. This just sort of lays things out for you, what your duties, tasks, expectations would be.” He opened it up and handed me a long, single-spaced document in dense legalese.