Page 9 of Flirtasaurus
“How ’bout you? I’m guessing you’re catering?”
“Catering?! Why the hell would you think I’m with catering?”
“I dunno. Because you’re so young and cute and innocent? Assumed you were pouring our coffee or circulating the strudel.”
“Call me cute and innocent one more time and I will end you.”
I don’t even recognize the sound of my voice right now it’s so incensed.
“Whoa! Easy!”
I launch into him like a verbal velociraptor on a harebrained herbivore—no offense to herbivores.
“A person can have freckles on her face and elasticity to her cheeks and still have a functioning brain in her skull. Crazy, huh? And get this! A person can be young and female and not automatically bow down to serve your needs as a man, coffee-related or otherwise. Whaaaat? That’s insane. Oh, and just so we’re clear, there is absolutely nothing wrong with catering. God bless the caterers and waiters and baristas of the world. I’ve been there, and I salute you! I have just worked extremely hard to get on the path I am now on, and I am incredibly proud to be here in this capacity. You are looking at the newly crowned education intern at The Museum of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia. I came here to slay, and I am not letting anyone get in my way. Also! You mentioned strudel! Where the fuck is the strudel?!”
“Plenty of strudel to the left of the fruit salad Miss FitzGerald,” a rich female voice vibrates from the doorway. I whip my head in its direction, and I. Am. Shook.
Dr. Eileen Knowles, the entire reason I wanted this position in the first place, stands perfectly still. She’s flanked on both sides by two men who must be the other scientists on our team, and her eyes are trained on me. Dr. Eileen Knowles, one of the only female paleontologists getting any level of respect today, the current head of paleontological studies at this here museum, and the lead excavator on an absolutely thrilling dig in North Dakota this summer that I desperately want to be invited to assist. Dr. Eileen Knowles… my new boss who is currently looking at me like I am a microorganism swirling in a petri dish.
“Dr. Knowles! Good morning!”
“Good morning, Miss FitzGerald. Enjoying your time with us so far?”
“Wonderful, yes,” I squeak.
“Your resume and recommendation touted you as a consummate team player.”
“True. Yes. I love being a part of a team!”
“Fantastic. So why don’t you and your crown…. slay your way over to the strudel, then join us at the table where we’ll begin our work together. Preferably without shouting profanities at your team members this time.”
Dr. Knowles smiles like a prehistoric primate about to pounce, perfect white teeth bared, but eyes set like lasers.
“That sounds… yes. That sounds great, thank you.”
I swipe a strudel and slam my ass into a seat.
So much for first impressions.
Chapter Three
Later that afternoon, I find myself lounging in a massive wooden tub filled with warm beer while holding a cold mug of beer in my hands and cheers-ing my friend Sasha. Yup, you heard all that correctly. I, a fully grown professional woman, am reclining in a tub of Budweiser. Well, actually, by the increasing smell of my skin, I’m guessing it’s gotta be something way hoppier than Bud. Spa treatments these days are hella weird.
“Cheers to your first day on the job, button. I’m so proud of you,” Sasha says with a wink from her own bubbling tub of beer.
“What the hell, Sash?”
“What? Hop in the Barrel istheplace to go to unwind and relax after a hard day.”
“Yeah, I feel so relaxed,” I say with no small amount of sarcasm. “Whatever happened to a good old-fashioned mani-pedi situation?”
“Oh, don’t give me that.”
“Give you what?”
“Don’t act like you would have been perfectly fine with an old-fashioned mani-pedi situation. The last time I took you for champagne and a pedicure, you threatened to call PETA and get the place shut down.”
“You mean Bubbles and Nibbles at 12th and Walnut? Yeah, there was nothing old-fashioned about Bubbles and Nibbles on 12th and Walnut. They were forcing non-consenting Garra rufa fish to eat the dead skin off our feet while we sipped prosecco. It was inhumane, humiliating for me and for the poor fish, and frankly not at all relaxing. Tickled my toes like crazy.”
