Page 2 of The Boss and the Adoption Mess
I stay wrapped in the covers and hope to fill the time with a little chat.
"Prismabella's Honey Drops," she answers.
Never heard of it.
"And you made breakfast all by yourself?"
“Yes.” She continues eating, still seemingly unbothered by the fact that a complete stranger is in her dad’s apartment.
"I could make you something to eat. What do you think?" A few eggs or a sandwich?” I offer.
Maybe he even has fruits in the house, then I could offer her a healthier alternative than that sugary stuff.
“Nope.”
Yeah, this isn’t going to be easy.
“How old are you then? “I ask her.
“Four.”
“So, you still go to daycare?”
“Yeah.”
Such a communicative child. But she’s still eating, so she’ll want to keep it short.
"What's your name, by the way? I'm Kimberley, but my friends just call me Kim."
"Rosie. But it doesn't really matter. We won't see each other again anyway."
The little girl seems relatively unfazed, but her statement still shocks me. It’s not exactly good that she knows what her father is up to at such a young age.
“No offense but there are always other women here.”
Fantastic.
“I see.”
I fish for my blouse and pull it under the covers so I can put it on. Rosie refills her cereal.
"I think I’ll go then," I announce, and actually manage to get dressed.
Embarrassed, I put the blanket aside, grab my bag, and then look at the small clock on the bedside table.
I freeze. 10:27!
I gasp in shock. I have my interview at 11:30, and I haven’t showered, I’m wrinkly, and—as far as I remember—in the middle of London.
"Dammit!"
"Now you have to put something in the cuss jar." Rosie raises her eyebrows.
"Excuse me?" She pulls me out of my thoughts while I’m trying to stuff everything important into my bag. My lipstick and perfume, for example, which are lying on the soft carpet in front of the bed.
"Well, if you cuss, you have to put some money in the cuss jar. Because you’re not allowed to say that," she explains.
"Oh. Of course. You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry."
