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'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
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