Page 13 of Babies for the Big Shot
Sara
I burstinto Laura’s apartment, wild-eyed and reckless, driven by something feral and unapologetic.
“You arenotgoing to believe this!” I shout, kicking the door open with the same level of restraint I used during my last caffeine detox—which is to say, none.
Laura bolts upright on the couch, the blanket sliding off her face as if she’s been jolted back to life. Her hair’s a chaotic mess, one sock barely clinging to her foot, and she’s clutching a pillow with the intensity of someone preparing to defend themselves.
“What? What happened? Is someone dead?” she gasps, blinking hard at the afternoon light, scowling dangerously.
Before I can answer, a furry missile launches off the armrest and barrels toward me.
“Hi, Meatball,” I mutter, bending to let the world’s chunkiest French bulldog shove his flat little face directly into my knees. He snorts, wheezes, then licks my ankle with the dramatic flair of a soap opera villain.
“Okay, no one’s dead,” Laura mumbles, rubbing her eyes. “Meatball’s not trained for tragedy. You woke me up from my intentional nap for what exactly?”
I slam the door shut, throw my bag on the kitchen counter, and spin to face her.
“You remember elevator guy?”
Laura frowns. “The hot one-night stand slash walking cautionary tale?”
“Uh-huh.”
“The mystery man who destroyed your panties and then ghosted into the night like some kind of capitalist Batman?”
“Correct.”
“Well, yeah. What about him?”
I press both hands flat to my chest, trying to manually restart my heart.
“He. Interviewed. Me.”
Silence.
More silence.
Then Laura blinks. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that? I think I just stroked out.”
I groan and throw myself face first onto the other end of the couch, narrowly missing a sleeping Meatball, who makes a honking sound and headbutts me in the thigh in protest.
“I went in for the interview today,” I mumble into the couch cushion. “Last one. Late addition. The job was supposed to be at this fancy corporate firm I barely remembered applying to, but I showed up because I need health insurance and at least three meals a day that don’t involve toaster waffles.”
Laura just stares.
I lift my head, eyes wide. “And there he was.Nick. In a suit that probably costs more than my entire student debt. Sitting behind this giant desk like Mr. Darcy’s richer, meaner cousin. And do you know what he said when he saw me?”
Laura leans forward, fully invested. “Tell me he fainted. Tell me he fainted like a Victorian widow.”
“He arched one judgmental billionaire eyebrow and said, ‘Well, let’s talk about your qualifications.’ And then, after everything… he hired me!”
Laura howls. Actuallyhowls.
“Oh my god,” she gasps between wheezes. “You banged your boss. You elevator-banged your boss, and now you work for him?!”
“I didn’t know he was going to be my boss!” I shriek.
“I know you didn’t! That’s what makes this so horrifying and delicious!”
