Billionaire's Ex-Wife ✓

IV. I'm Vivian

"Why are you standing there? Sit down," the lady in the pink shirt said. I cannot believe I already screwed up. I debated to run out of the room, but Cheryl previously slammed the door shut.

Hesitantly, I scurried over; my heels seem to make the most amount of noise in the room. Scratch that, the hair flapping guy. Still - Flap. Flap. Flap. Flap.

Is this a test? A test to see if I'll laugh or not? A test to see if I'm strong enough to hold a poker face?

Flap. Flap. Flap. Flap.

His bald spots made its appearance causing me to wince as I bit my lower lip. "Miss Bla-" the pink shirt lady finally looks up, and the pen in her hand drops. "Why is there a baby strap onto you?" she asks, her hand snap backward, waiting for my answer.

Before I can explain my story, the bald fake wig guy interrupted, "That's the problem? Don't you see it! She is all strap wrong!" That's what you notice?

"And her shoes!" the youthful man who was trying to set a fire finally finished his note-taking. Whoever came before me must have made him very unhappy.

I look down at my shoes, "What's wrong with it?"

"Everything! The design itself is a crime. Why are you wearing them into my company, dirtying my floor with those awa-" I dig my shoes into the ground, hopefully with enough force, it will bury into the cement.

The bald man stood up. "I cannot take this anymore!" He declared and stomped towards me.

"You show her, Baldy! I mean, Brody!" The young guy said, causing me to snicker, but I quickly shut myself knowing it is not the time to laugh.

Brody stood in front of me, then gestured to me to stand up, which I did. He bends his arms over me, and I was about to kick his descendants until I heard a click. He was un-strapping the baby carrier. Dropping it to the ground, he walks towards the pink shirt lady who grimaces. She grabs the pen and pushes the baby back. "Why are you giving me that strange stinky being? Is it because I'm a woman? You know I'm not a bearer."

The young man held out his hands. I know I shouldn't stand there, allowing these people to pass around not-my-baby, but they may become my superior in the future. Lisa owes me at least this much for declaring me as her child babysitter last minute, and I'm assuming without pay.

"I'm not a producer, but I love babies," the young man chirps, as Brody hands him over.

"Excellent. Gianni, you will make a good father," Brody declared, while I question when are they going actually to start my interview. However, I know my place as a lowly nobody, so I choose not to speak out to the people who may sign my future paychecks.

I learned a few things in the past year. You don't criticize three types of people. One. Your boss. The person who pays you to not live in the street. Two. Your cook. You don't want spits in your food. Three. Anyone who comes in to fix your place. Having toilet water blasting up your ass isn't fun.

"I said, I like babies. I didn't say I want one."

"Why not?"

"Do you purchase a whole damn cow when you simply want some milk?" Gianni flipped his luscious hair and began cooing the baby in his arms. While he stood there, I was caught in a complete trance by his stylish exterior.

"And the guy only drinks sterile milk if you've forgotten," the woman said, looking slightly bored as she pulled out her nail filer. She leaned an arm back and began filing her nails, behaving as if she's at home.

Brody came back and grabbed the strap from the ground then correctly placed it around my body. He did it so nicely, so smoothly, without touching an inch of me. However, doesn't he fear I may yell harassment?