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“That cannot be right.” I squint at the piddly number, a pit forming in my stomach. “WHY GOD WHY! I don’t want to keep having to do these dumb side jobs for quick cash!”
Ugh!
College educated. Funny.
Motivated.
Self-stater, I was able to get a great job out of college but realized pretty quickly that the corporate culture wasn’t for me. So, I left with a decent nest egg, determined to ‘strike out on my own.’ Everyone else was doing it, why shouldn’t i?
Social media was buzzing, influencers were taking the world by storm, I knew there was a niche in there for me, too.
But this balance in my bank account keeps dwindling, rent sucking up most of it with not enough contract work to go around, it seemed. Or maybe I wasn’t looking hard enough?
I shut my lap top and rise from my desk, determined not to check it until after my check from Palmer was deposited.
Yes. Yes, I need to get to the bank, stat, with his money.
“That will help,” I nod into the mirror as the water pours into the tub, step out of my robe once it’s halfway up the side, cringing when it stings my ass as I sink into it. “Hot, hot, hot.”
I run some cold water, just a smidge.
Toe sticking out my bubble bath, wine glass in one hand, I thumb through my phone before realizing one of the phone calls I’d declined earlier in the day had left me a voicemail.
I sip and swipe.
Transcribe the voicemail so I can read it rather than listen, mouth puckered as I swig from my glass.
“Miriam? Hi, my name is Decker. I’m, um, a friend of Palmer Darling’s? He gave me your number, I hope that’s okay. Listen, he told me what you’ve done for him and I…might need your help, too? So, if you could give me a call back, that would be great. Um, this is Decker.”
I stare at the transcribed message, then hit PLAY, lifting the phone to my ear so I can hear the sound of Decker’s voice.
Decker?
What the hell kind of a name is that?
The name of a guy who probably grew up with a guy named Palmer, whose name is as pompous; stuffy and stuck up as a polo pony but with plenty of cash to fund my social media marketing business.
“…Miriam? Hi, my name is Decker. I’m, um, a friend of Palmer Darling’s?”
I sit up straighter in the tub at the sound of his deep voice.
Dang, Decker—for someone coming off as super needy, you sure have a sexy voice.
My toe fiddles with the bubbles at the edge of the tub, and I watch as a sudsy blob falls from my foot and lands in the water.
I listen again.
Then once more, because why not, the guy has an incredible voice.
“…. he told me what you’ve done for him and I…might need your help, too?”
Ugh, flipping Palmer, blabbing to strangers about my services.
The last thing I need is another yuppie for another funeral, or worse, a wedding. I do a lot of those, too, in case you didn’t know— incognito speeches at the back of the reception hall, an easy in and out job kind of like in that movie The Wedding Planner.
If there’s a hiccup involving me, it usually includes ear pieces, WiFi, or trying to communicate with a drunken groomsmen.
The last thing I want to do is entertain another errant playboy and his need to impress some random date, regardless of the circumstances.
