True confession time: I’ve got norealexperience being anyone’s Personal Assistant; yet, Stacy swore that, since I’ve been a nanny to her daughter Emma, I’ve really been like her Personal Assistant over the past five years, basically keeping her entire professional world, as a lawyer, and personal world, as a single mom,organized.
Stacy helped me spruce up my résumé and gave me a respectable letter of recommendation. And a letter of recommendation from Stacy is full-on, drop-the-mike status, on account that she’s a well-known entertainmentlawyer.
“I won’t miss the train. I promise. And thank you, Stacy. You’re the best. Oh, and guess what? Jacob broke up with me.” I pause and lower my voice after catching a woman in close proximity eavesdropping. “Via text,” Iadd.
“What a loser!” Stacy announces as if it’s breaking news. “I told you he doesn’t deserve you. Anyway, I’m walking into court right now. Emma will be home briefly this afternoon before she heads to her dad’s for the rest of theweek.”
I nod as if Stacy can seeme.
“And I’m catching a red-eye to New York,” sheasserts.
I actually forgot about that. Even though I made all of her travel arrangements. She’s off to some lawyers’ convention for theweek.
“Right. New York. Havefun!”
“Sure. Well, I’ll catch up with you later. Good luck. Loveya.”
“Love ya,too.”
As the train approaches, I keep a careful eye out for anyone holding a coffee cup. The last thing I need is for someone to solidify this to be a bad day, by bumping into me and spilling coffee all over my new dress. Shit like that isn’t just made for TV; it happens all of thetime.
The train reaches the platform and, as soon as I board, I realize it’s standing roomonly.
Figures.
These stilettos aren’t really made forstanding.
As I maneuver my way to the back of the train, hoping to find an empty seat, my phonebuzzes.
Ugh. Another text from Jacobthe loserRyan.
Just checking: Did you get my text message thismorning?
I roll my eyes in unbelievable disgust at his inquiry and am just about to text a scathing reply, letting him know exactly where he can shove his stupid-ass breakup text, when I trip over who knows what, and land right up against a tall, dark-haired guy who is eating—a jellydonut.
That’s right, a Fucking. Jelly.Donut.
Never did I think I’d need to be on the lookout for anyone eating a fruity donut on the train. A donut that has left its explicit mark on the top half of the front of my brand-new sweaterdress.
Did I mention it’s awhitedress?
“Whoops.” The dark-haired guy snickers, as he continues to bite and annoyingly smack his way through his evil donut. He doesn’t even look the least bit concerned with the fact that remnants of his shitty breakfast choice are now splattered across the top front of my dress as blatant as a large letterSforSuperwoman.
I scoff at his nonchalant response and reach into my purse in search of something I can use to wipe off the massive glob ofjelly.
“Whoops? So, that’s all you’ve got to say?” I briefly consider getting my revenge by snatching what’s left of the donut out of his hand and smearing it all over his light blue button-down dressshirt.
He produces a semi-wicked grin. “Well it wasn’tmyfault. You do know you totally bumped into me, right? You really shouldn’t be texting and walking. It’s evidently impairing. In all actuality, I savedyou.”
I finally retrieve a tissue out of my purse. “I beg your pardon? You saved me?” I shake my head and roll my eyes. Surely he must know I amannoyed.
“Yes. Had I not been standing here for you to clumsily bump into after you tripped, you would have epically face-planted your way to the floor of this train. So please feel free to thank me anytime,now.”
Really? He can’t possibly be serious, right? Where is this guy from: the land that timeforgot?
“Oh, I’ll thank you, alright. You and your fucking donut have ruined my dressandmy day. I’m on my way to a job interview andthisis how I’ll be presenting myself. So if anything, thank you for ruining myday.”
The train gives a swift jolt as it takes off, and of course, the movement forces me into Mister Not-So-Friendly which, ironically causes part of the glob of jelly to rub off my dress and onto hisshirt.
