I get sucked into Instagram. I scroll my feed and then my notifications when I see that Candace commented on Miller’s latest post. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I click the picture.
It’s the picture of the dishes on the table, and the caption is:
When you’d rather look into her eyes and hear her laughter than clean up.
I click on the comments and see several hundred women begging to have dinner with him. Candace leaves one, calling him a smooth operator. By the time I reach the end of the thread, I’m rolling my eyes, irritated that it bothers me. I make my coffee and go back to my bedroom to dress for work.
After grabbing a pair of blue jeans and a white spaghetti strap shirt that I tuck into the front, I slip my beige cashmere long sweater over it. My open-toed boots complete the look. I toss my phone into my bag without looking at it again and then grab my coffee and make my way over to the studio.
I see Brian when I walk into the studio, and he holds up his hand to wave to me. I put my coffee and my water down on the desk and grab the earphones. “Testing,” I say, and he nods.
The show begins, and I start off. “Hello, everyone, and welcome to the show. I’m your host Layla Paterson with my trusted producer, Brian.”
“Happy Monday, everyone,” Brian says. “How was your weekend?”
“Uneventful.” I look at him, and he just smiles at me like he knows something.
“Well, I heard that you won a certain auction over the weekend,” he says, and I nod my head.
“I did, and I’m so excited to say that one lucky listener is going to be attending the winter classic game right here in Dallas.” He shakes his head. “With a meet and greet with five of the Dallas players.”
“Wow,” Brian says. “Nice giveaway.”
“It is. Why don’t we take a caller and see what they thought of the game on Saturday,” I say, and I click on the first flashing button. “Welcome to the show.”
“Hey, Layla,” the male caller says. “Hey, Brian. I have a beef to pick with the team.”
“I’m here for all this,” I say, leaning back and waiting.
“I just think they had an amazing time on the road. They won games by playing some smart hockey, but then they come home and play like amateurs.”
“Well,” I say, “I think they played a good game. It wasn’t their best game, but I’ve seen them play worse.”
“Oh, that is for sure. Miller looked like he had two left skates on,” he says, “and Manning and Ralph played like they had oil on their gloves.”
“I’m going to disagree with you on those,” I say, trying not to get irritated about him talking about Miller. “They had a couple of bad shifts, that is for sure, but by the second period, I think everyone was doing what needed to be done. They went into the third period trailing by two goals to come out and win in overtime. They hustled their asses. Thanks for calling. Who do we have next?” I ask the next caller, and we go on and on until I sign off at the end of the show.
“That was a good show,” Brian says, coming into the room when I take off my headphones and place them down. “Word on the street is your bank account is twenty-five K lighter.”
“It’s for charity,” I say, getting up. “It’s a tax write-off.” I get up and grab my stuff, listening to him laugh. “See you tomorrow.” I walk out of the door and into my office, grabbing my bag and phone.
“You’re running out already?” the receptionist asks. “Beat the Monday traffic.”
“You got it,” I say, getting into the elevator. I check my phone and see that I have four texts from Miller.
Miller: Your voice is that of an angel.
Miller: That guy was a dick.
Miller: Do you want to go out for ice cream tonight?
Miller: Unless you want to have dinner also.
I don’t answer him back because the elevator door opens, and I walk to my car. I make my way home, singing at the top of my lungs to the radio.
Slipping off my jeans and putting on my shorts and a tank top, I grab my hair and pin it at the top of my head. I click on the television while I go to the fridge to start preparing my dinner. I’m just turning