57 - The Assistant

We shake hands. “You’re Dean Melnard?”

“That’s right.” He flashes his pearly white teeth. “Let’s say that’s an alias. Please have a seat, Ms. Scott.” He sits on the chair opposite me.

A waiter then approaches us, assists me in settling in, and hands us a menu. “Thank you,” I murmur.

“Just order what you want, Ms. Scott. It’s on me,” Mr. Melnard says—I mean, Mr. Bryant.

I hide my face on the menu, pretending to choose while I’m actually trying to process the unexpected revelation.

I’ve been emailing this man for over two years. He has been extremely helpful to me. He’s always polite, so I’m never intimidated