Page 40 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“I’m working for Bale,” I state, and she blinks.

“Bale? As in Bale Resorts? The company you just wrote a pretty brazen article about?” she asks.

“The very same,” I say as if it’s nothing. Honestly, even with my flowy attitude towards most things in life, I also find it a bit nuts.

“And how did that come to be?” she asks.

“Well, I guess after the article, they were looking for damage control. Funnily enough, in a search for a travel journalist, they came across my Instagram and decided to reach out. It feels like fate,” I say, zipping up my bags.

“It feels fishy…” she squints, and I let out an exhausted sigh, though it comes with a smile.

“I am excited about this job, Claire. It’s going to be good for me to travel again. I miss it. And I really do have a good feeling about all of it.”

“Well, I guess that’s all that matters,” she says. I know she doesn’t really mean it, but I am thankful she’s not pressing it anymore.

After Claire leaves, I take a deep breath and check my bags one more time. I’ve felt a little out of it recently and want to make sure I have everything. Mostly because I won’t have anything to come back to after this.

I decide to make a checklist just to be sure. For a moment, I miss my bucket list book again, but oh well. Can’t do anything about it now. C’est la vie.

“Swimsuits, check. New sandals. Check. Sun lotion and sun oil, double-check. Vitamins, tampons…”

I stop.

It is that time of the month. Past in fact. And while I’m never late, I’m sure it’s just stress-related. It’s not like getting laid off, then getting a new job, then finding out my new boss is the Sapphire guy, then getting evicted has been a walk in the park.

Stress-related or not, I’m never late. Not this late. Even the Easy Flow app is saying I should be a box of tampons deep into this month’s cycle.

I want to brush it off and not worry. But considering the state of my life right now, it’s hard to. So I’ll take a test. I happen to have a couple under the bathroom sink that my sister bought for me when she found out I was going to be traveling as much as I am. Like travel leads to sleeping around.

“Little does she know I didn’t really sleep around until I was stuck in our hometown,” I mutter as I grab one of the sticks from under the sink.

It feels odd taking a pregnancy test. I guess because it’s not something I think about often. But the last thing I want is to be distracted when I start this job. A job that, thanks to multiple surprise clauses, has enough distractions on its own.

So I go through the motions, open it, pop the lid, do the thing, set it down, and wait. It’s just five minutes, right? Five minutes for mental clarity and peace of mind. But in the same way that water doesn’t boil when you stare at it, time drags when you’re waiting to count pink lines.

Maybe a glass of wine. Claire always brings over a couple of provisions when she stops by. Today it was a home-cooked meal I can pop in the microwave and a bottle of good wine.

I pop the cork and hum around the kitchen, pretending like my fate isn’t cooking in the other room.

“You’re being silly,” I tell myself. “You had sex one time. One time without protection!”

And it’s true. I’ve never been without either the pill or a condom before.

I’ve also never had sex with a random nameless guy before…

I fill a glass and pad into the other room. Thankfully, I’ve got about thirty seconds left.

It’s going to be fine. My life is on the up and up. I pick up the test off the counter and at the same time, tip the glass to my lips.

Then I stop, the wine crashing against my mouth and down my chin.

I blink one, twice, three fluttering times at the test in front of me.

Then it drops to the floor along with my jaw.

Two. Pink. Lines.

I splash the rest of the wine down the bathroom drain and set the glass down before picking the stick back up again.