could almost see that first paycheck. “I know math up to advanced calculus, and all the basic sciences, like biology, chemistry and physics. English and history are also a go, though I can’t help you with French; I’m not too good there. But with your mom, you’re probably an expert.”
Gemma smiled back at this.
“So what do you do for fun?” she asked.
“Hmm.” I paused and wiped my hands on a napkin. This line of questioning was trickier. A teenager probably expected me, a twenty-four-year-old, to have an active social life. Every cool twenty-something-year-old was supposed to have one. Should I admit I didn’t? She would think I was lame, and therefore unworthy. “With school, I don’t really have a lot of free time. But I do like to read, listen to music, and go out with my friends.”
Gemma perked up in her seat.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Ah … ” This was sticky territory. No, I did not have a boyfriend. I hadn’t had one in the past six months. Was it my fault all law school guys were emotional disasters, interested only in sex and their future glorious careers? And Markus didn’t count, because I didn’t like him back. “Not at the moment.”
“Well, don’t worry,” Gemma said reassuringly; she seemed ready to pat my hand. To a teenage girl, a lack of a boyfriend was probably a horrifying prospect. “I think you’d be perfect for Maman’s assistant. You’re really his type. Julian only dates tall, thin girls with long dark hair.”
Julian? Assistant? Was she talking about Mr. GQ? Gorgeous Mr. GQ? Perfect Mr. GQ? Potentially available and straight Mr. GQ?
“Well, I don’t know … ” I hedged when a snort cut me off.
Gemma snapped her head around to face her brother.
“Xander, shut up. If you’re going to sit there and say nothing, then don’t interrupt, or I’ll tell Maman .”
“Whatever,” Xander sneered.
“Gemma, Xander,” I began, figuring I should say something to regain some semblance of authority in Xander’s eyes. It wouldn’t do for him to think I was a loser who couldn’t get a date without the help of a fourteen-year-old. But I had no clue what to say. Luckily, the food arrived and cut off all need for further reprimands.
The tantalizing aroma of grilled cheese and hamburger had my stomach grumbling. The day’s events must have been draining, because suddenly I was ravenous. I bit into my sandwich and grabbed for a napkin when hot, melted cheese oozed out.
“Sorry,” I said to no one in particular as I waved a hand in front of my face to cool it off. “The sandwich is really hot.”
After smearing ketchup all over his fries and burger, Xander gulped half of his plate down with one bite. Gemma just toyed with her salad. She nibbled on a tomato, returned most of it to her plate and repeated the process with a cucumber.
“That’s a nice top you’re wearing,” Gemma said as she pointed her cucumber-adorned fork at my halter. “Is it Armani?”
I fingered the shirt’s corded fabric. It felt coarse against my palm, like burlap. “Yes, how’d you know?”
“ Maman shot an ad campaign for them last year,” Gemma replied as she pushed her plate away and sipped water. “The salad’s not good here. I think I’m done. So, do you like Armani?”
I eyed Gemma’s greens. Of course the salad wasn’t good; it didn’t have any dressing. “Do you want to share my fries?” I offered.
“I don’t know,” Gemma said slowly as she eyed the fries. “I’m not as skinny as you and Xander. He can eat anything and not gain an ounce. You two are sooo lucky. Maman says I should watch what I eat so I don’t get any bigger. The world doesn’t give many opportunities to big girls.”
I gaped. Again.
Sure, Gemma wasn’t model thin. She was a healthy-looking size six teenager with curves in all the right places. She didn’t have her mother’s height or shape yet, but she was still growing. “Gemma,” I sighed, “when I was your age my
Gemma smiled back at this.
“So what do you do for fun?” she asked.
“Hmm.” I paused and wiped my hands on a napkin. This line of questioning was trickier. A teenager probably expected me, a twenty-four-year-old, to have an active social life. Every cool twenty-something-year-old was supposed to have one. Should I admit I didn’t? She would think I was lame, and therefore unworthy. “With school, I don’t really have a lot of free time. But I do like to read, listen to music, and go out with my friends.”
Gemma perked up in her seat.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Ah … ” This was sticky territory. No, I did not have a boyfriend. I hadn’t had one in the past six months. Was it my fault all law school guys were emotional disasters, interested only in sex and their future glorious careers? And Markus didn’t count, because I didn’t like him back. “Not at the moment.”
“Well, don’t worry,” Gemma said reassuringly; she seemed ready to pat my hand. To a teenage girl, a lack of a boyfriend was probably a horrifying prospect. “I think you’d be perfect for Maman’s assistant. You’re really his type. Julian only dates tall, thin girls with long dark hair.”
Julian? Assistant? Was she talking about Mr. GQ? Gorgeous Mr. GQ? Perfect Mr. GQ? Potentially available and straight Mr. GQ?
“Well, I don’t know … ” I hedged when a snort cut me off.
Gemma snapped her head around to face her brother.
“Xander, shut up. If you’re going to sit there and say nothing, then don’t interrupt, or I’ll tell Maman .”
“Whatever,” Xander sneered.
“Gemma, Xander,” I began, figuring I should say something to regain some semblance of authority in Xander’s eyes. It wouldn’t do for him to think I was a loser who couldn’t get a date without the help of a fourteen-year-old. But I had no clue what to say. Luckily, the food arrived and cut off all need for further reprimands.
The tantalizing aroma of grilled cheese and hamburger had my stomach grumbling. The day’s events must have been draining, because suddenly I was ravenous. I bit into my sandwich and grabbed for a napkin when hot, melted cheese oozed out.
“Sorry,” I said to no one in particular as I waved a hand in front of my face to cool it off. “The sandwich is really hot.”
After smearing ketchup all over his fries and burger, Xander gulped half of his plate down with one bite. Gemma just toyed with her salad. She nibbled on a tomato, returned most of it to her plate and repeated the process with a cucumber.
“That’s a nice top you’re wearing,” Gemma said as she pointed her cucumber-adorned fork at my halter. “Is it Armani?”
I fingered the shirt’s corded fabric. It felt coarse against my palm, like burlap. “Yes, how’d you know?”
“ Maman shot an ad campaign for them last year,” Gemma replied as she pushed her plate away and sipped water. “The salad’s not good here. I think I’m done. So, do you like Armani?”
I eyed Gemma’s greens. Of course the salad wasn’t good; it didn’t have any dressing. “Do you want to share my fries?” I offered.
“I don’t know,” Gemma said slowly as she eyed the fries. “I’m not as skinny as you and Xander. He can eat anything and not gain an ounce. You two are sooo lucky. Maman says I should watch what I eat so I don’t get any bigger. The world doesn’t give many opportunities to big girls.”
I gaped. Again.
Sure, Gemma wasn’t model thin. She was a healthy-looking size six teenager with curves in all the right places. She didn’t have her mother’s height or shape yet, but she was still growing. “Gemma,” I sighed, “when I was your age my
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