Girls Who Travel Read Free Page B

which was actually fine by me because it saved my own mother the trouble. Of course, the whole production made me feel like a teenager again instead of an early twenties college grad who worked in the city.
    But I was desperate for the extra money babysitting generated. I had a giant credit card bill from last weekend when I took an impromptu trip to see a friend in Montreal.
    â€œThanks again for helping out. Madison adores you.”
    Babysitting came naturally to me—as an only child I always wanted younger siblings. I babysat all through high school and the summers between my years in college. In fact, I was our neighborhood’s favorite babysitter. Shockingly, my college’s career counselor wouldn’t let me add this to my résumé, even though watching five-year-olds truly equipped me for dealing with fussy CEOs.
    Holland emerged from his office bundled in his winter coat in preparation to go outside.
    â€œAbsolutely, so glad we were able to confirm that. Looking forward to working together in the future. Okay, bye now.” I put the phone down before Lynn finished, and I rotated my chair in the opposite direction to face Holland.
    â€œSomething I can do for you, Mr. Holland?” I said, fumbling to unravel the phone cord.
    â€œKika—” he started forcefully and then cut himself short.
    I offered him my most impressive Disney Princess smile, and he took a deep breath. The curiously bulging vein in his forehead throbbed up and down.
    â€œKika, I’m going to the last-call meeting at the Richmond Group to get any final requests. I’ll send you Ronald Richmond’s changes as they arise so that you can get started on them right away. Just please, I beg you, get everything confirmed. I’m getting a lot of pressure from the higher-ups on this one. I’m not kidding around.”
    â€œRight, Mr. Holland,” I said far too cheerily to instill any genuine confidence. Holland put his hand to his temples, and his vein swelled again, but he walked out without another word.
    As soon as he was out of sight, I shrugged off my itchy blazer to reveal a cottony soft retro T-shirt that said, in Russian: “Moscow Is for Lovers.” (There was a highly probable chance that it actually said, “Stupid American Tourist”; I never checked.)
    I tried to keep up a semblance of my true self whenever Holland was out of the office. Plus, work clothes were so binding and claustrophobic—wearing them was the fashion equivalent of being told to “quiet down.” I was literally unsuited for corporate life.
    The only thing about my work appearance that was whollymine was my summery, beach blond “Coachella hair,” as Holland called it.
    I heeled off my uptight office shoes and curled my legs in a lotus position in my chair, instantly feeling relief.
    Contrary to popular belief at VoyageCorp, I wasn’t an idiot. I was just understimulated and underemployed. But it wasn’t like I was irresponsible or anything. I mean, how hard was it to set up and confirm meetings, right?
    But then as if on cue, it hit me.
Oh no.
    I snatched my tasks list and flashed over it. There it was, inked in bright red pen and my own treacherous, loopy handwriting:
Set up last-call meeting with Richie Rich re: Dubai.
    I was so preoccupied with the actual Dubai conference that I forgot to schedule the meeting in New York
before
the Dubai conference—the one that Holland was en route to right now.
    I frantically looked around like the solution was a physical thing that I could find if I searched hard enough.
Holland is officially going to shank me. Or worse, fire me.
    I started pacing, but then it struck me: Maybe Richie Rich was available to have a super-quick meeting with Holland. CEOs of multinational export companies weren’t, like, constantly busy, right? He had to have five minutes to spare. I speed-dialed his personal assistant.
    â€œRonald Richmond’s