Chapter 37: 36. Now I can pass out for real

"Are you okay?"

I flinched when I saw a hand being waved before my face. I blinked my eyes, realizing where I was. "Sorry." I murmured, lowering my glance.

"What's going on?" Ms. Benedetti asked, tilting her head to the side. "You've been distracted all week."

Where do I begin? My neighbor and best friend, who I thought was gay, is not only as straight as a damn arrow, but also has a 9-year-old daughter and he – incidentally, unbelievably, absurdly – confessed he's in love with me. Me, me!

On top of that, I have a boyfriend that also said he loves me, and he hasn't received an answer in weeks. He pretends he's cool with it but I can see the hurt look on his face every time we kiss or part – he hasn't repeated those words, but it is evident that he is waiting for me to say them back.

And how about the fact that my boyfriend not only still talks to my neighbor, but he's become friends with the daughter! Apparently, Jeremy and Elle spent some time at the zoo while her dad came to talk to me – the irony of this! My boyfriend literally playing wingman for his rival!

"Joanna?"

"Yes!" I blurted out without thinking, only to blush when I noticed my boss' weird look. "Sorry." I murmured again. "Uh, is there ... anything else?"

Ms. Benedetti eyed me for a long, long moment. "Am I overworking you?" She asked, seemingly concerned. She fixed her glasses on her nose, then added: "I know we're doing crazy hours, but unfortunately it's required for now, until we really take off. But if you think it's too much for you ..."

"No!" I exclaimed, afraid she was about to fire me. I straightened up, shaking my head. "No, it's fine."

"You've been doing a lot here, Joanna, more than what is, technically, required of you."

"That's ok. I enjoy working here."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Again, my boss studied me carefully for a few moments. It's true that, being technically an intern, I do more than edit texts; actually, editing texts is one of the last things I do, more as a way to teach me than really as part of my job. Mostly I do grammar editing, but the actual editor checks again every time. Mainly, I do pretty much everything is needed, including taking coffee orders for everyone, yeah.

"Do you feel valued here?" Ms. Benedetti asked me, which took me off guard.

Do I feel valued? Has anyone ever asked me that? Scott would never even dream of it. "Yes ..."

She pursed her lips. "Because I've been thinking about it, and ... maybe you need something different."

Please, don't sack me, please, don't sack me, please don't sack me. I badly need this job. I unconsciously pressed my eyelids, wanting to make myself as little as possible. Was my work so bad that I get fired after barely a month? Maybe it's a sign I need to downsize my expectations and dreams.

"Oscar!" She called, well, yelled, for her assistant, namely the guy that took me to her when I came for the interview. I don't know him much, same as I don't know much any of my co-workers, me being the usual asocial I am, but he seems nice. I'll think the same even if he brings my resignation papers.

"You called?" The tall, slim guy in a suit appeared like a genie at the door. He's incredibly efficient.

"Yes." Ms. Benedetti grinned, gesturing for him to come in. "I have thought about your question," she said, directed at him, "and I think you're right, you should be able to do more." Wait, is she firing both of us now?

"Really?" Oscar grinned like a Cheshire cat, his eyes brightening.

Our boss nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. "It was part of our deal, after all, wasn't it?" She said to him, then turned to me. "Oscar was um ... kind of stolen," – cue his chuckle –, "he had originally applied to work with ..." she raised her index finger to point up, namely the last floor of the building, namely the place where her soon-to-be-husband's main offices are, "but there was no uh vacancy at the time. I happened to be there and ..."

"She took pity on me." Oscar laughed. "Offered me a job as her assistant until I either found something else or ... well, a spot freed ..." he hinted upstairs as well.

I nodded, still unsure what was going on. "So, you're leaving?" I asked him. I didn't intend to say it coldly, but it probably came out that way, because we really don't know each other enough for me to care if Oscar goes to work elsewhere or not.

"That's the thing!" Ms. Benedetti said, excited, grinning. "With Oscar going to work for Lucas, I ... am going to need a new assistant ..." she beamed, this time directed at me.

I blinked my eyes, still a bit perplexed, but now kind of putting two and two together. "So, you want me to ... replace him?" That came out wrong. But they both smiled, nodding, meaning I did get it right, for once.

Ms. Benedetti went on explaining that as her assistant I would more clearly see how all of this – publishing – works, because I would be in contact with pretty much department. It's as if she were outlining my plans before my eyes without me even knowing I had them.

Not that I ever really thought that far. My 5-year-plan wasn't that detailed, it was more along the lines of: be self-sufficient, have a more stable life, do at least a few of the things I've always dreamed about.

Like traveling, seeing more of the world – or rather, seeing the world per se, since I've only really seen New York so far. Ben and I even talked about this – about traveling together, going places, like Europe or ... ugh. No. No, no, no. No thinking about him.

"You okay, Joanna?" I realized I was shaking my head repeatedly when my boss placed her silky hands over my shoulders, staring at me worriedly.

"Sorry, I ..." I cleared my throat, taking a step back because I'm not very comfortable with people invading my personal space. "I was uh ... thinking."

"You don't like the idea?"

"No, I ... it's a great plan." It really is. "But ..." how do I ask her about money without sounding demanding or just ... plebeian? Before being the fiancé of the Golden Bachelor, based on what I read, Ms. Benedetti was wealthy nevertheless – her mom is a lawyer, her dad is a cop, they have this ... mansion in Italy, where they spend every summer.

