My personal assistant—a.k.a. half my brain—has abandoned me to have a baby. Alright, alright, I’m not a total jerk, but the temporary virtual assistant Carla left in her place is driving me crazy. I’ve repeatedly refused to fill out Amy Walker’s way-too-friendly questionnaire. But somehow, she ninjas me into giving up details about my private life—all while suffering her oh-so-subtle jabs at my likes, dislikes, even my system for running my business. I don’t care what she heard, I am not a problem child. I just know what’s tried and true. At first, her feel-good P.S. quotes sounded more like B.S. Yet our emails and texts gradually take on a new dimension, and I find myself thinking of her as something I haven’t cultivated in a long time. A friend. Maybe she’s right. It’s time I get a life. Starting with stepping out from behind the screen and putting my feelings on the line. I’ll never know unless I try. Note: Contains a grumpy, workaholic tech CEO with a guarded heart, and a virtual assistant whose skills border on diabolical. Also, two cats named Ramen and Sushi.
