Page 27 of Nothing to No One

“The Pacific…? Alone?”

What was that? Why did she ask that? More’s the point, why did discomfort visit? Jealousy? No, she couldn’t, wouldn’t, go there.

“Working,” Mieux said.

“You miss the waves, U? Sun, sea, sand.”

“It was work.”

“Only felt like that because you were stuck with Ro.”

“You did a lot more wrangling than I did, which I’m grateful for.”

They just talked, openly, about how difficult Roman was? Like it was no secret, or something to be challenged, they just accepted it.

“It’s a bad habit,” Struan said.

To give him a default pass? Yeah, sure seemed that way.

“Enough about him,” Mieux said, setting her focus. “I’ve never been assistant to a colleague before, but I’m always willing to try new things and I can work with anyone.”

“As proven by your work with Roman,” Struan muttered.

“I doubt Bambi will be as demanding.”

“Assistant?” she asked. “I don’t need an assistant. That would just be—why would I need an assistant?”

“Think of me less of a personal assistant and more of a logistics coordinator.” Still none the wiser, she shook her head. “Your calendar’s filling up, and we have requests to vet.”

“Requests? What kind of requests?”

“Interviews, appearances, speaking opportunities…” Maybe it was her mouth falling open that set Mieux’s smile. “Things change fast when you’re in the headlines. I can advise which to accept and which to refuse, but ultimately, it’s up to you.”

“Let me see that,” Struan asked, tossing something in his mouth then extending a hand to Mieux.

It wasn’t possible to reach over the island, so the petite woman came around to put it in his hand.

“I don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t have any—why would people care what—it doesn’t matter that I—why do I suddenly matter?”

“Got a conflict of interest,” Struan said, scrolling down.

“I know,” Mieux said, dragging her folder around to open it. “And that’s not the worst thing…” Screwing up her face, the woman was contrite as she pushed the folder her way. “I have something you need to sign.”

“What is it?”

Mieux shot a pen over that she caught while trying to—Struan angled the document to read it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Mieux shrugged. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“What is it?”

“An NDA,” Mieux said. “I know you’ve signed one with Brooker, but this is different because it’s—”

“Personal.” The language seemed standard and she understood why it was necessary, but… “My boyfriend wants me to sign an NDA?”

It was difficult not to put “boyfriend” in air quotes or exaggerate the word. Admitting the relationship like it was true was icky. Because it was a lie, or because of the man? Best not to think too much about that.

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