It’s what all of the assistants at the publishing house wanted – even the ones who didn’t work for Declan Guinness. We all loved cocktail parties – free food (if you considered cheese cubes and crackers food) and wine, and on our salaries we needed that more than we wanted to admit. But we especially loved going to parties with Declan. For one thing, we could put our Metrocards away: my boss never took the bus or subway, or even a cab, for that matter — he had a car and driver. Rumor was that he was part of the Irish Brewery family. But money aside (and really, the city was full of rich guys) Declan was beyond gorgeous. And even thought I spent all day answering his phone and packing up press kits for his books, when I accompanied him out at night, he was so charming and such a gentleman, it was easy to pretend that I was his date. I know, I know – it was a dangerous fantasy. Declan was my boss, and smart girls just didn’t “go there.” And I was nothing if not a smart girl.
