"Evan!" Sebastian called, waving to the personal assistant and walking into Evan Harrington’s office.
I tried to stand up straight and stick those tatas out, as Ida would say.
"Who is that?" Evan said, frowning.
"Penny," Sebastian said mildly.
Evan had the look of "What the ever-loving fuck?"
"Penny from the Queen of Tarts ASMR videos," Sebastian added, setting the bag of food on Evan's desk.
A smile broke out on Evan's face. "Oh, wow, you’re the best. Literally changed my sleep. You should see my graphs. I'm giving a TED talk about it."
"That’s great! Listen," I said in a rush. "I am here to throw myself at your mercy."
Evan looked less than pleased with the offer. "I'm engaged, and you have a dead grasshopper in your hair."
I shrieked and batted at my hair. Something flew off.
"Eh, I think it’s not dead," Sebastian said, rummaging in the paper bag for a lemon tart.
"Oh my god. Listen,please, I need your help," I explained. "Your magazine, theVanity Rag, is publishing an article about the Svenssons. I was supposed to write it, then I realized I couldn’t, and now my mother is going to publish the article anyway, and Garrett’s little siblings are going to be trafficked to South America."
Evan had a dark look on his face. Was he mad I had tried to insert myself into his business?
"Please!" I begged, clasping my hands. "I can write you a different article, a better article. I will do literally anything. I have no shame—I will shave my head, go on a cruise dressed as a clown, walk topless in Times Square, road trip by camel, try to sneak into Buckingham Palace—literally anything. Just please don't print that article."
Evan looked coldly at me.
Sebastian glared accusingly at Evan. "Evan, how could you? Are you some sort of sociopath?"
"I had no idea this was going on at the magazine," Evan said in a clipped tone. "I assure you we will not be running that article. The last thing I need is for the Svenssons to come after me. We will straighten this out right now."
We marched downstairs and down the block to where the magazine offices were. As soon as we stepped out of the elevator, gasps echoed through the open office. My mother jumped up and hurried over to us when she saw him.
"Mr. Harrington!" my mother exclaimed. "What an honor."
"Trisha, were you spearheading this Svensson article?" Evan asked, smiling. It didn't reach his eyes.
"Yes. We have millions of dollars in advertising money lined up," she said brightly.
"You're fired," Evan said and gestured to the security guards, who were hanging in the background. "You could have had us all sued to the moon and back."
My mother turned to me with all her anger and hate on her face. "You! You ruined this for me! What kind of daughter are you?"
"I’m not your daughter," I said defiantly. "Real moms don’t act like you."
My mother looked down her nose at me. "You have been a disappointment from the day I met you."
"The feeling is mutual," I spat.
"All these people," my mother said, gesturing around the room, "are going to lose their jobs. When they're homeless and their kids don’t have health insurance, that’s on you."
"Is it though?" I countered. "The Svenssons are awesome, but they honestly aren’t that interesting. Even if it was a scandalous article, it would only help you with this quarter. What about the next, and the next?"
"Don't pretend you know anything about the magazine business," my mother sneered.
"I know about digital brand building," I countered. Building my Queen of Tarts brand had been a good crash course.
