You call this fate?

Chapter 3

I sat up and grabbed my crutches from beside the bed, intruding into the melodrama like the evil stepmother. "Alright Ella, if you are up there's no reason in going to sleep again. Come on, into the bathroom."

"Good morning to you too, mom," she said. Sometimes having a too clever daughter can be a bloody pain in the arse. They get snarky too freaking young and too freaking fast.

Tasha set her down. Ella tugged her pyjamas up her bottom and started walking toward the bathroom. Then she stopped and regarded Tasha with an expectant eye. She held out her hand.

I groaned. "What did I tell you about doing that, Ella?"

She ignored me; so did Tasha, for that matter. She picked up her coat and, digging into the pockets, pulled out a humungous bar of chocolate. Ella reached for it so fast one would think I was in the habit of starving her.

"Now mind, poppet. Don't eat the whole thing at once. And certainly not before you brush your teeth. I can smell your breath from here," Tasha admonished.

Ella stuck out her tongue at Tasha and me and skipped out of the room.

"Ella!"

"Oh, shush, Zara," Tasha said. "Leave her alone. Now come sit down so I can tell you everything."

I sighed in resignation and sat down.

"Okay," she said, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. "So, I was talking to Christopher yesterday—"

"Which one's Christopher?" I asked.

She scowled. "Christopher's my boyfriend, of course."

I gave her a blank stare. "I know. I asked, which one?"

She huffed, but then gave in. "The current one, okay? I broke up with Tommy last week. But listen—"

"Tommy was which one, again? I am still on Nolan. Remember, the architect?"

"Nolan? Nolan, who? I don't remember Nolan."

I shook my head. Of course, she didn't remember. Tasha went through boyfriends like a sensible person goes through toothpicks. How could one remember a special pick from all the others used since?

"Fine, you don't remember. Forget Nolan. Now tell me what you mean about the job."

"Okay, okay," she said, grinning broadly. "So, I was talking to Christopher yesterday. We had just had dinner and were wondering if we should go to his house or mine—"

"Very important decision," I noted.

"Well, of course. The location always matters." She winked. "But that's not relevant. What I am trying to say here is that our conversation somehow wandered, and suddenly he was telling me about this rich-ass brother of his—"

"How the hell did you make that leap?"

She glared at me."—and how he couldn't find a secretary." Clearly, she was going to ignore my just question. "Apparently this brother hasn't liked the work of any of his secretaries and most of them remain for a month at most before he violently and embarrassingly kicks them out. Christopher said his brother is very particular about what and what not his secretary can do.

"And then he joked that Alexander—that's the brother," she added, in case I thought she was talking about someone else. "Alexander would probably be better off with someone he trained himself because there was no way he could find one on planet earth that he found adequate. And then, BAM!" She mimicked an explosion, looking at me expectantly.

"What?" I asked, wide-eyed. "Your car crashed?"

"Huh? No! I mean BAM! Idea strike!"

"You had one?" I was skeptical.