Page 68 of The Billionaire's Wake-up-call Girl

Her eyes sparkle. “Oops.”

“The way you sounded when you were making yourself come this morning…Sasha…”

She sucks in her lips. What is she thinking? She’s so hard to read. She looks around. “This place…I feel like we’re in a fishbowl…”

“So come to dinner.”

“Hold on, I just felt my phone go.” She pulls her phone from her purse. “Work meltdown. I absolutely have to handle this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing that needs to be your problem.” She stands. “A fire to put out.”

“Dinner,” I say. “Tonight. Does seven work?”

She grins. “Am I crazy to say yes?”

“Probably.”

“Fine. Let’s do this! Name the time and place.”

I stand. “I’ll text you. You’ll have to unblock me, of course.”

She narrows her eyes. “You know what? Email would be better. Way better.”

“You’re not going to unblock me?”

“It’s a long story.” She looks at the door, back at me, seeming torn. “I really do wish I could stay.”

“I’ll email you.” I watch her leave.

Nineteen

Lizzie

I’m workingon the Instagram strategy when Sasha messages me to meet her in the marketing meeting room.

The marketing meeting room is an enclosed space with a nice view that would be a perfect spot for putting out bagels and coffee in the morning for the team, maybe with a big stuffed chair or two for nice breaks and creative collaboration. It would be a great place to set out cake and balloons for people’s birthdays. Maybe even a Ping-Pong table and some Nerf basketball action.

This being Vossameer, of course, this perfectly nice room is where meetings with business vendors happen. It’s where the team is gathered to be yelled at. And most of all, it’s where people go to be fired.

With shaking hands I grab my phone. I text Mia one word.

Fuck.

Mia:Wut?

Me:Surprise private meeting with Sasha. In the firing chamber.

Mia sends me back several empathetic emojis. I send her a black sideways heart, then I silence my phone and put it in the pocket of my ugly dress. If there’s one thing you can count on with ugly dresses, it’s really good pockets.

Sasha is in the room when I get there. She’s sitting at the head of the table that will never hold a birthday cake. Her phone is on the table next to a yellow legal pad, over which her pen is poised.

“Take a seat,” she says.

I take a seat on the long side, leaving one chair between us.

“Do you know why I’ve called you in? Can you guess?”

---