I grimly went to speak to Franca because I needed to ask for time off. She normally wouldn’t be so harsh about giving time off, but this time around might be different. Not only would she be temporarily losing me, she had already temporarily lost Alessandra.

That meant that from a staffing standpoint, she might find herself cut down to the minimum for at least a week or so, possibly even longer. When that is tied in with the fact that a possibly huge deal was pending, it was nerve-wracking.

I stood right behind the door to her office. I knew that she was in there. She didn’t say anything to me, but I saw her rush in when she was carrying a burrito. That was often her lunch. It was usually something filling that was quick to heat – a burrito, slice of pizza, or TV dinner. That’s how she sustained herself.

I lifted my hand right up to her door and let out a deep exhale. I knocked three times, and heard her in the office. “Hello?”

Now, this was a tricky game to play. Try to imagine this. I had to leave town to go on a business trip with a guy who was mostly a stranger. My company wouldn’t get the huge contract unless I did that. I had to pull that off, when one of three of our employees was seriously hurt.

There’s more to the picture, though. I had to do it in a manner where my boss and Alessandra would not come to the conclusion that I was sleeping with him. I’m willing to be flexible and work, but I’m not willing to be denoted as a slut.

In fact, it was probably better that they didn’t even know where I was going or what I was doing. So, here’s the recap: I would ask for time off, for a confidential reason, to go to a secret place, for a matter that I can’t discuss – while my boss was already short one third of her staff. Needless to say, that’s a hard sale.

And this so-called ‘sale’ would come from a lady who is shy and has never professionally sold anything before. There is a big difference between being the assistant to a company that sells, and being the actual person that sells. An assistant is a supporter who helps. A seller is an initiator who charges and leads.

I slowly and delicately opened the door. I presented myself by smiling as I looked over at her.

Her desk was a mess, and so was she. She is normally the type of woman who has a folder, which gets put into a binder, which gets put in the filing cabinet. She’s that organized and thorough. As psycho as it sounds, she even has her full day planned out – from lunch breaks, and even bathroom breaks. Everything has a schedule and a place.

She looked horrible and I took pity on her. She had large and bulged bags under her eyes. I could see the capillary veins sticking out, too. Her hair wasn’t brushed or combed into place – sort of like how someone looks when they get out of bed in the morning.

Her company shirt that she was wearing had huge wrinkles in it. At least it looked clean. I don’t think she had any makeup on. I can usually see her cheeks that have a blush, along with lightly colored cheeks. There was no eyeliner.

I always notice the eyes, too. They were bloodshot and tired. My poor boss had been through hell lately. It might not sound bad to lose just one employee, but with our company, that was one third of the workforce. That’s huge.

I gave a small wave to her by just flicking my palm at her. “Hey Franca. How are you holding out?”

She gave her eyes a long, and slow blink as she looked over at me. “Well, I’ve been better but I think I’ll survive. Alessandra has been having physical therapy and other treatments a lot, but she’ll come around eventually. In the meantime, we’ll just have to make do.”

I slowly and carefully nodded my head as I listened to her. If I was in her shoes, I would be a nervous wreck, too. It’s times like these when I take great comfort in the fact that I’m an assistant, and not the owner of such a business.

I remember a story Franca had told me about when she first started her business. She said that she didn’t have any employees, and could not afford them. She had a venture capital loan that needed to be paid. She needed sales, and pushed herself to near death to make them.

She told me about her first big contract with a company called Hess Hotels. It was a contract to decorate their six hotels in the area, and the deal was just over $50,000. She said that back then, it felt like a gold mine to her.

Needless to say, she had to work around the clock just to make it happen. She told me that at one point, she worked a thirty six hour shift just so she could make a deadline. “Thank God for coffee.” she would say with a laugh after retelling the story many years later.

Anyway, that wasn’t the primary focal point for me. We needed to talk about me going out of town. There’s an old saying that with some situations ‘less is more’. Basically, that means that the less information one gives, the better off they will be. “Can I talk to you about something?”

She pushed a binder aside and looked right over at me. Her tired eyes were focused – as horrible and tired as they looked. “Unless you’re going to tell me that you’re quitting, or pregnant, then sure. Otherwise, I’ll take a rain check” she said with a quipping laugh.