It's also true that you can't really believe gossip, but the point is, to her ears I may sound like ... I don't know, Jane Eyre with Blanche Ingram. Well, maybe that's not a fair comparison, Ms. Benedetti is the exact opposite of that little conceited harpy that Blanche was.

"But ...?" My boss repeated, expecting a full answer. Meanwhile Oscar had disappeared out of thin air.

"But uh ... how does that change my position?" Oh, very diplomatic, good idea.

She smiled. "We can review an example of the contract signed by Oscar, and start from there. And yes, my personal assistant gets paid more than an intern." She rolled her eyes playfully, kind of causing me to chuckle – I restrained myself in time, it's still my employer, after all. But I felt relieved. I guess at least one side of my life might actually go well. If only the rest didn't follow Bridget Jones' theory.

✧✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

"You should meet her." Jeremy said out of the blue.

"Huh?" My glasses were fogged because I was draining the pasta, since my crazy boyfriend had 2 insane ideas at the same time. One: invite my employer over for dinner to celebrate my "new" job. Two: cook Italian.

Now, it's already insane to invite over your boss who also happens to be one of the most known women in the city due to not only her rising company but also to whom she is marrying.

But to cook Italian for an Italian woman ... that passes every level of crazy known to humanity. Cherry on top of the most insane cake ever, Ms. Benedetti actually accepted! She actually accepted to spend a Friday night having dinner in the shoe box I call apartment, just me, her, and my boyfriend. I don't know who is in more dire need of psychiatric help, really, her or Jeremy.

"You know who." My boyfriend answered enigmatically while I was busy trying not to scald my hand – again.

"Jay, you either have me help you cook this irresponsible dinner, or you test my brain with your riddles. Pick one." I grumbled, finally draining the pasta the way he said – because like Hell I would know how to do it. I've never once cooked any kind of pasta if warming up noodles doesn't count.

He laughed of my pain, obviously, then made me jump by coming over – well, pretty much appearing behind me, placing a soft kiss on the back of my neck once he'd circled my hips. You know, the boyfriend stuff you see in movies.

Turns out Jeremy has a thing for the romantics once he's at ease. Not that I mind, it's actually really nice, but ... not quite appropriate when I'm in the verge of a panic attack because my employer will be here soon. "Do you trust my cooking abilities?" My boyfriend asked, kind of cockily, because I guess he didn't quite grasp the full depths of what he'd done by inviting Ms. Benedetti here.

I turned my head to him, who was still grinning. "You're an incredible chef, Jay, but that's my employer!" I whined for umpteenth time since this afternoon.

"Yes, and?"

"She's Italian!"

"And ...?"

I pointed at the whole mess that was my small kitchen, with ingredients on one side – stuff he was working on –, and tools on the counter where I was. "You're making Italian dinner for the Italian woman that can be my fortune and my undoing!" I whisper-yelled dramatically. "Not to mention that she's probably used to who knows what haute cuisine!"

"And?"

"Uh ... do you know who is she marrying?"

"Yeah, and?"

I rolled my eyes. "Will you stop with and ..."

Again with the laughing. Then he kissed my cheek. "Baby, they might be ultra-rich, but they're human, too, you know. Actually, what I heard is that they're pretty down-to-earth."

I sighed, half relaxing in his arms – not because I was actually relaxed, but because it felt nice to be lulled for a moment, before I gave in to my anxiety. "Well, at least it's just her ... I don't think I could handle her fiancé." I'd probably pass out right here before his eyes if I were to meet Lucas Grant in flesh and bones.

Not that I'm a fan of his, I understand nothing of computers and the only famous people I could possibly be interested in are writers – and Chris Hemsworth, because, well, Thor! But ... I saw the pictures on my employer's desk more than just on the magazines and everything else, and I understood quickly why everyone is so awestruck by him. Luckily, I've never once crossed his path even while working just one floor beneath him.

"Well, about that ..." Jeremy pursed his lips.

"What?" Before he could answer, I heard a knock on my door. "Oh. My. God! I thought Italians were always late!"

Jeremy laughed, finally letting me go – but not before having kissed my cheek one more time, of course. "Baby, maybe ... easy with the stereotypes in front of your employer?"

I brought a hand to my mouth, covering it, when I realized what stupid thing I said and how loud! Ms. Benedetti hates stereotypes. Dear God, tell me she didn't hear anything. "I will hate you forever if this goes wrong." I blurted out, shooting daggers at Jeremy.

He bit on his lips. "Well, hate usually implies love ... I guess I can work with that." He winked.

And there goes my heart skipping beats again while at the same time the angel on my shoulder started singing no, no, no, don't phunk with my heart ... yeah, apparently, I have a pop culture loving conscience.

Luckily, he went back to cooking without adding anything, and because the knock on the door was repeated, I shook my head to wake up. I didn't even change yet. Hell, she's not just punctual, she's even early! Who does that!

Taking a deep breath, I walked over to the door, and opened it right when the third knock ended. "I'm sorry, Ms. Benedetti, I-" Wait, where is she?

"Can you give this to Shawy, please?" A young voice asked gently.

My eyes opened wide when I looked down. There she was standing, head tilted to the side, a pack of treats for cats in her hands. I don't know much about kids, but she definitely looked about 9-10. Oh, no.

"Elle!" What was unmistakably Ben's voice called from next door. Ah. There you go. In case I had any doubts on who this blonde little girl that brought treats for my cat could possibly be. Now I can pass out for real.