Page 25 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

Except I didn’t. My body would like to confirm that I didn’t.

“Yes,” I say quickly, stepping forward, aiming for composed and landing somewhere closer tomildly possessed. “Hi. Hello. That’s me. I’m… Addy. Adeline. Clarke.”

Smooth, so smooth, absolutely nailing this.

I take another step toward the chair in front of his desk and immediately trip.

Over absolutely nothing.

There's no obstacle, no rug, no hidden hazard. Just my own two feet, which have apparently chosen this exact moment to betray me in the most public and humiliating way possible.

“Oh my…”

I manage to catch myself halfway down, grabbing the arm of the chair like it’s a life-saving device, my knee knocking into something solid as my dignity flies out of my body and lands somewhere under the desk.

Amazing. Really strong entrance. Ten out of ten. Absolutely the kind of impression you want to make in a job interview.

And then… silence.

I freeze, still slightly bent forward, like a woman who’s forgotten how standing works.

If I don’t move, maybe this didn’t happen. Maybe we can all just agree to erase the last five seconds and continue as though I walked in here like a normal, coordinated adult who deserves employment.

Yes. That seems reasonable.

Let’s all go with that.

“I’m fine,” I say, a little too brightly as I straighten. “That was intentional.”

There’s a brief pause.

Then a flicker. Not quite a smile, but dangerously close. His mouth shifts, just slightly, like he’s making the decision not to react.

Oh, I hate that.

I hate that more than if he’d actually laughed, because now I know he’s capable of laughing. He’s just choosing not to, which feels worse.

“Of course,” he says, perfectly evenly. “Please, have a seat.”

Right. Yes. Seating. A normal, everyday activity that I've successfully completed many times before without incident.

I lower myself into the chair with extreme care, like it might suddenly develop opinions if I move too quickly. Everything about me is controlled, deeply focused on the simple goal of remaining upright.

We're not falling again. That's no longer part of today’s agenda.

I fold my hands in my lap, posture straight, expression what I hope reads as professional and notwoman actively reliving every bad decision she’s made in the last couple of weeks.

He watches me, assessing, remembering.

Stop that.

Stop looking at me like that.

I clear my throat.

“Thank you for seeing me,” I say, because words are good. Words are calming. Words are something I can control. “I know this was last-minute, and I really appreciate the opportunity.”

Professional.