Page 6 of Saved By the CEO

“I know that, Mom. But I want to help out. Please let me.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. Normally, this is where she would argue. She’d tell me to save my money and remind me that she’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she says:

“Okay.”

And that’s when I know—she’s in real trouble.

I sitat the tiny kitchen table long after the call with Mom ends, my ramen slowly turning into a sad, swollen brick in the pot. The apartment is quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional sound of traffic from the street below. I should eat. I should shower. I should start going through the Laker project files Mr. Bennett sent me.

Instead, I open my banking app.

My balance looks decent at first glance. Good, even. That’s the thing about having a well-paying job. For a few seconds, you get to feel like someone with options. Then you start subtracting things.

Rent. Utilities. Credit card. Groceries. The gym membership I keep forgetting to cancel because apparently I enjoy donating money to a place I only visit when Annie blackmails me. The tiny amount I try to put into savings every month.

And now Mom.

I transfer the money before I can overthink it. Not a huge amount. Just enough to help with groceries, maybe the electric bill.

The confirmation screen pops up, and my phone buzzes almost immediately.

Mom

My sweet girl. You didn’t have to do that

Thank you. I love you so much

I send her a heart and then turn to my laptop, where the Laker project folder is still open. There are press materials, environmental reports, community feedback, and a half-finished document titled “briefing notes.”

My phone pings again, this time with an email from Mr. Bennett. The subject line alone makes my eye twitch.

LAKER PROJECT: ADDITIONAL MATERIALS

I open it and find another five attachments waiting for me.

Lovely.

It’s beenthree days since Mr. Bennett told me I would be doing the press briefing. Being assigned the task obviously didn’t mean I was relieved of any of my other responsibilities, so all the preparation had to be done outside of work hours. That proved a little tricky, though, since I already spend most of my free time working.

On paper, I have a nine-to-five job. In reality, it’s more of an on-call situation.

So, to make time for my new responsibilities, I’ve sacrificed sleep. Who needs it anyway?

Me.I do. I need sleep.

It’s Friday morning, and the press briefing is in one hour. I’ve read everything I can find online about talking to the press: I know how to “build bridges” without making it obvious, how to dodge questions we don’t want to answer, and how to seem relaxed and personable without being unprofessional. I’ve memorized all the details about the project. I know which parts to emphasize and which to downplay. I’ve picked out a perfect outfit that’s both stylish and understated. I am ready. So ready.

But I can barely keep my eyes open.

Annie called me a zombie this morning, and I’m afraid that she’s right. I stayed up until three in the morning practicing my answers, and now I’m paying for it.

I take a sip from my coffee. It’s disgusting, tar-like. But I figured I needed the extra caffeine.

Mr. Bennett walks out of the elevator and heads toward his office. When he passes my desk, he stops and gives me a disapproving look.

“You have the press briefing in an hour.”