Page 6 of Her Possessive Daddies

Her response is immediate:What a basic bitch. You dodged a bullet hon.

She's right. The anger bubbling within me starts to fade as I look at my laptop, still open to the bartending application from last night. That's my future - not some frat party with watered-down drinks and daddy's credit card picking up the tab.

I close Instagram and pull up my email instead. There's already a response about the bartending position.

I read the email three times over.

"Holy fucking shit."

I run down the hall and burst through Tessa's door without knocking, waving my phone. "They want to interview me tonight!"

A yelp and rustling of sheets follows. A muscular guy I vaguely recognize from Tessa's Tinder show and tells pulls the comforter up to his chest.

"Abs, what the hell? Boundaries!" Tessa sits up, keeping herself covered but grinning. "What's got you barging in like the fucking Kool-Aid man?"

"The speakeasy! They emailed back already. Interview tonight!" My words tumble out rapid-fire. "What do I wear? Do I dress sexy? Professional? Sexy-professional?"

"Hold up." The guy - Brad? Chad? - props himself up on his elbows. "We were kind of in the middle of something."

"Shush." Tessa waves him off. "This is important. Give me two minutes to throw something on."

"Seriously?"

"Hoes before bros, baby." Tessa blows him a kiss. "You know where the door is."

He flops back on the pillow with a groan. "Unbelievable."

"Time's ticking." Tessa points to her bedside clock. "Chop chop."

I bounce on my toes by the doorway as Chad-or-Brad gathers his clothes, muttering under his breath. Tessa just beams at him, completely unbothered.

"Call me?" He asks from the doorway.

"Maybe!" Tessa's already pulling on her silk robe, waving me into the room. "Now, let's raid my closet. We're getting you that job."

"What about this?" She holds up a black mesh top that would show more skin than it covers.

"I'm interviewing at a speakeasy, not auditioning for Coyote Ugly." I push hangers aside, the metal scraping against the rod. "Besides, my boobs would fall right out of that."

"That's the point!" She tosses the top onto her growing 'maybe' pile on the bed. "You're serving drinks, not filing taxes."

"I want them to take me seriously." Another reject joins the floor pile. "Not mistake me for one of your conquests."

"Excuse you, my conquests are very successful people." Tessa digs deeper into her closet. "That investment banker last month? Total zaddy."

"Did you just say 'zaddy' unironically?"

"Focus!" She emerges with a burgundy silk blouse. "This. With your high-waisted black pants."

I hold it up against me. The neckline's lower than I usually go for, but not scandalous. "This could work."

"Trust me." Tessa smooths the fabric. "It says 'I can make you a perfect Manhattan while discussing Freud's theories on the id.'"

"Nobody wants to discuss Freud while drinking."

"Exactly why you'll be perfect." She pushes me toward her vanity mirror. "Now sit. Let me work my magic on those curls."

"Nothing too crazy."

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