“You’re right,” he conceded. “But The Secret Notebook sounds more like a case for Nancy. If the Hardy boys were solving it, it would be more like The Curse of the Haunted Notebook.”
I laughed as I scrubbed my face. This was the kind of conversation I could only have with Weston since we’d been friends for nearly twenty years.
“All right. Nancy solved the notebook mystery.”
“Are you Nancy in this case?” Weston deadpanned.
“Yes. Now, do you want to hear what I discovered, or would you rather name every Hardy Boys book you’ve ever read?”
“Hit me with it,” he said.
“Here goes: since I hired Catherine, she’s been handwriting my schedules, just like all my other assistants.”
“I still don’t know why you do that,” he interjected.
“Because it works for me—and that’s not the point.”
“By all means, get to the point.”
“I discovered her stash of one-inch strips of paper.”
Another pause. Longer than before. Then, “What?”
“Yes. She’s been cutting the bottom of the paper off and stashing it.”
“Okay…why? Is it an OCD thing?”
“Not that I know of.” I found myself grinning again. “She writes scathing postscripts.”
Weston exhaled, probably fed up with me dropping only bread crumbs of information. “Care to clarify?”
“Here’s one: P.S. Being with you is like wearing wet socks all day long.”
He let out a startled laugh. “That’s directed at you, isn’t it?”
“I should be insulted you figured that out straight away.”
“But you’re not.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Read me another one,” he demanded.
So, I did. I went through at least twenty of them, only stopping because Weston was laughing too hard to hear me. He was getting more of a kick out of this than I had.
“It’s not that funny,” I muttered.
“Oh, yes it is. I can’t wait to tell Elise about this. Can you email me some of these? I won’t remember all of them. The mime one, though, that will stick with me. Golden.”
“I’m not emailing you so you can laugh at me with my sister.”
“Fine. Don’t email me. We’re going to be laughing at you either way.”
“Asshole.” There was no heat behind my curse. I liked that my sister and best friend spent time laughing together, even if it was at my expense. They both deserved it.
His laughter finally petered out. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
He sighed. “I can’t believe polite little Catherine has this kind of venom in her. I like it. The question is, how do you feel about your discovery?”
“Relieved I’m not going out of my mind.”
“That’s yet to be determined,” he countered.
“Fuck off, West.” I huffed a laugh. “I’m amused more than anything.”
The next pause was loaded. “It begs the question, how were you treating her, Elliot? It couldn’t have been too nice if those were her thoughts. Renata would never do anything like that.”
Renata was Weston’s assistant who’d been with him for a decade. She didn’t take shit from anyone, him included.
“Renata would have your head if you stepped out of line.”
“She would, and I would deserve it. Are you being a dick to your employees, Elliot?”
I eyed the pile of postscripts, each one neatly scrawled with an insult. “I’m not easy to work for, but I like to think I’m fair. If I notice myself being a dick, I rectify the situation.”
“If you notice.” He left it at that.
“Catherine hasn’t quit.”
“But she clearly doesn’t like you.”
“That’s not a requirement for the job.” But hearing him say it didn’t sit well with me. Why didn’t Catherine like me? What, in particular, had I done to be compared to wet socks?
“It isn’t, but having an assistant who likes me and will tell me to my face when I’m going too far is invaluable.”
“Yeah, I think I’m good with an assistant who does her job and doesn’t shake like a leaf when I speak to her.”
He chuffed. “Daniel’s still terrified?”
“It’s disturbing at this point.”
“Be nicer, Elliot. I’m certain you have room to be.”