Then appear again.
I have to remind myself to breath.
“Anything?” Amara asks.
“Not yet,” I tell her. “Maybe he won’t reply tonight. Or at all.”
A girl can hope, right?
Finally my phone buzzes:
Tomorrow.2pm. FHG HQ. I’ll send the address.
Professional.
Distant.
Like we didn’t just do the nasty.
Another message:
Thank you for considering this.
I stareat the screen until it goes dark.
“I thought I heard two text pings,” Amara comments over the line.
“Yeah,” I reply. “He’s arranged a meeting for tomorrow.”
“Okay then,” Amara says. “There. You did it. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“I suppose.”
“How do you feel?”
Terrified.
Hopeful.
Stupid.
Desperate.
“I feel like I’m about to make either the best or worst decision of my life.”
“Probably both,” Amara says. “But that’s kind of your brand.”
I laugh again. Still shaky. “Thanks for everything, Amara.”
“Hey, what are friends for? Let me know how it goes.”
“Will do.” With that, I hang up.
So there it is. One interview scheduled for tomorrow at two p.m.
With my billionaire one night stand.
About taking care of his anxious kid.
