Page 95 of Accidentally Yours

“She also believes bedtime is optional if she, and I quote ‘has emails,’” I said.

“Emails?” Dr. Whitmore’s brows furrowed.

“She means pretend ones. Usually sent to what she calls the ‘stuffed animals union.’ It’s a long story,” Damien said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“We talk a lot of corporate business at home,” Willa said.

“Tell me. Why do you believe Daisy belongs at Whitmore Academy?”

And there it was. The question we had been waiting for. Damien and I spent three hours last night rehearsing our answers.

“Because, Dr. Whitmore. Daisy is brilliant, fearless, and curious. And slightly terrifying in the best way.” I smiled.

“And, she’ll probably take over whatever classroom she’s in, so better it be here.” Damien smirked.

Dr. Whitmore closed the file in front of her. “Thank you for coming in. We’ll be in touch.”

Damien and I stood from our seats, shook Dr. Whitmore’s hand, and left the academy.

“Do you think that went okay?” I asked Damien as we climbed into the back of the sedan.

“I think we either just got her in or banned for life.” He sighed.

* * *

Two Weeks Later

“Did it come?”Damien asked from the living room, holding Delilah on his hip.

“This is it.” I waved the thick cream-colored envelope in the air like the Gods sent it. “It’s thick and heavy. That means one of two things: she got in—or they’re suing us for the interview.”

“I say snack, you clap. If you cry, go home!” Daisy spoke authoritatively while wiggling her finger at her stuffed animals lined up against the fireplace like soldiers.

“If she gets in, are we—proud? Or should we warn the school?” Damien leaned in and whispered.

“The letter in this envelope will decide for us.” I grinned, tearing the envelope open.

Congratulations! Your daughter, Daisy Blackwood, has been among the few selected for Whitmore Academy’s Executive Pathway for Early Leaders.

“She got in!” I jumped up and down, throwing my arms around Damien and boss baby 2.0.

“YAY ME!” Daisy mimicked me, jumping up and down and clapping her hands.

“Boss. Boss. Boss,” Delilah kept saying, and she clapped.

“I need an office!” Daisy jumped on the couch. “I need a briefcase like Daddy! I need my coffee!”

“Does Whitmore allow hostile takeovers in preschool?” Damien raised his brow.

“What do you expect? Her genetics are more you than me. She’s going to walk in, replace the teacher, and ask for everyone’s weekly productivity report. She hears way too much of our conversations, Damien.”

Damien set Delilah down on the floor and wrapped his arms around me.

“It is a good thing that she got in, right?” he asked.

“Of course. Maybe they can tame the little Hitler in her,” I said.

Delilah walked over to the kitchen table, grabbed her juice box, and dropped it.

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