I snickered a few times and laid that concern to rest. “No, no. I don’t have anything like that. I needed to talk to you about a business trip that I need to take. It’s very important.”

She leaned back in her chair and hummed pointedly. “A business trip? I wasn’t aware of any business trip. What exactly are you doing?”

So, the questions would be asked and the details would be demanded. Great. So, I did just one thing – I lied. I lied my ass off because I really needed to leave town, and I couldn’t tell her why. I would have looked like a true idiot if I told her that I had to leave town to go to Las Vegas and pretend to be someone’s girlfriend. “I need to go to Vegas because my brother owns a restaurant and was asking about décor” I said as I dishonestly put forward the fake agenda.

She rose her eyes and titled her head just a little bit. I think she bought it. I think so, but I’m not certain. “Well, that’s obviously not a bad thing. What restaurant chain does he run?”

Now I was in a pickle. I could give her a real restaurant chain, but if she did just a little homework, she would easily discover that I was lying. I had to concoct a story that was believable and sensible. “He’s opened a couple of buffet places, and needs some wall décor” I said as I tried to change over the subject. “I told him that visiting him would be better than watching football, eh?”

I knew that would strike a nerve with her, because she hates football. She just doesn’t understand how the brutal sport could be so fun or interesting. “Well, you’ve got a good point there. So, when do you need to go?”

“Wednesday” I said. I was relieved that she was buying my story. She hates liars, though. I quietly hoped that she would never find out about what I really did.

She took a sip of her coffee and firmly clashed the coffee cup onto the table. I don’t think she was mad at me. As far as she could tell, I was doing the trip to make money. In actuality, that’s exactly what I was doing. I was just doing it…differently. “Okay, well, you better get packed and ready to go. I’m going to need more of this coffee – not because I’m angry, but because I need something to keep me fueled as I bust my butt. I guess that’s business – sometimes it is very tough.”

I had only spent one day on the trip thus far, but it was breathtaking and amazing. I was beginning to wonder if money really could buy happiness. I came to just one conclusion: even if money did not buy happiness, it sure went a long way toward relieving stress.

I’ll start by describing the plane we flew on. It was a private jet that was owned by him. We left when we wanted, and landed when we wanted – pending aviation regulations and approval of course. We made our own schedule, and that was just plain cool.

Then there was the comfort. It was so much better than economy class in a commercial plane. The seats were larger, leather, and much more spacious. I even had a little bit of reclining room.

In economy class on a commercial airline, everyone is crammed in and there isn’t a lot of extra space. Somewhat sarcastically, I say that if a large man farts, the person sitting next to him will feel the breeze because everyone is so crammed in. No matter how much fatter our country gets, the number of seats keep getting smaller.

In his plane, there is no noise or annoying kids to get in the way. I remember little ‘Jason’ who was a passenger on a plane when I was a kid. He was a little difficult, to say the least. Let me take a moment and describe what he was like.

Jason would walk around with chocolate on his hand and put it on your trousers. He would cough, burp, and sneeze. When he was upset about something, he would burst into tears and start loudly crying. He hated his airline snack and he made that clear. He did that for all two thousand miles of the trip.

With Tyler’s plane, we didn’t have to worry about that. There was just a small handful of us. We kept each other entertained. We didn’t have to wait to use the bathroom. We didn’t have to wait for everyone else to get off the plane.

Oh, and the food was amazing. Never in my life did I think I would be able to have a rib eye steak on an airplane. In the past, I usually got just a package of peanuts and a soft drink. Sometimes, I wouldn’t even get that.

The plane looked beautiful, too. The inside had a thick, light red carpet. It had the odor of an oceanic breeze – it smelled clean and tasteful. There was even a jack for tablets and portable devices. Naturally, there was also a sound system where we could listen to our music.

That was our airplane ride out to where we would be staying – which was a penthouse on the Strip. When I was younger, I always thought of penthouses as an old wives tale. They were fake. They were dreamy. They were just too cool to exist.

