Page 33 of The Undercover Billionaire's Baby

“We handed out more sponsor sheets than us and Mrs. Schneiderman.”

“But people will take anything and throw it away.” She frowned at the coffee maker like it had offended her. “The plumber cost a fortune, and now the electrician. Wait, did you ask me— Did you want breakfast?”

“Why don’t you sit, and I’ll make it?” I got up and offered my chair. Lana sat down and reached for another flyer. She started to rip it, then pushed it away. She didn’t look like she’d slept much, pale, hollow-eyed. Her hair was off-kilter, up in a scrunchie. I thought it looked cute that way, but didn’t dare say so. The mood she was in, she might just explode.

“Sorry,” she said, and breathed a deep sigh. “I was up all night listening to the rain on the roof. Would you believe I once found that soothing? Now all I can think of is water damage.”

I got out milk and eggs, cinnamon, vanilla. The makings of French toast. Hot comfort food.

“You’re nervous,” I said. “More than before.” I cracked the eggs, poured the milk, hoping to soothe her. Hoping she’d take comfort in the mundane. Lana stared through me, hardly seeming to see me.

“Is it the interview? For your grant?”

Lana’s eyes sharpened. She bit her lip. “Would you believe I’ve never done one?”

“An interview?”

“I only ever worked here.” She motioned downstairs. “I didn’t interview for that, because why would I? What’s Mom going to do, hate me? Not hire me?”

I tossed some bread in the pan and pressed it down to make it sizzle. “You never did college interviews? Or for a bank loan?”

Lana shook her head. “Not college, no. They just let me in. And I never went for a bank loan. Mom did all that.”

I sprinkled more cinnamon and a dash of brown sugar. “I could help you practice. I’ve done these a lot.” Usually on the other side of the table, me asking the questions. But Lana didn’t need to know that.

“Don’t you have to work today?”

“No. I’m all yours.”

“Then, yeah. Let’s practice. I’m going nuts. I was watching these videos, you know, online, how to do interviews. But they were all different. One said go in and say something nice. Compliment the interviewer, like ‘hey, nice office.’ The next one was all ‘no! Don’t suck up!’”

“They’re both wrong,” I said. “You need to read the room. Whatever the vibe is, you play to that.” I dished up her first slice and doused it with syrup. Lana seemed to relax as I set out her plate. “Don’t worry. It sounds hard, but it won’t be for you. You get along with everyone. That’s half the battle.”

We ate our French toast and watched the rain patter down, and when we were done, I cleared the table. I moved my chair across from Lana’s and motioned her to stand.

“Go out and come in again, and we’ll practice. I’ll hit you with questions they’ll probably ask.”

Lana went out, but she didn’t come in again. I heard her in her bedroom, rustling around. Three minutes ticked by, then five, then seven. I was about to go after her when her door creaked open. Her heels clicked on the hardwood, and then she appeared. She’d changed into a skirt suit, a little outdated, but its bottle green color brought out her eyes. Her hair was combed smooth and up in a bun, and she seemed taller in her high heels.

“I thought I’d, uh, better change,” she said. “To make it feel real.”

“So introduce yourself as if it was real.”

“Hello,” she said. “I mean, good to meet you. Uh, thanks for inviting me. For the interview.” She leaned across the table. Reached for my hand.

“Don’t go for a handshake over a table. Not unless the interviewer reaches out first.”

Lana’s cheeks reddened. “I screwed up already!”

“No, no you didn’t. It’s just a bit awkward. And if you do screw up, smile and keep going. Everyone makes mistakes. It’s how you handle them that counts.” I cleared my throat and got into character. “Now, ah, Miss Staley?—”

“Stamey!”

I glowered at her over imaginary glasses. “So, tell me. What makes your business stand out?”

“Well, we— uh, I… We’ve been in business thirty-five years, and our reputation is… We’re known for excellence in customer care. For community-building. For?—”

“I read all that in your business plan. What else can you tell me?”

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