"Reply when you see this."
That was the last message from Layla. Samantha had read them, but she just didn't know how to respond. When did their conversations become so explicit? Could she just pretend she hadn't read it?
Sipping her soup, she wracked her brain for an escape. Finally, she settled on a subject change.
Samantha: "Did that model you mentioned agree to help me?"
Layla's reply came almost instantly. "Of course! Asked her last night and she's free from 6:00 pm to 8:00 pm, two-hour crash course for a week. Would that work for you?"
Samantha: "Perfect! Thanks, Layla!"
Layla: "Now, the real question. Can you train today? Those are stilettos. I'm afraid your legs are too weak to walk."
Samantha: "We're done here. Shut it."
Layla: "One last thing. Call me if you need more condoms. Delivery service included."
Samantha exited the chat with violent taps. Peace at last.
That afternoon, the new housekeeper arrived.
They'd already replaced the last one. This new housekeeper was gentler, more considerate—a woman in her late 40s who worked with quiet efficiency. Samantha had made the choice.
"Madam, should I reheat the soup for you?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Of course. It's my pleasure."
A coveted position like this had countless applicants waiting in line. Samantha still couldn't fathom why Monica had been so foolish.
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