I heard a door close. “They want the position to be anonymous, and for the column to be written as the 402 Mom. We’ll use a cartoon avatar of, you know, a trendy and adorable mom; they’re working on the logo mock-up as we speak. But everyone loves the idea of this branded unknown. They want to promote the hell out of this thing, our super cool 402 Mom; so are you okay with the area code pseudonym thing? I’m offering you the job, by the way—did I say that yet?”
“What?” Anonymous? “Wow. No, Glen—”
“Oh, good Lord, I’m a real mess, aren’t I?” She laughed at herself and then just sort of launched a slew of information at me. She wanted to run my sample column as the launch piece, and the job would now be writing half the time for the 402 Mom, and half the time providing assorted content—entertainment, lifestyle, local—under my actual name like the rest of the paper’s bloggers.
Which would be chef’s-kiss perfect, because I’d have a byline for my parents to see as proof of legitimate employment.
“Wow.” My head was spinning. I was being offered the job, and that job was going to be anonymous? So no one who knew me would know non-mom Liv was the mom bomb? I was glad I had on sunglasses because no matter how fast and hard I blinked, the tears wouldn’t go away. It was just such a perfect position and it sucked so hard that I had to turn it down.
“And did I mention it’s a remote position? We’ll set you up with a phone, a laptop, a printer, and all that so you won’t have to commute to the office every day.”
“That sounds incredible, Glenda. But the thing is . . .”
I stopped. Everything stopped. I looked at the downtown all around me, with people bustling and horns honking and the smell of old garbage intermingling with the smell of fried food, and I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to say no.
Instead I heard myself say, “That sounds incredible. Thank you so much, Glenda.”
“Welcome aboard, Olivia. I’ll have HR email over our new-hire packet with benefit info, online orientation, job duties, and so on, and we’ll set up a Zoom meeting your first day to get everything rolling. Sound good?”
I grinned and wanted to jump up and down, even as I was 100 percent certain that this was a terrible mistake. “Sounds great.”
I hung up the phone and squealed, loud enough for everyone in the outside seating area to stop talking and stare at me. I shrugged and said to the blond influencer at the next table, “I got the job—sorry.”
I walked back to the apartment with loaded arms and it didn’t even faze me; that’s how happy I was. I mean, who cared that the Diet Coke was making my biceps burn when I had a dream job that I was going to be starting in mere days?
There was a marketing department working on my promos that very minute, for the love of God.
My luck was looking pretty damned good all of a sudden.
I made a quick stop at the liquor store for a bottle of shiraz before humming all the way home, and I didn’t even drop anything when I struggled to punch in the code for the security gate. I wished that dick Eli knew I was landing on my feet. The last time I’d seen him I cried—and then punched him in the stomach—before running out the door like a bawling child.
Not exactly a strong exit.
Part of me really wanted to text him, but I couldn’t risk him killing my buzz.
I was still humming as I opened the front door. But the second I closed it behind me Jack appeared, glaring at me with his hands on his hips. “What the hell did you do to the kitchen?”
“What?” I glanced over at the spotless kitchen—my sauce smelled amazing, by the way—and said, “It looks perfect. Why are we whispering?”
He just raised an eyebrow like he was waiting for me to get it.
And then I did.
The kitchen hadn’t been spotless when I left. The kitchen had been a disaster when I left. I said, “Did you clean it up?”
He just shook his head and pointed toward Colin’s room. “He did, and he was already pissed at me for springing a monthlong roomie on him last minute. I told him you wouldn’t trash the place when he agreed to let you stay. Why couldn’t you just pick up after yourself?”
I stepped out of my Chucks and whisper-yelled, “Why is he home already?”
“I don’t know.”
“Aren’t you best friends?”
“We’re grown-ass men, moron. We don’t tell each other our schedules.”
“Seriously?”