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"   I normally hit snooze at least four or five times in the morning, then run around like a mad woman trying to get to work on time all the while cursing the subway, the slow walker in front of me, even a stupid toddler for innocently waddling into my path when really, I only have myself to blame for consistently arriving at Bill&amp;#039;s 11 minutes late, breathing hard and sporting a thick sweatstache. But the morning after my little tiff with Justin, I ignored Justin&amp;#039;s morning wood pressing into the small of my back and shot out of bed like a kid on Christmas morning. I had checked my email the first time my alarm went off and saw that I had a message from someone named, &amp;quot;Loni,&amp;quot; saying she had gotten my resume from Elizabeth and could I come in for an interview within the next few days? Now, I was more desperate to talk to Peter than ever before, and I wanted to get out of Justin&amp;#039;s ASAP so I could call him back in private. Sorry I&amp;#039;m not sorry for being such a curious George.  &amp;quot;Where are you off to so early?&amp;quot; Justin asked, groggily, as I shimmied back into my jeans.  &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m trying this new thing where I give myself more than 20 minutes to get back to my apartment, shower, blow dry my hair, and get to work,&amp;quot; I said. Not a total lie\u2014being on time was one of my New Year&amp;#039;s resolutions. I sat down next to him on the bed as I pulled my boots on. &amp;quot;We&amp;#039;re okay, right?&amp;quot;  Justin tucked one arm underneath his head and rubbed the small of my back with his other hand. &amp;quot;Yeah. We&amp;#039;re okay.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;I got an email about interviewing for that job,&amp;quot; I said. &amp;quot;And I&amp;#039;m going to call Peter back.&amp;quot; I felt Justin&amp;#039;s hand still on my back.  &amp;quot;Up to you,&amp;quot; he said.  Something about that &amp;quot;Up to you&amp;quot; bothered me. Of course it was &amp;quot;Up to me.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Right. I wasn&amp;#039;t, like, asking if you were okay with me interviewing for the job or calling him back. I was just telling you I&amp;#039;m going to.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;I get it.&amp;quot; Justin gave me a smile I couldn&amp;#039;t read.  &amp;quot;What are you up to later?&amp;quot; I asked.  &amp;quot;Uh, I might have a client dinner. I&amp;#039;ll call you if it gets canceled.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Wait,&amp;quot; I said. &amp;quot;How can something get canceled if it&amp;#039;s just something that might happen?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s on the books,&amp;quot; Justin said. &amp;quot;But these people have bailed twice before so it&amp;#039;s a possibility it might not happen.&amp;quot;  At that point, there was a possibility I might rip my hair out, so it was clearly time to go. I gave him my own unreadable smile. &amp;quot;Okay, have fun.&amp;quot;  I stood. Normally, I would have kissed him goodbye. But normally, things weren&amp;#039;t so awkward between us.  I called Peter the second I was on the street, rationalizing that if he picked up it would be worth it to pay for a cab back to my apartment. It was 8am\u2014I knew Peter had been at work for hours.  Peter picked up on the third ring and instinctively, my hand shot out to flag down a cab.  &amp;quot;Who died?&amp;quot; Peter asked.  &amp;quot;Huh?&amp;quot; A cab lulled to a stop in front of me and I climbed in. I covered my phone with my hand and said, &amp;quot;65th and 1st&amp;quot; before turning my attention back to Peter. &amp;quot;What do you mean, &amp;#039;Who died?&amp;#039;&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s 8am. I&amp;#039;ve never seen you conscious this early before.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;ll have you know I take a 7am SoulCycle class twice a week,&amp;quot; I said.  &amp;quot;That sounds miserable.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;It kind of is.&amp;quot; The taxi TV was obnoxiously loud. I turned it off. &amp;quot;So, can you talk now?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;We&amp;#039;re talking, aren&amp;#039;t we?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;You know what I mean,&amp;quot; I said.  &amp;quot;You want to know about this family friend,&amp;quot; Peter said.  &amp;quot;Well, partly. I want to know about her and also why Elizabeth would even stick her neck out for me. Or pretend to stick her neck out for me.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;First of all, the family friend is not a &amp;#039;her,&amp;#039;&amp;quot; Peter said.  That made me sit up straighter. &amp;quot;Oh. I just assumed, like, publishing\u2026.you know Devil Wears Prada, Sandra Bullock in The Proposal.