Finally, when I’d finished my tap dance, our lunch showed up. Andrew’s steak was sizzling on the plate, a pat of butter melting on top. His thick-cut fries were golden brown and glistening with crystals of salt. It was all I could do to keep myself from reaching over and grabbing one.

I looked down at my chopped salad and cursed the day God ever invented lettuce.

I had no idea what we talked about during lunch. I was too busy watching as Andrew demolished his steak, piece by succulent piece. Oh, Lord, this was torture. At one point, a bit of ketchup from his fries landed on his chin. I swear, I almost leaned across the table and licked it off.

Then suddenly I realized Andrew was talking to me.

“What’s that?” I said.

“Are you sure you’ve had enough to eat?” he asked, looking down at my plate.

I followed his gaze and saw to my amazement that I’d picked my plate clean. Somehow, I’d managed to shovel down every last shard of my salad.

“Oh, yes. I’m stuffed,” I said, my stomach rumbling with hunger. “I couldn’t eat another bite.”

“Of course,” he said, nodding solemnly. Was it my imagination, or was that a smile I saw lurking at the corners of his mouth?

Eventually, having barely touched half her salad, Sam proclaimed herself full.

“We don’t want dessert, do we?” she asked.

“Hell, yes!” were the words I wish I’d been brave enough to utter. Instead, I just shook my head no as Sam signaled the waiter for the check.

“So, Jaine,” she said, turning back to me. “Would you like to be editor of the Union National Tattler?”

Was this a trick question? If I said yes, would she say, Haha. Fooled ya. You can’t have it!?

“Yes, I would,” I took a chance and assured her.

“Well, then,” she said, with a stiff smile, “the job is yours.”

“Congratulations!” Andrew beamed. “Welcome aboard. When can you start?”

“As soon as you like.”

“Great. I’ll call you tomorrow and set up a meeting with the branch managers.”

Sam settled the bill and we headed out to the parking lot. I was practically walking on air. Forgotten was my ghastly chopped salad; the only green I saw now were the paychecks heading my way.

The three of us stood in the parking lot, making idle chat while the valet got Andrew’s BMW. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam slip her hand into Andrew’s pants pocket. It was a subtle gesture, but I got the distinct impression that she wanted me to see it, like a cat marking her territory.

When he realized he had more in his pocket than his spare change, Andrew flushed and shot Sam a shy smile.

Obviously Sam Weinstock was living out my bathtub fantasies.