Page 8 of Fixer for the Billionaire

Step two: Ensure Jen has her dream wedding

Step three: Remember to breathe

Step four: Don't strangle my sisters

Step five: Keep Quentin in check (wish me luck)

"Piece of cake," I mutter sarcastically, eyeing the growing pile of dirty dishes

God, a Cabernet and some E-40 would be perfect right about now, if it weren't 7 a.m. Taking a deep breath, I smooth my skirt and prep for another shout.

"Gabi! Valeria! Now means now! Get down here or your rancheros are trash-bound."

Footsteps thump down the stairs.

Seventeen-year-old Gabi appears, dropping her backpack like it's a mic drop, her annoyance clear. "You wouldn't really trash those eggs. You're always yapping about starving kids."

I slide her a plate of eggs and beans with a forced smile. "Keep it up, and you'll be one of them. Where's Valeria?"

"Right here!" Valeria, my eleven-year-old clone with an added bonus of Coke-bottle glasses, bounds into the kitchen.

Dressed in yesterday's clothes, holding a bag that's definitely violating some health code. "It's my science project. A week-old, moldy banana bagel."

"Gross," Gabi mutters.

I push a plate toward Valeria, eyeing the bagel with suspicion. "That's not one of the pistachio ones, right? Remember your allergy."

She rolls her eyes. "It's banana.”

"And why the repeat outfit, Val? I told you about fishing clothes out of the hamper."

She rubs her upper arms, her face twisted in outrage. "What? I mean, I would have. But someone..." She shoots a glance at Gabi. "Forgot to do laundry last night, so I had to improvise."

My gaze shifts to Gabi. "You skipped laundry last night?"

Gabi rolls her eyes. "I was swamped. Plus, Valeria's old enough to handle her own laundry." She looks down at our younger sister, who's perched beside her at the quartz island. "Please tell me you're not wearing those swimsuit bottoms as underwear again."

Valeria sticks her tongue out at Gabi, who lightly slaps her on the shoulder.

"Enough," I cut in. "Gabi, after soccer practice, you're tackling the laundry. Don't forget the fabric softener on the shelf. And Valeria," I turn to our youngest, "you're borrowing some of Gabi's clothes for the science club today."

Instantly, they erupt, "No way, she's not wearing my stuff!" and "Her clothes will swallow me whole!"

Raising a hand like only a Mexican-mother substitute can, I silence them. "Escúchame! We need a better Saturday routine. I'm not Mamá. I can't juggle the laundry and errands alone, okay? I need your help." My eyes pin them both down. "Got it?"

They deflate, nodding in unison. "Yes, Mina."

"Good. Help out without fuss, and I'll treat you to gelato after your activities." I jingle the car keys. "Deal?"

Their moods lift instantly, and I toss the keys to Gabi.

"Deal!" They chorus, dashing out the door.

I chuckle as they clamber into the car, probably scuffing the leather seats.

It's been just a month since Gabi and Val moved in, and I'm already caving to their every whim.

Today was supposed to be for party planning for Jen and Ryder's engagement. But at this pace, I'll be late.

---