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“Let’s just say it’s not the president.”
“Let me think,” she said. “Cher?”
“Cher?”
“Yeah. You know, the singer.”
“I know who Cher is, but why would she hire me?”
“I don’t know. Oprah Winfrey?”
“Molly, really?”
“George Clooney?”
“No, but I thought it might have been him when I applied for the job,” I admitted.
“Oh, shit. So it’s an A-list star? Do not tell me it’s Brad Pitt. If it’s Brad Pitt, I’m coming over there right now. I don’t care.”
“No, it’s not Brad Pitt. It’s the guy that got me fired.”
“The guy that got you… Oh, not that really good-looking guy in the suit that was being really obnoxious on his phone.”
“Yes, him.”
“What? You’re joking. There’s no way.”
“Yes, there’s a way. And guess what?”
“What?”
“We kind of made out.”
“No way. Harriet, you did not fucking make out with that guy. He’s hot.”
“Yeah, I know he’s hot. What are you trying to say? He’s too hot for me?”
“No, he’s not too hot for you. But you guys couldn’t stand each other. I thought there was going to be a sword fight in the coffee shop or something.”
“Well, turns out while we can’t stand each other, we also can’t keep our hands off of each other.”
“Oh, snap. Now that sounds sizzling,” she said. “Whoa. So you’re enjoying the job?”
“Not really,” I said, laughing. “I can’t cook, so that’s not helpful. I hate cleaning, so that’s not helpful. He wants me to wake up early and make him breakfast. And that sucks, but…”
“But what?”
“He’s already given me an orgasm or two,” I said, softly giggling.
“What? You fucked him?” she screamed.
“Molly! Where are you? Keep your voice down.”
“Sorry,” she said. “But you totally don’t give away the milk.”
“Huh?”
“You’re the cow that doesn’t give away the milk. You want to be bought first.”
