His assistant was typing under the table

Before our coffee date, I got a message from his assistant, “Claire,” confirming my beverage preferences. Fancy, but sure. I wore the earrings that make me feel like a woman with organized receipts. At the cafe, he kept putting both hands under the table. Every time he did, Claire sent me an update. “He is enjoying your energy.” “He would appreciate a more specific compliment.” I asked what Claire thought of the weather. He looked down. My phone buzzed: “Claire is not available for personal inquiries.” Then he turned his screen to show me a vacation photo, and there was our conversation, open under Claire's name. He admitted he had invented her to “protect his bandwidth.” We were sitting three feet apart. His bandwidth was mostly oat milk. I said I was leaving. He asked me to send feedback through his assistant rather than directly to him. So I messaged Claire that her boss wasn't a match. He read it, sighed, and said, “I'll make sure he gets this.”