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;I have no idea what you just said but by process of elimination I&amp;#039;m almost positive the family friend is a &amp;#039;he.&amp;#039;&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Why process of elimination?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Well, because I don&amp;#039;t know the ins and outs of it but based off that email of Elizabeth&amp;#039;s that you sent me, I&amp;#039;m making an educated guess.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Why didn&amp;#039;t you just ask Elizabeth about the &amp;#039;ins and outs&amp;#039; of it?&amp;quot;  A pause. &amp;quot;I haven&amp;#039;t seen Elizabeth in five months, Josie.&amp;quot;  If there was a freeze frame on my face, 100 bucks I looked like Macaulay Culkin on the cover of the Home Alone DVD.  &amp;quot;Soooo\u2026.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Soooo, yeah,&amp;quot; Peter said. &amp;quot;That &amp;#039;bundle of joy&amp;#039; you congratulated me on is news to me.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Are you going to have to go on Maury so he can determine that you are not the father?&amp;quot;  Peter laughed. &amp;quot;I doubt it. The last time I spoke to her she was looking into anonymous sperm donors or something. I didn&amp;#039;t think she was serious, but\u2026&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Sperm donors?!&amp;quot;   &amp;quot;Yeah,&amp;quot; Peter said, his voice hardening. &amp;quot;Elizabeth is 37, Josie. She wanted a kid. I want one too, but not with her. Fortunately, I don&amp;#039;t have to worry about biology as much. She does, so cut her a break.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Sorry, I didn&amp;#039;t mean that to sound judgmental,&amp;quot; I said. &amp;quot;More, just, shocked.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Look, I don&amp;#039;t even know if that&amp;#039;s how she got pregnant. And I don&amp;#039;t really care, either. I didn&amp;#039;t even know she was having a baby until you told me, which, don&amp;#039;t get me started on the irony there. So you ran into her?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Yeah, at the half marathon,&amp;quot; I said. &amp;quot;She ran it too.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;She ran that pregnant?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Thank you!&amp;quot; I said. &amp;quot;If I were pregnant baking would be my cardio.&amp;quot;  The cab driver pulled up to my apartment and I balanced my phone between my ear and my shoulder while I paid. &amp;quot;So, can we get back to the family friend thing? Who is he, or who do you think he is, and why is Elizabeth trying to hook me up with him?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Uhhhh, interesting choice of words there.&amp;quot; Peter laughed.  &amp;quot;Why?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;If it&amp;#039;s the guy I&amp;#039;m thinking of, he&amp;#039;s this like 45 year old playboy bachelor who is notorious for having a new hot assistant every month because he banged the old one and had to get rid of her.&amp;quot;  I took a second to let all of this information sink in and make sense of Elizabeth&amp;#039;s motivations. It seemed to me like Elizabeth was sending me on a suicide mission: I get the job, I get seduced by my boss, I get let go\u2014my professional reputation is ruined. (On a completely unrelated note, the fact that Elizabeth suggested me for a job as an obligatory &amp;quot;hot assistant&amp;quot; also means she thinks I&amp;#039;m hot. Is it weird that I am a little bit flattered by that? Yes? Okay.)  &amp;quot;The woman you married is a piece of shit,&amp;quot; I said to Peter as I slammed the cab door behind me.  &amp;quot;I don&amp;#039;t even know if this is the family friend,&amp;quot; Peter said, ignoring my comment. &amp;quot;But if you go in for an interview and he&amp;#039;s bald and tan and relatively attractive, that&amp;#039;s him. And yeah, you should probably not take a job as his assistant.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Well, I&amp;#039;ll let you know,&amp;quot; I said. &amp;quot;But thanks for the heads up.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Any time,&amp;quot; Peter said. &amp;quot;Take care.&amp;quot;  We hung up and I climbed the stairs to my apartment. Inside, I turned on my laptop and pulled up the email from Loni. I wrote back the days and times that I was available to come in for the interview. Maybe it&amp;#039;s na\u00EFve of me, but even if the family friend in need of an assistant was the bald, orange, skirt-chaser that Peter spoke of, I was still interested so long as the position sounded right. Novel concept: I would just do a damn good job and not boink my gross boss. How hard could it be? "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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