Page 6 of Triplet Babies for the CEO

I weigh the options, still cutting the vegetables, thinking about what I’m really looking for in this position: someone who can handle chaos, keep things running smoothly, and do it all with a smile and a chipper attitude.

I know from experience that waitresses have a certain kind of poise and work ethic that you can’t just teach.

Still, I can’t help but hesitate, wondering if bringing in an inexperienced beauty will be more of a distraction than a solution.

The last thing I need is a bunch of contractors getting distracted every time they walk by the front desk.

There’s something intriguing about her, I can’t lie. Maybe she’s just trying to get out of that waitress rut. I can’t fault her for that.

I sit down at the small table in the corner of my kitchen, locking my phone screen and digging into my tacos.

I’ll reach out to her tomorrow, set up an interview. Maybe she’s got more to her than meets the eye.

She could be exactly what I’m looking for.

Chapter Two

Tasha

I feel completely ridiculous pulling up to the Thorne and Thorne office in my beat-up car, the engine sputtering like it might just give out any second. It nearly stalls out as I ease into the parking lot, and I have to give it a little extra gas to keep it from dying right there.

The car shudders to a stop, and I sit there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to calm my nerves and pull myself together.

This feels like a bad joke, like I’m about to walk into a king’s palace wearing a potato sack for a dress.

Grabbing my purse, I dig around until I find my debit card. As I pay for the parking I wince at how much it costs. City parking always feels like such a rip-off, but today it feels especially cruel.

I glance up at the skyscrapers that tower over me, and I can’t help but feel like I’ve stepped into a different world, all sharp edges and polished surfaces.

I feel like I’m just a tiny mouse scurrying through a maze of gleaming silver and glass.

Chicago always feels like this when I visit, like it’s about to swallow me whole.

There’s a rhythm to the city: the honking cars, the chatter of people on their phones, the rush of feet across the pavement.

It’s a rhythm I never quite find my step in.

Back home, in the suburbs, things are slower, quieter. Here in the city, I can barely hear myself think. I had to park three blocks away just to find a spot, and now I’m trying not to think about the walk ahead of me in these stupid heels that Jasmine convinced me to wear.

I start walking, the rhythmicclick-clackof my heels on the pavement sounding louder than it should. I’m not used to shoes like these. My feet ache already, and I’ve barely made it half a block. I usually wear the same non-slip, OSHA-regulated shoes I’ve had for years when I go to work. They’ve carried me through countless shifts.

These heels make me feel like a baby deer trying to figure out how to walk, all wobbly and fresh.

As I pass by a law office with shiny, reflective windows, I catch a glimpse of myself and almost wish I hadn’t.

The pencil skirt I borrowed from Jasmine looks a little too tight and a little too short. Jasmine’s five inches shorter than me, and it shows. I keep tugging the hem down, hoping it’ll magically stretch a bit longer, but it just snaps right back, hugging my thighs like it belongs there.

I keep walking, but I’m hyper-aware of how out of place I look. I’m just some girl in a too-tight skirt and heels I can’t really walk in, trying not to stumble, while the people passing by me alllook like they belong here, with their perfectly tailored suits and sleek briefcases.

This isn’t going to work out. You’re not going to be good enough for this job. You’re just a waitress. What do you know about answering phones in a fancy office?

I stop for a moment, staring at my reflection, and I can’t help the thoughts that start bombarding me.I imagine what it would be like to just turn around, head back to my car, and drive back to Jasmine’s place.

I can already picture her opening the door, her face soft with pity as I admit defeat.

“This was a terrible idea. I don’t belong in the city.”

And Jasmine, bless her heart, would give me a hug, and maybe we’d heat up our leftovers and watch bad TV until I could forget how stupid I felt.

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