My Secret Life as a Mysterious Multimillionaire’s Personal Assistant
It started with a simple Craigslist ad. Before long I was being sent on sketchy tasks, pocketing wads of cash, and trying not to think about where his money came from.
My boss, Zander, stood outside a restaurant window, waving a wad of cash at the steakhouse’s waitstaff. He wanted them to open, hours early — just for us. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he shouted, their backs turned to us.
It didn’t work, so we continued wandering around downtown Austin. We decided to dine at Searsucker, an impulsive choice given Zander’s waning pride and the 100-degree heat. Sweat beaded down my neck and pooled in my armpits as the hostess led my boss, his chauffeur and me to the dining area. She escorted us to a table guarded by a wide-branching palm tree that seemed almost practical compared to the braided ropes draping from the ceiling and the vanity lighting demanding that we EAT EAT EAT.
Zander (I’ve changed his name, as well as those of others mentioned in this piece) settled into the first open chair and started flirting with the hostess. He drained his Old Fashioned and asked for another.