Or a Tuesday person.
I make a face at her.
When the studio is empty at last, she pats the seat next to her.
I knew better than to ignore a seat pat.
Am I in trouble?
“Babe, you've earned your way to the top,” she says. “You've worked your ass off to get this far.”
“That's true,” I shrug.
“So make your own hours. I work from home half the time anyway. I can do your admin from anywhere.”
“Ah, that explains why your tan is looking so dewy and fresh,” I laugh.
“I'm serious, we could make it work,” she says. “Let me make a few calls.”
“You’re saying… swap my days around?”
She nods.
“Work when Marco works?”
“Uh huh.”
“You’d swap your weekends for weekdays?”
“Honey, most of my friends work hospitality hours anyway. I’d finally get to see them.”
“And you’re sure you wouldn’t…”
“It's not just foryourbenefit,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I've had enough of your gloomy, horny ass. Go get laid.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve…”
“Leave it with me,” she says.
“I owe you, Von. Thank you.”
We hug goodbye.
???
Within a fortnight, the shape of our days transforms and blooms.
A shuffle of my studio availability realigns to prioritise what matters most.
Now I earn my crust during Marco’s whirlwind weekends.
“Parallel hustle,” Vonnie calls it. “Work when he works. Play when he plays.”
I take that last part very seriously.
Lots and lots of play.
Mostly between the sheets.
