Well that was fast, I thought as I sorted through old tabloid magazines. Only this morning I had needed a job and not only had I been offered one but I was already starting work. It all happened so fast, I realized I hadn’t even asked Edgar what the hours were or more importantly, what my salary was. But truth be told, I was desperate for work, so even if the pay was awful, I could use this as a stop gap till I got a better job. And anything to keep my mind off David was a good thing. I kept having flashbacks to that night in the restaurant. The beautiful redhead laughing and then the surprise and guilt in David’s eyes when he saw me. I shuddered, and pushed the memory aside.

I had a feeling I wouldn’t be bored working for Edgar. Working for a private investigator seemed much more exciting than a ‘normal’ office. I glanced over at Edgar. He didn’t look up from his computer. He was cute, in a kind of nerdy way. He was leaner and paler than David, and where David always had his blond hair slicked back, Edgar’s dark brown hair looked mussed, like he might have forgotten to comb it this morning. And considering how absent minded he seemed about certain things, such as the time he scheduled my interview, I wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t combed his hair. But still, it was a bit attractive. What was I saying? No, my new boss was not attractive and I was not comparing him to my ex-boyfriend. The last thing I needed was another man in my life. Anyway, Edgar was also incredibly rude.

“Do you want some coffee?” Edgar asked me after about an hour.

“Yeah, that would be great,” I said, touched by his thoughtfulness. I had been organizing magazines and stood up and stretched.

“Great, I’ll have two sugars, no cream,” he said, not looking up from his computer.

Oh. Of course. I banished all thoughts of him being considerate.

“Sure. Do you have a coffee maker?” I hadn’t seen one, but one might be hiding under all the piles of stuff Edgar had lying around.

“No. There’s a coffee shop around the corner.” Edgar waved vaguely in a terrible attempt at directions.

“Ok,” I said. I waited for better directions, but Edgar was already completely enraptured by whatever he was doing on his computer. Finally, I just left his office. When I got outside, I did a search of coffee shops on my phone to find the one he was referring to, which had not been in the direction he had waved at. I was halfway there before I realized Edgar hadn’t even given me money for his coffee.

I got back to the office twenty minutes later with my own iced caramel latte and his coffee, hot with two sugars. I set his coffee next to him on his desk. I waited for a moment for thanks or money for the coffee or even acknowledgement. Absently, he took a sip of the coffee, but didn’t so much as look up from his work. I gave up and went back to sorting the magazines.

“Must be pretty interesting stuff you’re looking up,” I said, to break the silence.

“Do you always talk about inane things? I’m looking up stuff that is important to my work, otherwise, I wouldn’t be doing it.”

That was rude, I thought, but bit back a response. I reminded myself that I needed this job.

 

A few hours later there came a knock on the door. I looked over at Edgar. Without looking at me he said, “Aren’t you going to answer it? That is what I’m paying you for.”

I wanted to ask him how much he was paying me for this, but instead, I got up and opened the door. In truth, I had been sorting tabloids by date for several hours and was dying for a break in the monotony.

A famous actor stood on the other side of the door. He was Hollywood-handsome with chiseled features and brilliant white teeth. Even though he was wearing sunglasses and a long coat I could still tell he was the leading man in several action films David had taken me to see. I couldn’t think of his name, but my mouth hung open in surprise.

He looked almost as surprised to see me. Finally, he said, “Where is Mr. Rake?”

“I’m over here,” Edgar called from across the room. For a moment, I had forgotten that he was even there.  I shuffled aside to let the actor in. He passed me with little regard and hurried over to Edgar.

“Who is that?” the actor said, gesturing to me. “I was promised strict confidentiality.”

“That is Ms. Saunders, my new assistant,” Edgar said. He pulled himself away from the computer to look at the movie star. “Don’t worry. She won’t say anything to anyone, you can trust me.” The movie star relaxed. I was surprised Edgar had vouched for me. How did he know I wouldn’t say anything to anyone? I mean, I wouldn’t, but still, he barely knew me.

“Do you have them?” the movie star asked, sounding anxious. It was strange to hear him sound so desperate. In the films I had seen him in, he always sounded cool and charming. Right now, he sounded worried.

“Of course,” Edgar answered, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a manila envelope, which he handed to the movie star. “That is why you pay me the big bucks.”

“Yes, of course. Just send Charlene the bill.” The movie star opened the envelope and quickly checked its contents. Looking satisfied, he closed the envelope. “These are good. Thank you, Mr. Rake.”

“Always a pleasure doing business with you,” Edgar said.

And without delay, the actor swept out of the office and practically slammed the door shut in his haste to leave.

“Was that who I think it was?” I asked, still feeling the situation had been surreal.

“Likely. Do you have a boyfriend who takes you to loud action movies? If so, then the answer is yes.”

“Well, I used to,” I admitted. Truthfully, I didn’t like violent movies, but I hated the way Edgar seemed to pry into the details of my life.

“So, what did he want?” I asked, wondering if Edgar would tell me.

“He wanted what every cheated lover wants.”

“Proof?” I guessed.

“No, he wanted revenge for a broken heart. But he needs proof to get said revenge.”

“And in that envelope was proof?” I ventured.

“Yes. Photos. Photos usually work wonders for that sort of thing. It’s hard to argue with an image. Now he can take his wife to court and cut her spousal support by half in the divorce. Really, hardly seems worth screwing the personal trainer at that cost.”

“Is this all you do?” I asked, curious. “Just find proof of spouses cheating?”

“Occasionally there is something else, but this is what pays the bills. Love rarely lasts and even more rarely stays faithful.”

“That’s a pretty jaded view of relationships,” I said before I could stop myself. To my surprise, I believed it, despite my recent breakup. Edgar actually got up and looked at me. His amber eyes were more intense than I had seen them. He stepped closer to me, so close that for a crazy moment I thought he might lean in and kiss me. I imagined his smooth lips on mine, but quickly banished the thought.

“Bernadette, you will save yourself a lot of pain in the future if you understand now that love is a fairytale and fairytales aren’t true. They are made up fabrications constructed so that men and women will get together and have babies, thus continuing the human race. Love is not a happily ever after, it is a temporary rush of hormones directed at one person, but eventually will be directed at another. Got it?” His eyes were blazing now, and I didn’t understand why he was so insistent, even if it was his job to find cheaters.

“Ok,” I whispered. For a moment, I thought Edgar might say more, but he just looked at me and sighed.

“You probably won’t get it until it’s too late,” he lamented as he returned to his computer.

I wanted to point out that I had my heart broken just a few days ago, but that didn’t mean I would stop believing in love. I suddenly pitied my new boss. The world would be a cold place without love.

“You know, why don’t you go home?”

“What?” I had started back on my organizing task and was surprised by the suggestion. It was only 3:15 p.m.

“Did you not hear me?” Edgar asked, annoyed. “Go home.”

“Umm, am I being fired?” I genuinely didn’t know. Maybe I wasn’t cynical enough about love.

“No, you’re not fired, at least not today. I have investigating to do, out of the office. So why don’t you go home? That stuff,” he gestured to the disarray of magazines and books, “can wait till tomorrow.”

“Um, ok,” I said, not sure how else to respond. “What time should I be in tomorrow?”

“8:00 a.m. sharp.”

I sighed, but didn’t think Edgar heard it.