“Maybe you could use some of that shopping money to pay your portion of the rent,” Maeve hinted.
I stopped mid-bite.
“Oops! I’ll Venmo it over to you soon. I am now putting all my food and train tickets on Beck’s credit card. I can finally pay all, well, most of my bills on time.”
“Maybe you should just ditch the apartment,” Holly suggested. “You know, save even more money?”
I grimaced. “I don’t think Beck’s going to keep me on as a live-in assistant, let alone a normal assistant, much longer. He’s threatened to fire me at least once a week. That apartment is by far the cheapest place I found in New York.”
“But it has mushrooms growing in it.” Holly made a face.
“I’m going to start mushroom farming. After I get fired, I’m starting an apartment farming YouTube channel.”
Holly gagged. “Sounds toxic.”
“Beck was impressed when I told him about the mushrooms,” I said, grabbing another pastry. “Well, sort of. More horrified than anything, but he reacts like that about a lot of things I do.”
“Maybe he just wants you to touch his mushroom,” Maeve said with a cackle.
“That’s not a thing,” Holly protested.
“It should be! Penises totally look like mushrooms.”
“I’m not sure what kind of penises you’re looking at,” I said, almost choking on my tea and spilling it on my shirt.
“They don’t look like raggedy mushrooms,” Maeve said, “more like the ones that gnomes live in.”
“You mean the red ones with the white dots that are poisonous?” I asked, blotting my blouse.
“It’s just the shape. Pull up a picture of them side by side,” she insisted.
I pulled out my phone. “Against my better judgment, I’m searching for mushroom dicks.”
“Oh, that’s horrifying!” Holly exclaimed.
We watched a TikTok video of this girl detailing how it felt to have sex with that horrifying-looking penis in the photo behind her.
“No. Nope. No way,” I said, exiting out of the app.
“Look up a nice picture of a penis,” Holly said. “I need something to cleanse that out of my brain.”
“Do you have one of Beck on there?” Maeve asked with a snicker.
“I don’t have pictures of Beck on my phone.”
“Yes, you do.”
I shrieked and dropped the phone. It landed with a crack on the ground. Beck reached for it.
“No!” I shouted and dove onto the floor in a way that would make a hockey goalie proud.
I scraped up the pieces of my phone. Whatever hadn’t been wrecked from the fall to the marble floor had not survived my swan dive.
“You could have just asked for a different phone if you didn’t like that one,” Beck said apprehensively. “And I don’t know why you don’t want me to see the picture. You had them printed up and put in my study, remember?”
“I, er… it wasn’t about the pictures. I’m your assistant; you shouldn’t be picking up my phone. I should pick up yours.”
Beck glared at me.
