“Then we don’t have to.” My voice is stiffer than I’d like. The voice of graciousness.
“Okay. And I’m not expected to quit my job or anything, right? I mean, I have to work.”
I frown at the way she says it, like she’s worried about becoming a streetwalker to make ends meet. Doesn’t she know by now that I would never fire her or let anything like that happen to her?
I wish I could open her head and look inside. Just to see what’s going on behind those wide blue eyes.
“Nothing has to change, Erin. Unless you’re tired of seeing my mug from Monday to Friday, you’re always going to be my assistant.”
“Thanks.” She gives me the first genuine smile since this debacle started. And the simmering tension in my shoulders and gut eases a notch.
“There’s one more thing,” Erin says. “I remember reading an article about some companies having anti-fraternization policies. Does Sweet Darlings? HR gave me a folder with the company’s standard operating procedures and policies, but I, um, haven’t read it other than the section on benefits.” She says it like she’s confessing to some humiliating deed.
I snort. “I doubt it. And even if there is, I don’t think anybody cares.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, Jan and Matt hooked up while working for the company. And before you ask, yes, Grandma knew about it.”
“Maybe they asked her for permission first.”
“Ha! They didn’t. Trust me, I know. Matt didn’t bother to ask until he was certain Jan was the woman for him. Anyway, don’t worry about it. Grandma is too fair to apply rules selectively. And while she did used to be ambivalent about interoffice dating, she’s loosened up since Jan and Matt got married.”
She sighs like a great burden has been lifted. “Okay.”
The elevator opens, revealing the gray concrete garage. I keep my finger on the button just in case we need to go back up, but the parking structure is dead. Empty of people. Just a few vehicles here and there.
“Where’s your car?” I ask.
“Over there.” She jerks a thumb behind her. “I should probably take it. Make things easier.”
True. She wants to feel as independent and normal as possible, and that obviously includes driving her own car. We can take the west exit, which is on the opposite side of the building from the lobby, and make a loop a couple of blocks later to evade the media.
“Let me text you the jeweler’s address,” I say, pulling out my phone.
“My phone broke during the whole…melee outside. I dropped it.” She sighs. “I’ll just follow you.”
“Okay,” I say, hiding the annoyance bubbling inside again. I should’ve anticipated what Shelly would do. It’s just…I don’t remember her being this crazy. Or did I just not notice back then because I was an idiotically indulgent boyfriend?
I make a mental note to pay for Erin’s new phone. All this crap happened because I asked her to come to the auction as my date, so I feel partially responsible for her loss. I climb into the Lamborghini, then wait for Erin to bring her Corolla around.
I lead the way, careful not to lose her. I yield when I don’t have to. And I even manfully restrain myself from whipping around a driver who’s crawling along like an arthritic octogenarian tortoise.
Masako Hayashi’s boutique finally comes into view. It’s one of the most exclusive jewelers in the country, and when I thought I was in love with Shelly, I was planning to commission a s
pecial piece from Hayashi herself for the proposal.
The ridiculous irony that I’m about to buy a ring for my assistant whom I’m fake engaged to isn’t lost on me. Still, Erin deserves nothing less. I tell myself everyone will expect something grand on her finger, and try to ignore the niggling feeling that I myself want to place something exquisite on it.
I pull into the lot and kill the engine, then exit the car. Erin parks next to me and climbs out.
She looks at the entrance. “Are you sure this is where you want to buy a ring?” she asks, biting her lower lip. “This place looks expensive, and it’s just for three months.”
I try not to laugh at how adorably stingy she’s being. “Yeah, but nobody’s going to believe us if I get you one from just anywhere. Masako Hayashi makes some of the best pieces around. We don’t have time to get custom work done, but we should be able to find something suitable.”
Erin hesitates, then nods. “Okay, but nothing too expensive.”
“You should be working in accounting,” I tease. The new head of accounting, who started two months ago, is a capital C cheapskate. If he could, he’d replace all our break room snacks with Walmart-clearance stuff.