Page 3 of Triplet Babies for the CEO

“Thank you,” I murmur, leaning into her as she wraps me in a hug. I exhale, a little of the weight lifting off my chest.

Jasmine orders Chinese food, and I’m pretty sure she convinced the delivery guy to throw in extra egg rolls, because there’s just so much food when we pull it all out.

We eat straight from the cartons, the sweet-and-sour sauce dripping onto our fingers, watching reruns ofI Love Lucyand then flipping to some true-crime documentary about a serial killer in the ‘90s.

We spend the rest of the night sprawled on the couch, surrounded by takeout boxes and half-empty glasses of wine. I barely register what’s happening on the screen, but it’s something to keep my mind from spiraling, and for that, I’m grateful.

I’m still wide awake, staring at my phone, doom-scrolling through my social media, when I realize Jasmine fell asleep halfway through an episode, curled up on her bed, snoring softly.

Everyone else’s lives look perfect and polished online, like the kind of life I thought I had with Patrick. I come across a picture of an old friend from high school, smiling in her wedding dress, hand in hand with her new husband, captioned with somecheesy line about love being worth the wait, and I scroll past it quickly.

Still, the ache in my chest doesn’t go away. I turn my phone over, pressing it against my forehead, as silent tears fall from my eyes.

I feel like someone’s dumped out a puzzle and I have no idea how to put the pieces back together. My whole life has been torn up and scattered thanks to the careless actions of a man who I thought was in love with me.

I lie there, trying not to drown in the feeling of everything slipping away, the room dark except for the soft glow of the TV.

The social media app blinks out as I close it, my phone screen going dark. I stare at the ceiling, which is covered in shadows cast from the television, replaying Jasmine’s words in my head.A fresh start.She makes it sound so easy, like it’s just a matter of just picking up and leaving.

Maybe that’s exactly what I need…to stop trying to fit my life back together and just start over somewhere new.

I pull my phone out again, closing social media and opening a few job apps, scrolling through listings, one after another. I keep skimming the same old things: waitress, retail associate, barista.

I’m so tired of doing these same jobs.

Then I see it: a basic receptionist job in the city, at a place called Thorne and Thorne. The job description is vague, but I don’t care, I’m not picky.

Answering phones, handling paperwork, greeting clients, scheduling meetings; all of that sounds better than spending another shift smiling at strangers and hoping they’ll tip me more than a couple of bucks.

I save the listing in my favorites and keep scrolling, but nothing else catches my eye. It’s just that one, shining out from the screen, a tiny glimmer of hope for something different and new.

It’s not Vegas, but it’s a step in a new direction.

Still, I can’t help but think of Jasmine’s voice, light and hopeful, talking about getting out of this sad suburb, about something new. I stare at the job posting a little longer before finally tapping on the button to apply, my hands shaking a bit.

But what if I can’t even do this?What if nothing changes?

The résumé I pull up on my phone is embarrassingly thin, and I know it. I cringe as I review it.

I spend the next hour adding everything I can think of, trying to stretch out each bullet point to its fullest potential. Every bit of customer service experience: every coffee I’ve poured, every dish I’ve cleared, every smile I’ve forced, it all gets beefed up and polished until it sounds like I’ve been running a five-star establishment instead of hustling for tips.

But the nerves creep in again, and I start thinking back to when I was eighteen years old and fresh out of high school. I remember telling my parents I wanted to go to college, that I’d saved up some money, that I wanted to study marketing or communications orsomething to get me out of the trailer we were all crammed inside.

My dad had laughed, not in a mean way, but like he thought it was a joke.

“With a face like that, what makes you think you need to learn anything?” he chided, reaching over to pinch my cheek, like I was still five years old. My mom just nodded along, not saying anything to encourage me.

I swallow hard, blink back tears, and hit “submit” on the application before I can chicken out.

My parents talked me out of my dreams back then, but no one can talk me out of following them now.

I’m going to prove that I can do more than just smile and be pretty.

Chapter One

Brody

I step out of the truck, the crunch of gravel under my boots barely audible over the hum of traffic in the surrounding streets.

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