Page 11 of Hired By My Rich Baby Daddy

Below his picture, bold letters stretched across the screen.

CONGRATULATIONS TO THE SIX WINNERS OF THE OZY LOVE WEEKEND EXPERIENCE.

My eyes dropped to the list beneath it.

The first name wasn’t mine, and neither was the second. By the time I reached the third, my hands had already started shaking.

Noree Marcell.I stopped breathing.

“Oh, my God.” My whole chest went tight like somebody thought I was a lemon and was trying to make damn lemonade. Cheesy, I know, but that was how I was feeling. “Oh, my God, Nourah.”

“I told you!”

I kept reading, my eyes moving quickly down the page while my hands shook slightly around her phone. It said the winners had twenty-four hours to confirm and respond to secure their spot, or they would move on to an alternate. Once confirmed, they would send over the full itinerary and NDA paperwork.

Three days.

Three whole days!

I dropped the phone into my lap and looked at Nourah. She looked back at me, and neither one of us said anything for a second.

Then, we both lost it at the same time, screaming so loudly I knew the neighbors heard us through the wall.

“We was just there!” I screamed. “Right up front, close enough to see the sweat on his face, and now they telling me I’m about to be in a room with his fine ass? Like an actual room, with no barricade between us?”

“A room, bitch! I’m talking body-to-body! I’m talking meeting in my bedroom!” Nourah screamed. “Ooo, bitch, I’m jellllly!”

I flopped back onto the bed; my hands pressed over my face as I cheesed into my palms because I could not believe this was my life right now.

“Best birthday weekend of my whole life,” I said, sitting back up. “Thank you for entering me in the contest, sis. For real.”

She got quiet for a second, and I could see her mind working. Then, her whole face lit up.

“What?”

“Sooo, I was thinking… you definitely gotta wear one of my pieces. You gotta be the baddest bitch up in that building all three days, sis. Like, when you walk in there, I need people looking at you like, ‘Who dressed her? Who made that?’”

I laughed, but she wasn’t playing. I could tell by the way she hopped straight up off the bed.

“Nourah, I don’t even know if there’s a dress code yet. And?—”

“Don’t matter! I got options!” she shouted, then ran out of my room.

I grabbed my phone and pulled up my email. I almost fainted when I saw a message from his team, making shit official as hell. I skimmed over everything, mumbling as I read it to myself.Then, I saw the huge confirm button at the bottom and clicked it so damn fast, I damn near bent my finger back.

My cheeks grew hotter than a forest fire as an automatic email came through with all the forms I needed to sign.

Nourah came bursting back through my door with her arms completely full. She had a bunch of shorts, tops, dresses, and all kinds of shit piled in her arms.

“Okay,” she said breathlessly, dumping the whole pile at the foot of my bed. “We got work to do.”

She grabbed her phone and connected it to the speaker near my television.

“What are you doing?”

“Uhhh…we cannot style you for an Ozy Love weekend without playing Ozy Love. Come on now,” she teased.

Seconds later, the slow beat of one of my favorite songs by him filled my bedroom.