God help me, because I was very wrong. This place (and the grounds) had everything in it. It was like a paradise that existed in a city of premier entertainment. I’ll list just some of the things that I had. (I bet it had many more, but these were just the things I noticed).

First, there were sports games that we could play. They had a putting green for golfers, a tennis court, volleyball court, and two swimming pools. I also found out by asking someone there that they were in the middle of constructing a basketball court.

Then there was the entertainment. They had a bar that ran late into the night. They had hammocks, portable grills, lounges, sunrooms, an entertainment center, and even a place that held horses that could be ridden.

Tyler kept his word and reminded me that he wouldn’t try to sleep with me. He gave me my own separate room, which I liked. The room had a king sized bed, Egyptian cotton sheets, a TV, and it’s own bathroom. I felt like a queen. I was so glad I didn’t thumb my nose at him and walk in the other direction when he proposed this to me.

On top of that, this little trip would net me with a major contract for my company. I just couldn’t believe it. It seemed almost too good to be true. I know that things this great don’t just happen by accident.

On that note, I wondered about the ‘details’ that he refused to share with me. What was he hiding? What did he really want? Would he eventually tell me on his own, or would I have to ask him?

There was another funny quirk, too. When I was on the plane and flying over to his penthouse, he asked me questions about myself. He started by asking me where I was from. I didn’t reveal much, but I did tell him that I was from Texas.

And that’s something that almost made me feel hypocritical. He wanted to know more about me, and I refused to give him much info. In turn, I wanted to know what exactly was going on, and I wanted details. Okay, I’ll admit that’s not a fair position to take, but I’m a lot more nervous and shy than he is.

We had one night we were going to spend together at dinner before we would put ourselves into the business world in Vegas. It wasn’t a date. He made that clear, and it made me feel better. I didn’t want to date him. Or, did I want to date him?

We went to a candlelight dinner bordering a beautiful desert in the background. I liked how the wild colors of the sun contrasted with the country landscape in the background. They say that a sunrise in the desert is amazing. Well, I beg to differ. I think the sunset is where the real magic is.

We had a lovely meal – it was chicken marsala that was cooked in a red wine that was well-aged. On the side were sticks of asparagus and mashed potatoes.

The potatoes were the best that I have ever had in my life. I later tracked down one of the chefs and asked how the potatoes were made.

I was informed that they take just one type of potato – the Idaho Russet, and then leave just a few shreds of skin in the potato. Then, they blend in butter, cream cheese, and add many seasonings such as rosemary, garlic, salt, and pepper.

In other words, the potatoes were just barely potatoes, but boy they were good. In fact, I think it would be safe to say that I liked them more than the actual marsala. The appetizing chef salad was great, as was the cheesecake desert.

While we were eating, I wanted to talk to Tyler a little bit. Call it prying, call it snooping, or call it whatever. I knew nothing about the guy who was putting me in a world of luxury and prestige. Whatever this guy did, he made tons of money and was successful. Thus, that’s where I directed my first question. “So, Tyler? I was wondering if you could tell me about your work.”

He muttered out a one-word, annoying response “eh.”

Well, okay then. Maybe I should just keep it a little more general. He might just be the type of person who hates his work. God knows, I’ve fallen into that category many times. So, I kept it broad and open for him. “That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about your work. I guess I just feel like I don’t know anything about you. Can you tell me about yourself?”

He dropped his fork and it clanged onto his plate. He looked angrily over at me and pushed out a blunt response. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

So, I was able to confirm that the guy was still an asshole. Maybe that’s why he didn’t have a ring on his finger. Although, I didn’t have one on my finger either.

In my estimation, he was both arrogant and rude. There was another piece that was weird too. I refuse to come out and say it, but I think I was starting to develop a crush on him. Call me crazy, but I felt a little spark of attraction.

He had lips that weren’t plump and delicious, but also weren’t lean and nutritious. They were just right. I wanted to kiss them and hold him tightly. He had a macho look that I just love, too.

I wasn’t ready to jump into a new relationship yet. Not hardly. I just had a fairly messy breakup with my ex, and wasn’t going to rush into anything. If the right man came along, I would nab him and marry him. Was Tyler that guy? It was too early to tell, but the spark was there.