The Assistants by Camille Perri Page B

I was pretty sure Robert coined as a business-expense term in the first place—this was for stuff he bought in the shop. It might appear suspicious if I
didn’t
question him about it.
    I shot a look to his office. He was watching the wall of flat-screens across from his desk and he was alone, for once not on the phone. I had to go now.
    â€œUm, excuse me, Robert . . . ,” I said, entering invisibly and pointing to the charge, which I’d highlighted in the statement printout. “Does this look right to you?”
    â€œYes,” Robert said. “That was my golf meeting with Gary from the West Coast office. I forgot to have my clubs and shoes sent over from the hotel so I had to buy a new set.”
    â€œOf course.” I nearly bowed and crept back to my desk.
    Of course? Really, Tina? Do you hear yourself?
    Something had been stirred in me that I’d never felt before. Rather than going back to the hotel, or even sending a lackey back to the hotel, he’d just bought a whole new set of golf clubs? What the—
    Hiya
, Kevin chatted.
Lunch?
    I took a deep breath.
Sure. Meet you down there in five?
    How about out front?
    Wait. What? Like leave the building?
    It’s sunny out today
, he wrote, followed by a smiley face, which gave me pause. I was all for gender equality and all that, but let’s put it on the record here that no self-respecting man should implement the smiley or any emoticon, ever.
    !
I wrote back.
Ok.
    This is going to sound crazy, but I’d never seen Kevin outside in the light of day before. When we came face-to-face in front of the building, his eyes did this sparkly thing that reminded me of the attractive vampire from
Twilight
, and for a few seconds I was rendered utterly speechless. He wasn’t wearing his suit jacket and his shirtsleeves were rolled up the way Robert kept his, except Kevin’s arms were a golden brown with just the right amount of dark hair covering them. The sun also brought to light that I had a ketchup stain on the front of my pants from yesterday’s hamburger.
    â€œYou okay?” Kevin asked. “You look a little confused.”
    I nodded.
    He started walking forward and I followed. “What do you think of burgers and shakes from Lucky’s?” he asked.
    I think I’m in love
, I thought.
    We took our food order to go, in greasy paper bags, and walked across Columbus Circle to Central Park. He helped me up the giant prehistoric-looking rock just off the playground and shooed away some bratty kids having a water pistol fight. It was all too good to be true.
    â€œIs this an occasion of some sort?” I asked, unfolding the waxy wrapping on my burger.
    â€œNo, not really.” He was already chewing his first massive bite. How did guys do that? I was no slouch when it came to rushing greasy meat into my mouth and he still had me beat by a solid thirty-five seconds.
    â€œNot
really
?” I said.
    â€œNo, I just . . .”
    Here it comes
, I thought.
The part where I find out what he wants from me.
    â€œEmily Johnson,” he said. “She . . .”
    I knew it. He was intimidated by Connecticut Barbie and was calling on fainthearted Skipper for assistance. I wanted to stand up on that brontosaurus rock, raise my fists, and scream out all the way to Sheep Meadow: I knew it, you predictable motherfucker!
    â€œShe told me she’s been staying with you,” he said, staring down at his fries. “Which I found surprising because Emily can be kind of . . .”
    He was fiddling with his food the way guys who are sexually frustrated peel at the labels of their beer bottles. I took this for a tell: he wanted to bone Emily.
    â€œWell,” he said, fiddling on. “From my perspective, it wouldn’t seem like you two would be friends, but I guess I was wrong about that.”
    â€œYou wanted to sit down to lunch so you could unravel the mystery of