"Sophie, how's the operation last weekend? It was on Sunday, right?" I startle at the enquiry my Manager just made.

He’s currently standing in front of my workstation with amused look, probably finding it funny to catch me being so focused with my phone, reading a gossip post at my Faceb0ok feed.

Damn it, why does he always appear when I'm playing with my phone, catching me red handed. Though as usual, he makes no remarks on that. He's one of those cool bosses in my office. The kind that isn’t bothered by petty stuff, the only thing he cares about is the assignments that he dropped on our lap are all being handled in timely manner, with uncompromised quality.

But I swear, he really waits until I'm playing on my phone then he'll come and ask stuff. Like seriously, why can't people come to me when I'm busy doing work? Instead of when I’m leisurely sitting at my workstation, looking like someone who does nothing but play with her phone and chat with her colleagues all day.

"No. Uhh, I mean yeah," I stutter a bit while putting away my phone, "It's actually on Monday at 1am so, Monday. Heh. Not a weekend. Erm anyway, the operation started at midnight. We had our first point at 1am. Everything was fine, no hiccups, it’s a smooth operation, Lee." I continue on my report of what happened during the wireline operation five days ago.

I would write it all here but I doubt you'll be interested.

When people ask about my job, I try my best to explain what I do but even those who are in the same oil and gas industry, they get confused and bored and super uninterested within five minutes of explaining so I no longer bothered elaborating more on my job description. Let's just say I analyse the oil and gas that's buried deep in the earth, okay?

The one that was formed by the dinosaurs a hundred million years ago? Yeah, that one. You got it. Bingo!

(It’s not really formed solely by dinosaurs, there’s a whole concept of extreme pressure and temperature, tectonic movements, all other factors but for the sake of ending the conversation, I’ll just agree with you. Okay? Okay. Cool.)

"Alright. Have a good weekend, Sophie." He smiles before leaving to the next cubicle, preying for updates from my other team members.

I check the time on the desktop, it's fifteen minutes to 1pm. Normally on Fridays, I always go home at 1pm sharp because at this awesome Fortune 500 company, we only work half-day on Fridays.

After four days of rushing home to get the boys from school, make dinner, make sure they shower instead of playing with water, put them in bed, phew even listing those things tire me out, imagine actually doing it for four days straight with two active boys.

So yeah, I really need my me-time this weekend. I still haven't paid back the sleep I missed last weekend due to the midnight operation I just explained to my boss.

Monday to Friday, the boys are with me. Friday evening to Sunday evening, they're with Dean and Chloe. And little Isaac. The boys love their one year old half-brother so much that they dread everytime Dean drops them off at my place on Sunday evenings.

Dean and I got divorced four years ago. I was the one who asked for it. He tried so hard to get back together with me until two years ago, out of nowhere, he told me he was getting married with our classmate, Chloe.

Chloe and I used to be close; we were best friends during our university days. Career distanced us and by the time I got my first baby, I no longer hung out with any of my friends, including her. I was too busy with my little family. So this fate that Dean ends up with Chloe, I'm actually relieved because I know her. She's the best stepmother my boys can ever have. 

And yes, I'm truly happy for Dean and Chloe.

I only need ten minutes to wrap up things before I go home so I have another five minutes to play around. Aaaaand here I am, back to my Facebo0k feed.

That's when the screen lights up with the name Collin Cupcake comes up.

Oh God. It's Veronica. Why is she calling? Did she find me a match already? Really? It's only been a week! How come it's so fast? I thought she said it can take up to two weeks? Am I really an interesting person that a Daddy wants me the moment he sees me? Am I really that pretty? Cute? Adorable?

Of course I am. All above.

"Hello," I greet Veronica in a calm voice despite my excitement.

"May I know if this is Miss Grey?"

See, they are so professional she even makes sure it's me despite it's my number she's dialling. Talking about discrepencies.

"Yes this is Abigail Grey speaking," I tone down my voice, trying hard not to catch my colleague's attention on this act. This pretense.

"Miss Grey, we have a good news. We've found a match for you. Are you free tomorrow afternoon?"

I plan to go home in five minutes, change into my favorite baggy shirt and this super duper comfortable old underwear, watch Netfl!x till tomorrow morning, then sleep till dinner time, well, the list is endless but you get the gist.

But okay, sure, I'll reschedule my date with that precious couch of mine for my future Daddy. No biggie.

"Yeah I'm free tomorrow afternoon."

"I'll email you the details of the location and time. You'll meet him there."

"Errr," I hesitate a bit before voicing my concern, "What if things don't work out? Like, erm, if I don't want to proceed with him?"

I've already known the answer since she explained it to me last week but I need to hear it one more time, to remind myself of what's coming.

"If everything is okay, I'll set up another meeting so you can come and sign the contract. If it's not, don't worry Miss Grey, I'll find you another. But it will take some time since your age preference is on the low side of our pool of client."

I checked the 'less than 40 years old' for my preference of a Daddy. Hearing Veronica's statement, did she expect me to check the 40-45 years old box too? Or 45-50? Don't even think about going to the next age range. I'm nineteen for God’s sake. I've already stretched it to 20 years older than my age.

Erm, my 'pretend' age. But still.

"I'll send the email after this. Hope this is the match you're looking for, Miss Grey."

I doubt it but sure, I'll play along. I bet this client is one chubby, tall guy.

Tall because I put that one comment on the 'Others' section: height 6ft and above.

I married a 5ft 5 guy with a 5 inch pencil penis. If I were to gain something from this stupid act of mine, it's going to be me having a tall guy with big fat penis to satisfy me. I've had enough of six years marriage with barely-there-orgasm followed by four years of no-sex-at-all.

Yay, can't wait for the email!

Wait. Why would I think of something past this meeting? I'm only gonna meet guys, not that I will actually sign a contract to be their sugar baby. Pfttt.

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